Breasts

I've been thinking a lot about breasts lately.

Specifically, I've been thinking a lot about my own breasts.

Now, if this topic either offends or arouses you, I would suggest that you quit reading. I'm fairly certain that many of you will find this particular post offensive and I'm equally certain that not a single one of you will find it arousing! So just quit reading now!

Here's the thing.

Over the past seven months, I have had my breasts poked, prodded, bombarded with radiation, as well as sliced and diced for a biopsy. I have taken oral antibiotics, applied an entire pharmacy of topical ointments trying to control a medical condition that up until recently, no one could diagnose.

Now that I am on the other side of this whole experience I've realized something rather important.

I love my breasts.

These breasts have served me well my entire life; they have served my husband well for more than 22 years; and what's more, they have also nourished all five of our children.

My breasts are worthy of respect.

Gravity has taken its toll. These breasts of mine are no longer the perky 36 C's of my younger years. They aren't beautiful by modern society's standards; but to me, and to those who know and love me, they are more beautiful than there are words to describe them.

Last April, I was ashamed of my breasts. Ashamed of their size, of their shape (or increasing lack there of), and of their overall appearance. This experience has given me a whole new perspective and a new understanding not only of my breasts, but of my entire body.

This body, like these breasts, has served me well.

Oh, I know that my physical body is made of mere dust; but while my spirit and the spirit of God dwell within this fragile shell, it is both a temple and a sanctuary.

From this moment on, I vow to love, to nurture, and to honor this body of mine.....

...and I urge you to do the same!