I have learned that the body is
a place where the spirit twists and kneels,
sometimes bending low in sorrow,
sometimes rising, bones creaking toward the sun.
We are flesh, yes, but more than that.
The skin is a thin veil,
and behind it, something holy stirs,
wild as the wind that shakes the treetops,
soft as the hymn that haunts our childhood.
To honor yourself is to acknowledge that you are the created,
a being sculpted from dust,
and yet—there is a spark inside you,
a piece of God Himself,
carved not by accident but by intention.
The self is not a thing to be shamed,
to be hidden beneath layers of guilt and penance.
No, darling, you are the temple,
and God does not dwell in broken places—
He resides in the cracks, yes,
but He does not ask for ruins.
He asks for the whole, the complete, the you that “is”.
And what of honoring Him?
Oh, that is the delicate dance.
How often we think He demands us to vanish,
to shrink ourselves into nothingness,
but listen—
God did not make you to disappear.
He did not craft your hands, your lips, your heart,
only to see them silenced.
You honor Him most when you live fully,
when you wear your soul’s colors boldly,
when you rise each morning and say,
“I am here, I am Yours, and I will not dim my light.”
The overlap, the sacred union between you and Him is found in the quiet moments—
when your breath aligns with the rhythm of grace,
when you stand at the crossroads of choice
and choose not only what is right,
but what sings to the deepest part of you.
In that place, there is no division between honoring yourself
and honoring God,
because the two are one and the same.
Your joy is His joy, your sorrow is His sorrow.
The art of your life,
the brushstrokes of laughter and tears,
it is His masterpiece.
So, honor yourself, love.
Live wildly, live gently,
but above all, live truthfully.
For in doing so, you honor the One who made you,
the One who loves you still,
even in your darkest hours,
even in your wildest dreams.
B 🤍
Leave a Reply