(Day 16 – Your opinion about your body and how comfortable you are with it.)
Mirror, mirror on the wall
Who’s the fairest of them all?
Reflection, reflection close at hand
Who’s the loveliest in the land?
She lets her hands graze over the smooth glass in front of her as she waits for some sort of response.
But all that answers her is silence. Yes, all she gets is stillness.
That and a pair of dark brown eyes – challenging, demanding – staring at her imploringly, waiting for her to answer those questions for herself. They dare her to unearth an answer from deep within.
Her fingertips gingerly outline what she perceives as unbecoming curves made even more unflattering by the mirror’s taunting coolness. But her eyes are suddenly drawn to the nails etching hate marks on the ruthless glass. They were pink. A trivial observation, yes, but she remembers that they weren’t always pink. They had once turned into a bluish hue during that dark season in her life when she had literally starved herself and secretly refused to eat.
Suddenly, she remembers another nail, not a pink or blue one attached to someone’s imperfect stubby fingers, but rather a rusty, earthy one pierced deep into a Perfect One’s loving hands. This nail told her that she was bought at a price, that much blood was shed so that she would be restored to her original position as a daughter, a princess of the King. That nail pierced the very hands that formed her, the very fingers that knit her in her mother’s womb. The very hands, the very fingers of the One who took earth, fashioned it into man, breathed upon it, and then looked upon it – the finished masterpiece – and said, “It is good. It is very good.”
She drops her eyes and then raises them back again to gaze at the reflection in front of her. “You are made in My image and likeness,” she recalls reading somewhere. “You are My temple, I desire to dwell in you. You are not your own, I have ransomed you, I have bought you with the highest price.”
“You are fearfully and wonderfully made.”
She lets her hands graze over the smooth glass in front of her once again.
“I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”
She holds the gaze of those dark imploring eyes.
“I am the fairest – and the loveliest – in the land.”
The mirror shatters. She looks at the broken shards and finds a rusty nail – earthy and stained with blood – at the very centre of the space where the mirror once was.