My body... a temple?

When I was a child, my body was my friend. I ran barefooted in hot summer sand, climbed the chinaberry tree in our front yard and perched in a fork to read in its cool shade. If I saw an interesting grasshopper or dung beetle, I would squat down and follow the bug as he made his way through our yard. I jumped for joy skipping rope with gleeful abandon. My fingers were nimble and quick as I played the piano.
Like most of us, body self consciousness came with adolescence. Suddenly my thighs were too big and my neck was too long. My face was too round and those cute little freckles were no longer cute. Even though my body still was flexible and strong, I found little joy in it because of its perceived lack of perfection.
As an adult, I made peace with my body in a way. While recognizing what I saw to be flaws, I also took responsibility for it and began to exercise, eventually teaching aerobics classes. The onset of high blood pressure at the birth of our third child forced me to face some of my body’s other limits that had nothing to do with looks. I took medicines but exercise was also my medicine.
In my thirties, the Minister of Music at our church bullied me into joining a sacred dance group she was establishing. The world of dance had been forbidden to me as a good Baptist child. One was allowed to walk, run, skip, jump or fall but one was not to be caught on the dance floor when Jesus returned. Now I leaped, crossed the studio floor doing triplets, learned jazz, modern and ballet movements. Awkward inside and out, I slowly began to regain the connection with my body. Now however, I explored the junction of body and soul. The expression of faith in movement became very important for me and I celebrated the body that made that possible. In my memory, I still am able to dance those dances that helped me transcend my body so that I danced with body and soul.
Now in my sixties, I am having to learn to live with body limits that come with age. One of my fingers freezes sometimes when I bend it. My high blood pressure has not gone away. My legs are not as strong or as fast as they used to be. I need a mounting stool to get on Junie B. My hip is beginning to give me warning twinges and my feet creak when I get out of bed. My body shape has changed again and I find myself struggling to adjust to a new self image. Neither bodies nor souls are static. They are constantly changing.
Jesus spoke of his body as a temple and Paul reminded us that our bodies are temples for God’s Spirit, a place for God to rest within us. This perhaps is the one function of our bodies that does not change over time. As little children and as old ones, God still chooses to be a part of our bodies here on earth. When they are young and free, when they are old and tired, our bodies are evidence of God’s great gift of life to us. I am grateful for this gift that has been lived out in my freckled face and my Baptist hips. Life with God in residence has been and continues to be good whatever the limits I must face in movement and shape. Thanks be to God for all the bodies that surround me. They are reminders of the Great Dappled God that loves us just as we are...and who loves us enough to live within us.