handiwork.

On my walk beside the riverbank, I pause to look about. I take in all of the trees, their golds and greens, melting together in plumes of foliage that spill over the embankment. I see the honey colored dusk pouring over a gushing river and catching hold to the Spanish moss that drapes languidly from the shoreline’s canopy. Just by breathing, I’m able to absorb the life covering every square inch around me, filling every sense with peppery crimson leaves, living waters, sunset dripping over my eyelids, all of it beautiful....

And then I look down at my own two legs carrying me forwards. The world has taught me to think they’re not perfect; my mind echoes the world’s word to me that they jiggle a bit too much, their proportions aren’t quite right. To others, the world might say the color is too dark to be honored, the shape is too large to be loved...

But why is it that I find every piece of His creation beautiful except for myself? Im sure I’ve told this riverbank it’s beautiful more times than I’ve told my own self. I marvel and express reverent praise to a body of water and limbs of wood while i denigrate my own figure.

As I take a step forward and plant my foot into the earth, it becomes completely continuous with the lush green grasses I find so lovely. He created the entire universe, and He constructed my body with just the same precision. And in moments I can even attempt to fathom what that means, I love Him for it. And so i will work on loving this body just as much as I admire the complex detail in all the rest of His handiwork.