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Even When I Hate My Body, God Calls it Good

Even When I Hate My Body, God Calls it Good

I said “I hate my body.” 

The words came out like venom. And in that moment, I meant each one. It’s not even just the way my body looks. No, it’s the way it feels. It’s the persistent bloat that presses tightly against even my sized-up jeans. An ever expanding pressure; a ticking time bomb. It’s the searing, twisting cramps that creep slowly through my entire abdomen as we head back home instead of going to small group. It’s the feelings of failure as I hear my baby cry and can’t run to him. Or the pain of his weight on my stomach while nursing him during a flare. It’s the wrestling with God over withheld healing. It’s the frustration of missing out on another family walk. 

It’s the fact that I can’t even capture all the things it does to me in words. It feels like a prison—a place where pain reigns. …

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