When I was young, I loved vacation Bible school. It was the only "summer camp" I ever went to. We made people sunbathe in the shape of doves, played the green light of red light on the shady grass behind the church, and sang our little hearts out every day. Summers always ended with a Big Finale. The evening performance of the best songs we learned together over the past few weeks concluded together. Mr. Briscoe accompanied the group on the keyboard for the past few years, filled with Verve and lively expression. Later, it was Pastor Noyes on his acoustic guitar.
Five summers ago, I stood on the risers in front of the church just days before the big show, where everyone learned their places and practiced their lines. At that moment, quiet laughter erupted from the crowd, and I saw two boys poking each other and laughing. They were looking at me. Relaxing to listen, I could tell that the two were making some kind of joke about my body. I stood there and said, "All of God's creatures have a place in the choir." It was a playful laugh.
I knew my body was big because I had to buy plus-size clothes from the JC Penney catalog, and I didn't have as many choices as my thinner sisters. For a long time, I didn't really worry about it. I climbed trees and somersaulted across the yard with a cartwheel in one hand. At some point, I could do a full mid-air somersault before landing back on the ground if I jumped straight up in the air. I swam, rode bikes, built forts, explored forests, rode imaginary horses, and sprayed potion on dried mud pies behind my grandmother's house. I was happy, healthy, and thriving. My body could do everything I wanted.
As middle school approached, things began to change. Those boys weren't the first to mention my body size or shape, but there was something attached to it. Maybe I couldn't imagine such a thing because I felt safe at vacation Bible school. Maybe I already felt too alienated when my classmates started "dating," or I couldn't imagine what that motivation was (EW). I try to identify with my body not by moving or using it, but by admiring or wanting it.