Giving Honor to my Body

I have been thinking about honor lately, and what it means for women to honor their bodies. 

I come at this from a personally painful place as well as my experience working with women who have eating disorders and body dysmorphia.

I cannot pinpoint an exact age, but I know that from early on I believed there was something wrong with the way I looked. I felt my feet were too big, my legs too skinny, and I was too tall. I was acutely aware of this while it seemed all the other girls were not giving their own bodies a second thought. 

In middle school I was a cheerleader which I had always wanted to be. I ended up hating most of it. I was painfully critical of my body, comparing my legs to the other girls, and truly feeling deep shame. It did not help that one of the girls on the squad bullied me. Nor did it help that one of my classmates, a guy, commented on how skinny I was.

I had friends. I got invited places. I was involved in many extracurricular activities. I had boyfriends. And, I felt deeply shameful of my body. I had learned and believed that appearance was everything. 

As I moved into high school, it got worse. I wore long underwear underneath my jeans even in warm weather so that I would look heavier. I would bunch my socks up at the ankles in a way that I thought made my legs look better. I only bought clothes that I thought made me look less thin. I ate in excess in hopes that I would put on pounds.

I felt like a tall, gangly, skinny piece of nothing. I cannot emphasize enough how deep those roots were. I believed that appearance equated worth. And, when I say I believed that, I mean that I believed it down to the core of me.

As I moved into college, marriage, and motherhood, the intensity of those feelings dissipated, somewhat. My focus had understandably shifted as being a wife and a mom took a front seat. I had value apart from the way I looked yet that shame remained.

Let me interject and explain to those of you who may not understand, that this isn't a surface shallow sort of thinking. Body dysmorphia is real and incredibly painful. It is tied in to eating disorders, obsessive-compulsive behaviors, social anxiety and depression, among other painful conditions. "Experts" say there is no cure. God says, otherwise.

I have worked with young women who got to the point of no longer leaving the house because they felt they were too ugly. I have seen young girls put on a full face of makeup before going to sleep. I know of women who will not be seen, not even by their husbands, without makeup on. I have watched women change outfits multiple times throughout the day because none of them were working for them. I have seen women disregard their bodies to the point of not showering, getting dressed, or even looking in a mirror. 

I've been witness to women who scream for attention with their appearance, while others choose to remain nondescript and void of color. Both are about feeling lack of value.

I have heard endless painful rants from females about being overweight, not filling out swimsuit tops, crying over extra pregnancy pounds, despising their breasts, hating their nose, being ashamed of the veins on their legs, and not wanting to shop for clothes for themselves because what is the use? 

I am around women and girls all the time, of all ages and backgrounds. I can tell you with assurity that this stuff does not discriminate. It affects young women as well as older women. 

Most every woman I have met has struggled painfully with their appearance. Some talk about it and some have tucked it away in a small little space deep inside. They can't even whisper about how they have lost themselves along the way.

We share about aching body parts and functions of our bodies that no longer feel 21. We hide scars and grimace at them as we catch a glimpse in the mirror. We think about what was or what could be. 

We make fat jokes, old age jokes, and falling apart jokes. Admittedly, sometimes it's funny but more times than not, it really isn't. 

We spend more money on other people's needs than we do on a pretty bra because we feel the stretched out one we've had for six years is good enough.

Or, we crowd our closets and makeup bags with everything that is going to make us worthy.

We could probably separate these issues into categories and write an article on each one. But, I am far too excited to get to the part where I share what God has been teaching me since I was diagnosed with breast cancer at the end of July 2019.

Throughout the examinations, biopsy, two lumpectomies, thirty-three radiation treatments, and two reconstructive surgeries, I had to change my perspective on the body that God had given me. 

Did my body let me down? Was my left breast an enemy? Was I deformed? Could I still be feminine? Could I hold on to my sexuality? Would I even survive?

I remember thinking as I sat on my deck one afternoon that I could fold over and cave, or I could begin marveling at my body for the first time in my life in spite of the cancer that had invaded it uninvited.

Jehovha Rapha - the God who heals.

I began to feel a tenderness toward my body and most specifically toward the area where the tumor was. I know that may sound weird, but I instinctively knew I needed to feel this.

I prayed all the time that every cell in my body would rise up and give praise to the Lord. Those cancer cells had no choice but to join in. 

As I woke up for my job at 4:15 a.m. and left for radiation treatments every morning from work only to return back to the lodge, I marveled at the strength of my body. God helping me, I did it. I never once got sick. I never called off work. I did not miss my Monday night class or any of the ministry work I was involved in. I turned 50  toward the end of my treatments. 

God's wonder working power.

Man, I was worth more than my appearance.

Since that time, I went for reconstructive surgery because I realized that for me, an integral God-given part of what made me feel feminine was missing. I waited a year to see if those feelings would dissipate but they didn't. 

Interestingly, this morning I had my last follow up appointment with the plastic surgeon which put an end of sorts to all of my treatment. As I left the doctor's office I thought, "I've been through a lot." I could feel this at a deep level and it was heavy. But, the moment passed. I also felt proud of my body and who I was. Gratitude rose inside of me for the ways God had healed me on multiple levels.

There is nothing like taking ownership of your body and no matter how strange it might sound, I love my healed breast that was miraculously reconstructed with my own God-given tissue! I praise God for what He has done! It feels good to write and share this.

I am beginning to think of my body in a different way. 

Praise the Lord.

My body has given pleasure as well as safety. It has housed three precious babies. It has walked thousands of miles. My hands have fed hundreds. My eyes have seen and understood. They have shed tears of both joy and heartache. My heart continues to pump though I am not directing it to. My mouth has been used to edify, counsel, praise, and lament. My arms have held, cradled, soothed and hugged. And, my brain? Who can even begin to understand the inner workings of a brain? Only an intelligent and creative God could have made me. It is mind blowing!

I was knit together perfectly in my mother's womb.

All the parts of me are intimately known by my Creator. How I laugh. My taste buds. My c-section scar. The birthmark on my right leg. The colic in my bangs. How many breaths I take while I sleep.

Women, I believe we need to begin honoring our bodies for Who created them, the purpose they serve, what they can do, and Whose image they were made in. 

We need to stop objectifying, abusing, ignoring and berating, and begin celebrating with tenderness how wonderfully we are created.

I am going to go out on a limb and say a word none of us like and that is, "sin." With all my heart, I believe we sin when we complain all the time about how we look and feel. I believe it hurts God. 

As I mentioned earlier, this presents differently in different women. Make no mistake, some of us have done very little to feel pretty, feminine or alive. We have in a sense, departed from our body and left it behind. Others have tripped over high heels and body checked more times than we want to admit in order to assure ourselves we are okay. 

Some still yearn for this assurance while others have shut down and buried their bodies for far too long.

I know this is not what God intended for His valuable daughters.

I know He has been wanting to show me a different way for a long time.

Making a point to consciously honor my body has given me more peace, confidence, joy, and intimacy with God. I make less comparisons and feel more content with who I am. I think it has even helped my creativity when it comes to how I dress, write, photograph, and decorate. I am moving into me instead of wanting to become more like that woman over there. 

This is a process and not a destination. I need to be up front and honest about that. I lived almost fifty years with this stuff and it is taking repeated practice to honor my body and give God praise with it. 

I am being healed of lifelong lies in the name of Jesus.

Psalm 139:14 "Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex! Your workmanship is marvelous- how well I know it."

Written by,

Dee M. Kostelyk

The Lap of Jesus

In my mind's eye, as I came before the throne of God with my head bowed, I realized I had small boldness and confidence. In my state of sorrow, I also realized I was not close enough to my Abba Dad so I climbed the few stairs before Him, wearily sat down, and laid my head on His lap.

Some days are for coming before the seated throne of God with boldness and confidence. Other moments, when depletion has set in, are for the Carpenter's hand to rest upon my head.

He leaned in - my mighty King Abba Daddy and Comforting Counselor. His hand rested gently on the side of my head and I sobbed. My weighted body heaved against His legs. I spoke aloud all I felt and believed. When I could no longer form the words, my tears spoke for me. And, there we sat together.

I grabbed the napkin in front of me, blew my nose, and laid my head back down. The slight headache I had earlier, began to throb. "I should not exist," I thought to God. "The best of my life is gone." I think for the first time ever, I felt no purpose for my life. I did not matter. I wanted to go to sleep and not wake up. Not die. Just, not wake up.

God was silent. I sat up and opened my Bible pleading with the Him to speak to me but even the pages of my Bible spoke nothing. 

I sat there still and numb with the grief of losing everything I had held most dear. Images flickered through my mind and I began to sob again. The crushing blow of being let down, ignored, and abandoned washed over me.

I could still feel God with me, though. He was absorbing my grief. He was both separate and within me. Somewhere, in the outer recesses of my mind I knew the Lord wanted me to unburden my weariness at His feet. He wasn't going to give me scripture or advice.

I was a daughter with her Dad. 

There was no condemnation.

Yet, I still sat up and hurriedly expressed remorse to Jesus for dismissing what He did for me on the cross. With everyone and everything stripped away, I was not sure if He was enough and I confessed that to Him. I expressed that there was no skin. He could not lie, hug, or converse with me. Not really. I could not reach next to me and feel the warm skin of His arm. He understood. And, He was silent but strongly present. "None of this right now," He seemed to be saying.

Again, I could discern His desire to enfold me into His sphere of safety where I could simply and profoundly grieve. 

So, I did.

Did you know there are numerous scriptures that talk of people physically touching Jesus as well as Jesus physically touching others? 

I washed my face and put my pajamas on even though it was 5:30pm. My body and heart felt walked upon. I paid it hardly any mind as I continued in this dead state of numb grief. It had been building for days. I kept it at bay out of necessity for this thing called, life. 

God was good with who I was. 

At least He wasn't going to leave me.

I ate my dinner while asking the Lord what He thought about the proclamations I had made over myself. He was there but not speaking.

As I cleared my plate and wiped down the kitchen, I told the Lord I trusted Him to speak to me however and whenever He saw fit and that I would know it was from Him. Something about the assurity of this brought on fresh tears. 

I felt miserable, hurt, lonely, and weary.

I knew God was good but wasn't sure I believed it right then.

He knew I could beat a dead horse and go back just to make sure. What is that about me? I cried, again. Was I nothing but a stupid, hopeless fool unable to take, no? I could wrench that closed door open like no one else. Was I a persevering brave woman or an idiot? Where was my dignity? Self-respect?

Someone recently told me that I am brutally hard on myself. Well, not that night. I had no capacity for beating myself up. I just wanted to matter.

I felt too weak for any of it and crawled into bed at 7:15pm. The sun was still out on that warm summer night. I felt broken hearted.

I prayed for the Lord to hold me under the shadow of His wings, and that He did as I slept for over ten hours.

When I woke up, my eyelids were swollen but I had the energy to move. God was still pouring into me.

It was a new day and God gave me a plan for it. I did want to live, after all. I was still sad, but okay - possibly more than okay. Fresh perspective was in the making.

*

This is "so life" and it's why I'm sharing it. 

Testimonies of God's faithfulness come in all sorts of ways, but the greatest will come when we take our last breath and enter our real home in heaven with Him. Because of Him.

In the meantime, this is what the testimony of faith in the midst of grief and heartbreak looks like. These are the sorts of painful molding experiences most of us wrestle with, but seldom speak of. 

I love learning about God. I have been enjoying delving into scripture like I never have in my life. But, one thing I know about myself, it will mostly be useless without a raw and intimate relationship with Jesus Christ; a relationship that is nurtured and experienced daily. 

I am going to talk about this all of my days, you can be sure. 

God is completely at ease with our grief and He does not carry a stopwatch. He wants to work it out with us. 

May we as brothers and sisters also learn how to be comfortable with each other's grief. 

I cannot stress enough how dearly and thoroughly you are loved right now. As is.

Your broken heart and unabashed joy are equally held in reverence to our Lord.

May my bones be raised up in the name of Jesus until I see Him.

May we all have the soothing experience of lying our head on the lap of Jesus Christ when it's needed.

That is worship.

"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; he rescues those whose spirits are crushed." Psalm 34:18

Be still.

HE. IS. GOD.

Written by,

Dee M. Kostelyk

His Way, Not Ours

Make no mistake. The world will encourage you to hate others most especially the ones who have caused hurt or the ones who disagree with us. They will put in your face all the "justifiable" reasons you should not forgive, harden your heart toward, and even retaliate - all of which will only serve to further hurt you. 

Hate and anger love companions. They are hungry spirits who look for food wherever it can be found. The world will gloss this over and use words like "you have a right, it's not fair, and you deserve better." 

Hate is a strong word but from it derive irritation, frustration, disdain, jealousy, self-righteousness, and misery. They're often at the same party sharing straws. 

Beware of the influences you bring into your life whether it's people, music, books or social media. Often it will come disguised as help that is light as a feather, only to later chain you down like a cement block because it is not of God.

Jesus's instructions have a way of setting us free because He loves us. 

MATTHEW 5:43-48

The Message

“You’re familiar with the old written law, ‘Love your friend,’ and its unwritten companion, ‘Hate your enemy.’ I’m challenging that. I’m telling you to love your enemies. Let them bring out the best in you, not the worst. When someone gives you a hard time, respond with the energies of prayer, for then you are working out of your true selves, your God-created selves. This is what God does. He gives his best—the sun to warm and the rain to nourish—to everyone, regardless: the good and bad, the nice and nasty. If all you do is love the lovable, do you expect a bonus? Anybody can do that. If you simply say hello to those who greet you, do you expect a medal? Any run-of-the-mill sinner does that.

"In a word, what I’m saying is, Grow up. You’re kingdom subjects. Now live like it. Live out your God-created identity. Live generously and graciously toward others, the way God lives toward you.”