Legs

It’s shorts season now. A couple of weeks ago, after getting dressed for a busy Saturday, I found myself looking long in the mirror feeling really upset about my legs.

They were pale, but I knew that part was temporary. I was more disappointed about the everlasting flaws. The cellulite. The weird visible veins and lipomas I’ve had since forever. The fact that one knee is perpetually bruised while the other is incessantly swollen. The lack of muscle tone that crept in during my winter break from water workouts. The memory that one ex said, “If your legs were a few inches longer, you’d be in better proportion.” I could go on. But I won’t. The truth is all I could see were the imperfections. And I hated that.

I was grumpy about it for a while. Then, I found my smile again while riding my bicycle around our little town during a gorgeous spring day. There was so much joy in riding to the park to play with our dog, and stopping by the neighborhood farmstead to buy freshly-baked sourdough, and gathering up some neighbors to join us on a cruise around the community. It reminded me of the endless weekend days I had as a kid, riding my pink-trimmed “Flower Power” bike as far as my legs would carry me. That’s probably when I forever bruised my left knee, playing bike tag with my brother and sister. It was the 70s. We were unsupervised. It was the best era to grow up in, I swear.

I realized that my imperfect legs have brought me perfect joy. They’ve carried me for nearly six decades and have given me some of the richest memories of my life. My legs have run marathon miles. They’ve traversed mission fields in remote villages in Uganda. They’ve stood on nearly every continent (and it’s my goal to take them to the remaining two). My legs have walked down aisles and hospital corridors. They’ve bounced giggling little ones on my lap. They’ve walked everywhere with the extra weight of a baby in my belly, an infant in a carrier, and a toddler on my hip. My legs have intertwined with my husband’s on blissful mornings. They’ve kept me afloat in oceans, lakes, and rivers. They’ve skiied, and skated, and hiked, and cycled. They’ve jumped and kicked and propelled cartwheels and flips. They’ve straddled horses and, on one beer-soaked night, a mechanical bull. They’ve danced till the sun came up in places all over the world. They've even sprinted alongside a group of young runners in Mexico as the kids tested the brand new shoes we had donated to them (one of my all-time favorite memories). My legs have been in thousands of incredible places and given me the mobility to do anything I've wanted to. How lucky am I for that?

My legs have also buckled under the weight of grief. And they’ve knelt in prayer more times than I can count.

My legs have recovered from a zillion injuries. My Mom used to swear that, between kindergarten and sixth grade, my knees never healed. When they weren’t busy bearing the brunt of my clumsiness, my legs have been gnawed on my mosquitos and other pests. They’ve been shaved, and Naired, and waxed. They’ve even suffered a poisonous spider bite in a rural Montana town and been stabbed by a needle full of antidote to bring the swelling down.

Through all of that, my legs never once complained. Sure, they’ve cramped and made sure I felt the soreness of their overworked muscles. But they’ve always bounced back ready for a new day and a new adventure.

My legs have given me so much. How dare I see them for all they aren’t instead of all they are. I’ve done that with other parts of myself, too. I’ve done that with situations. With people as well. I’ve directed my critical gaze toward too much, too often, and have forgotten what’s truly important. Gratitude is the food of love. Criticism is depleting and joyless.

When I returned home from my amazing ride around town, I kicked off my shoes and dipped my feet into a refreshing wading pool. Our little dog jumped in as well, splashing my legs with the fresh-from-the-hose cold water. In my heart, I said “thank you” to my legs for all they’ve given me. And I resolved to try to see them, along with everything and everyone, for their best. Not their flaws.

Wouldn’t it be an incredible thing if we could all do that? I, for one, am going to try. I’m going to start with myself, with my little family, and with all the things God has given me. Which is more than I’ve ever deserved.

Xoxo, B