When I was a kid, I was all muscles. I kind of prided myself in it. I would beat the boys in arm wrestling on the playground, sending them away in shame (not the best way to win a date, but I wasn't after a date in the 3rd grade so it didn't matter). My first job was dipping candles at the Holland House Candle shop, where I wore a Dutch costume and plunked 5 lb candles in and out of vats of hot wax for groups of tired, retiree tourists with entirely too much time on their hands. If the crowd looked bored, my boss would have me flex my muscles and when everyone oohhed and ahhed, she would give herself and her candle shop credit for them (which I just let her believe).Now my arms look like they belong to a gal who will be 30 this fall, but my little boy is here to carry on the family bulge.
(Of course, his dad is no stick-figure himself, but lets just let this post be about Bright and me, shall we?)
Bright, in general, favors my side of the family. But with Daniel's smooth, olive skin and cute behind, our little muscle man is quite a cutie pie, if I do say so myself.
But Bright's real strength lies within. I see it in his dark, wet-stone eyes. He is fit on the inside; solid, strong, and powerful. I want him to know that who he is will always trump what he looks like or how much he can lift in the gym. It won't get flabby with age, it can't bulk up when fed protein, and it could never be accredited to candle-dipping or genes.
Bright, if you are reading this years from now and you are believing lies about who you are or what you are worth, remember the truth. Remember you are a treasure. There is only one of you. You mean more to your Maker than all of the stars in the sky, and you are more valuable to your Redeemer than his own life.
None of that has to do with your looks or performance.
That said, there is no harm in snapping a few pictures like this from time to time, now is there?
