When you get to be a woman of a certain age … I think there are two ways you can choose to look at your body. With fear and loathing. Or with joy and gratitude.
As difficult as it is some days to stand in front of the mirror and not berate the constant changes, I’m choosing joy and gratitude instead of the former. Not focusing on the figure shift, the wrinkled skin … instead I am choosing to be thankful in understanding the amazing things my body does.
When I ask it to get out of bed, it complies without grumbling.
When I tell it to take the bike around the neighborhood for a spin, it does so with ease.
When I am required to care for my family’s needs – cooking, cleaning, errand running – my body does not mind.
On those glorious days when I get to the barn, my body is willing and able to do everything I need it to do to ride a horse.
When I get to Colorado and have the chance to hike the Rockies, my body tackles the challenge with delight.
And it makes me grateful … and brings me great joy.
When we were children we were grateful to those who filled our stockings at Christmas time.
Why are we not grateful to God for filling our stockings with legs?