As if He didn't create both

 

We were driving down a highway in Alaska alongside some of the most massive, beautiful mountains when my cousin Kathryn pointed to some of the grooves winding down the mountain and said

“it’s like nature’s stretch marks.”

I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

We marvel at the marks left on mountains as they’re stretched

by seasons

and wind

and melting snow

and then we try to erase the marks and layers left on our own bodies by their own

seasons

and hardship

and growth.

As if He didn’t create both.

Since that trip, I can’t drive along the Wasatch Front without stealing glances at Lady Timp and her sister peaks.

I see stretch marks and prickly trees, thick boulders and thin streams. Layers of history and beauty that have been a sacred refuge for so many, especially me.

Emotional, I come home and enter my room to see my tall, gold-rimmed mirror. I get closer and I see her; stretch marks and prickly legs, thick thighs and thin hair. Layers that have carried me through a beautiful life of

breathing

moving

growing

and loving.

And I wonder— if I treated her with the same reverence and awe that I do Lady Timp, what kind of peace could be mine?

Could she become the kind of sacred refuge to me that Lady Timp is for travelers, begging to spend time with her?

We marvel at the marks left on mountains as they’re stretched

by seasons

and wind

and melting snow

and then we try to erase the marks and layers left on our own bodies by their own

seasons

and hardship

and growth.

As if He didn’t create both.