Is my body not my own?
Though am I the one that formed it?
It was not I who breathed His very life into something yet unformed but not unknown
Always, Always seen
He breathed into a womb that would later discard this body, this soul and life that He created
My body knows Him as He knows my body
His breath rushed over my breasts as they gave nourishment to a girl He always knew I would have
He knows the womb that carried her, that loved her and longs to love again
He knows each scar
The deep cuts made
If not by me; by another
He knows, loves and aches over the body that is degenerating
That has stopped functioning
His breath encapsulated the room where the team mapped out the delicate surgery
He was there
He had to be
When they took away bone that He laid; muscle and ligament gone
To protect, to heal
Pieces of me that in a struggle I long to have back
Somehow wish them back
Yet does He not know?
Does He not watch my every aching move and painful sob for this thing to go away
Does He not sob with me?
Skin I live in, that I possess feels lost to me
Yet not lost to Him
February 5, 2014 at 2:51 pm
Gorgeous, Bethany. The breath of God, present through all these circumstances, is a powerful picture.