by Anna McParlan
After my Dad had a stroke, I made a promise to myself to cherish my body. One moment he was clocking 50 miles a day on his bike, and the next he was paralyzed on his whole right side. Everything he had done on the daily had now become an act of grit and courage- fighting for every ounce of movement. I spent many nights by his bed holding that weak arm, tears rolling, begging God to bring healing and make the muscles that once moved with fluidity work again. I learned a lot about living on those nights as we danced with him on the edge of heaven.
And so instead of wishing I was a smaller jean size or that my chest didn’t show the wear of nursing through the scars of stretch marks, I’m just so thankful for a body that helps me do what God made me for. A strong body that lifts and carries my babes every waking hour of the day. A body that helps me take flight, carefree and bounding into a frigid Lake Superior on a heavenly night in May. Arms that both work when I outstretch them to offer a safe place for my people to land, and wrap David up in a bear hug after a long day at work. Hands that can write out the strung-together words of my heart, and a mouth that utters, "I love you’s" almost non-stop.
And so instead of wishing I was a smaller jean size or that my chest didn’t show the wear of nursing through the scars of stretch marks, I’m just so thankful for a body that helps me do what God made me for.Wishing I could tell Dad about all the gold that came from the fire. All the nuggets of truth that stuck to my soul when we walked through the valley. Every single time I run or leap or dance, I think on you Dad. How you’d tell me to thank God for every wildly beautiful mundane moment I get to unwrap - for every bike ride, and sunset swim, and each opportunity I get to swing my babies around the kitchen dancing.
