Touched by the Hands of the Artist
Lately I've really enjoyed this life. I found this fabulous church in town and have joined a small group and a women's bible study. I really like the women; all of them are very welcoming and, like me, they are all hopelessly flawed, but willingly to admit it. I love that.
(Okay, so its Summer's bed time right now. As I type this, she is in her bed making strange noises that sound somewhat like choking, but a little like fussing. I think she is okay, but it is stressing me out. We both have runny noses today so I think we are having allergies.)
Anyway, all the women I've met are so beautiful inside and out. I feel like I hear a lot of talk about diets and weight loss. I hate the whole fight with body image. Why can't we all just work really hard on our insides and then our outsides will automatically reflect our hearts? Why can't a beautiful woman, who may have an extra five to ten pounds, look at her reflection and see the beauty God has created in her? It is a slap in God's face when we stare at ourselves and judge. It is like we are attacking his most delicate and prized work of art by looking at ourselves and thinking, "uuuuughhhh". I am guilty as charged.
I feel the need to encourage women to see that they are beautifully and wonderfully made. Not just the women I meet in church, but every woman. It is an unfair struggle women should not be fighting. We ARE beautiful. We ARE strong. We were the last thing God created... the Cherry atop his perfect ice cream sundae. We are a cherished work of art that men should appreciate. First, however, we women need to start appreciating our uniqueness and aestethic value.
I'll start.
Hello, my name is Ashley Lynn Dykes. I am pretty. I have stretch marks and loose belly skin coloring my body with the pride and beauty only a woman can attain. My best and most stunning accessory is attached at my over-sized hips where she sits and spits regularly. I love my body because it is fully functional and it reflects the work of greatness. I have been touched and shaped by the hands of an artist. I am pretty. My heart is pretty. My face is pretty. And yes, even my thighs that chaffe as they rub together are pretty.
Your turn to be pretty.
(Okay, so its Summer's bed time right now. As I type this, she is in her bed making strange noises that sound somewhat like choking, but a little like fussing. I think she is okay, but it is stressing me out. We both have runny noses today so I think we are having allergies.)
Anyway, all the women I've met are so beautiful inside and out. I feel like I hear a lot of talk about diets and weight loss. I hate the whole fight with body image. Why can't we all just work really hard on our insides and then our outsides will automatically reflect our hearts? Why can't a beautiful woman, who may have an extra five to ten pounds, look at her reflection and see the beauty God has created in her? It is a slap in God's face when we stare at ourselves and judge. It is like we are attacking his most delicate and prized work of art by looking at ourselves and thinking, "uuuuughhhh". I am guilty as charged.
I feel the need to encourage women to see that they are beautifully and wonderfully made. Not just the women I meet in church, but every woman. It is an unfair struggle women should not be fighting. We ARE beautiful. We ARE strong. We were the last thing God created... the Cherry atop his perfect ice cream sundae. We are a cherished work of art that men should appreciate. First, however, we women need to start appreciating our uniqueness and aestethic value.
I'll start.
Hello, my name is Ashley Lynn Dykes. I am pretty. I have stretch marks and loose belly skin coloring my body with the pride and beauty only a woman can attain. My best and most stunning accessory is attached at my over-sized hips where she sits and spits regularly. I love my body because it is fully functional and it reflects the work of greatness. I have been touched and shaped by the hands of an artist. I am pretty. My heart is pretty. My face is pretty. And yes, even my thighs that chaffe as they rub together are pretty.
Your turn to be pretty.