Laid Bare

Reflection stares unmercifully back...nakedness. Raw. Uncovered. Unhidden. The clothes that mask it.....hide it.....laid aside as water trickles down clean skin. Reality stares back in pale skin form...droplets paused in the stillness before slowly finding their way into a puddle at feet...gathering on cold tile. And I stare, tempted to turn away but held captive by mirrored image. Years fade as the pages of calendar yellow but the memories hold on. Girl long ago struggling to accept the image reflected, woman now standing struggling to see past the wrinkles, the skin, the blue blood veins that trace their way down leg, the story body tells of the love children it has born to this man of mine. Youthful stomach now hidden under skin resembling puddle gathered at feet. I finger new velvet skin miraculously grown to alone protect these babes that now lie sleeping only feet away and the eight that have gone before them...cradled safely, securely, within the womb buried beneath and this very skin once so stretched that now sits puddled on top. Visions of their ten beautiful faces in my mind and I know it was worth it all...but still I wonder. How could he love this? So far from what he married, now soft, curvy, pale, riddled with the tale of having carried his many heirs. So far from the sultry blue eyes, chiseled body and sun kissed skin of woman laid bare on magazine shelf. So far from the body of the virgin womb that stood before us in line only hours earlier. And I wonder again how he could delight in this..the woman gift he has been given to unwrap under heavy blankets on dark wintry nights....only street lamp and moonlight to silhouette the many curves.

Chaos of dinner chatter, bedtime routine. I brush by him in my mission of completing task at hand. Sudden outstretched arm, he grabs and pulls me to him. I laugh and try to brush away his kisses, mumbling that there is work to be done, trying to hide the self conscious distance I have created. His grip tightens. How could I hide anything from this man that knows the intimate details of both mind and body? He's felt me tense beneath him. It's too late to hide. And he knows. For him there is no reason to even ask what bothers this heart of mine. He simply pauses. Long seconds pass until he puts lips to ear and whispers, "You're beautiful". I shrug away and try to dismiss the words but arm around waist remains strong, "Listen to me"....and the world pauses with his breath....."you're beautiful. You're everything I have ever wanted...and more. You're more than I could ever begin to even dream of. And you're mine....and I still want you." I relax against him and he feels me smile on his neck.

Little girl wedges between legs and little boys laugh contagiously as babies stir in their swinging vigil. Kitchen interlude interrupted. But before he releases his woman captive he instructs quietly, "get them in bed and dress warm." I laughingly search blue eyes for answers but calloused finger quiets the questions that want to come. So, I trust him and bed children down under warm covers and I dress warm.

With house dark and quiet, only oldest awake, smiling husband leads me to truck. Headlights shine down dirt moonlit road. He's contentedly quiet, this man of mine, driving to this undisclosed location...our apparent rendezvous in the night. Miles from anyone and anything we reach our destination and diesel engine is quieted. We sit momentarily in the stillness, in the absolute quiet. He takes my hand and pulls me from truck, guiding me to the bed he has prepared for his lifetime love. So we lay on the softness, under heavy blankets, in the silvery moonlight gazing at a million stars. His hand.....big, warm, calloused....never lets go of mine. His fingers, they trace mine. On a cold wintry night he turns to me and whispers of his love for me, his devotion, of the beauty he sees in the body that has carried his ten children, of the little things only he would know, and he thanks me for the continual sacrifices made in both mind and body. He continues on whispering every seemingly meaningless thing he loves about his bride, from the intimate details of body to the admirable strengths and the lovable weaknesses of a mind that rarely rests and a heart laid bare before him. The breeze sifts through the empty branches rustling the little life still left clinging to it, carrying on it the sounds of bleeting sheep and goats, the low moan of cattle, as it blows from wherever it came from to wherever it goes. I cup his face, bearded stubble rough beneath hands. He traces the familiar curves nestled against him. His lips find mine in the moonlight. He kisses gently at first but the wind brings with it a passion unrivaled and I fall in love all over again with this man I married. And the depth of the love for his bride is apparent. Engulfing passion, emotion, laid bare before him, all consuming love in the moonlight on a starry wintry night.

And I see how the Lord must see us...laid bare before Him. Imperfect, scars of sacrifice evident because of choice to follow Him, taut heart now stretched and pliable by the continual expansion and release of being taught what it is to die to self in order to give life to others, veins pulsing blood apparent to the world because I am His now, the life giving source no longer hidden beneath thick skin. And it is beautiful to Him..because it means I am learning to become selfless. I am learning what it is to die to self in order to give life. In a paradigm shift to worldly standards, physical body remains beautiful to adoring husband despite its imperfections...it is, in fact, loved now because of its imperfections acquired in total abandonment and passionate acts of love as I have spent the years growing older with him, carried his offspring and given myself wholly to him. And so it is with the Creator who formed and fashioned all of life before the beginning of time.......scarred, imperfect, fallible heart of mine grows more beautiful to Him because He sees beyond what stands before Him. He sees what lies within....laid bare. He doesn't want perfection because in perfection there is no history.....and in perfection there is actually no perfection at all. The scars, the skin, the veins...all acquired evidence of the sacrifices made to follow Him.....and it is beautiful. Concepts so simple to the world at large but affirmation my heart needs in every area..in so many ways. Body and heart exposed to lover. There is no judgement for what is not possessed but unconditional love for what is. Love born out of deep appreciation and understanding of how the beautiful ugly came into existence. Naked imperfection can be so astoundingly beautiful. Laid bare before him.