He pressed his thumb into the hollow of her cheek, then bent low to kiss her, exhaling life-breath into her lungs. As she stirred and reached a baby soft hand toward His face, He stood back to gauge His work.
"So good," He murmured. "She's exquisite."
He smiled, proud of His own masterpiece. I've been doing this for generations, He thought. In fact, thousands and thousands of years and yet, I've never made one like her before.
Finally, reticent to send her out, He planted a parting kiss on the crown of her head. "See you soon, princess." The He let her slip through the birth canal into fragile human hands.
Years went by. Every moment of her life, He watched her. Each day, he tugged her a little taller, straightened her spine, sharpened her mind and loosed her tongue. He was so pleased with her! Eyes the color of mountain peaks seared by morning sun. He especially delighted in the swirl of her thumb print. Just so. He set the metronome of her heart precisely, His signature in her breast.
Sometimes it hurt Him to watch her navigate the harshness of the world. Humanity could be so cruel, and so terribly wrong. He knew that corporately, they had forgotten Him, disregarded Him as creator. Even a few of those who claimed to believe in Him, denied His intentional creativity, His signature in their breasts.
The day came when someone told her she should lose a few pounds - if she wanted to conform to the latest fads, wear the current flagrant creations of the most famous designers.
Not long after, she learned that the guy she liked had a thing for girls with dramatic, ebony eyes. She found colored contacts, and permanent eyeliner. As she tuned her senses to the creative tenor of her peers, she began to alter the perfection of her original design. Larger breasts, whiter teeth, darker skin, smaller feet, fuller lips, a round derrière.
How it hurt Him that no one, least of all His precious daughter, believed in the pure, perfection of His original design. How could they deface such an exquisite expression of His creativity, His image, His love?
"When I made you, I declared that you are, 'very good'," He whispered into her ear. "You don't have to do this." But she didn't hear Him.
Do you know her? I do. This was me. I heard it all, and tuned my heart to the cacophony of opinions; the world's insistence that I was not good. Everywhere I turned, someone pointed out another flaw.
To be perfect, you should cover with makeup and perfume:
Your hair color, your size, shape, lips, arms, legs, scent.
We even have power makeup to survive our tears; so no one knows when the accusations of imperfection hurts.
According to the world, simply nothing about me was okay, let alone a clear reflection of my God-creator.
I find it funny that we incarcerate or fine people for defacing an ancient painting, but call no foul when daily we're told to intentionally alter and deface God's artistic expression in our bodies.
"For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother's womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well." Ps. 139:13-14
"The Spirit of God has made me, and the breath of the Almighty gives me life." Job 33:4
I love the image of God knitting me together; the Genesis picture of God sculpting the first bodies from clay and dust. I wonder if Jesus was just touching up a smudge when He spit in the dirt, made clay and healed a blind man's eyes.
We have been formed by the Master Creator. Let us, with Him, honor our bodies as, Very Good.