A letter to the Potter from His clay

I don't quite know when it began; it being the teasing and half-joking, half-proclaiming statements about my weight as an older teenager. This is not your typical school bullying or cyber threats, just harmless jabs here and there which made us all laugh at the time. And deep down, I know my worth is not in what I look like on the outside, but these little comments don't go unnoticed. It's true: I'm not the lean, mean, fightin' machine I used to be. You see, my doctor laughed at my concern about the extra pounds here and there and prohibited any thought of a diet. That helped, but it didn't stop my siblings, with their skinny legs and high metabolism, from picking up on the fact that my normal BMI doesn't parallel with their underweight BMI. And I guess I am writing this because I never thought I would be the one who had nagging thoughts about what the scale would read. Here I am with these vague New Year's resolutions about exercise and eating better in my head, partly for its benefits (physically and psychologically), but mostly to reverse this image placed upon me. And I understand this leads to dangerous thinking. So, while I know I can never be Heidi Klum material, I will just thank God for this body, even with its alleged shortcomings, which has housed my soul* for these past eighteen years. Let this -- what has it been humorously called? Oh yes --  flabby, chubby body reflect You in some way. Challenge me to be more concerned about the internal and not the external. Encourage me to take care of this vessel of Yours in a disciplined, not driving manner.                                                                              Help me be me, Lord. 


* "'Never tell a child," said George MacDonald, 'you have a soul. Teach him, you are a soul; you have a body.'"