Free shipping on all orders over $75🎄

It’s me, Lord.

Yes, me… on the dressing room floor. Oh, Sweet Jesus, you’ve seen me here before – in this shame and brokenness.

I know, starving, oppressed, and exploited humans. My summer wardrobe is low on your list of priorities. I am the worst.

Yes, I was here last year, and the year before.

Ok, every year since 1996.

It’s not in the Bible. Thou shall not swim. Thou shall not frolic half clothed in chlorinated waters. Thou shall use sunscreen. Why? Why aren’t you more specific? Just this one time, why can’t you forbid this activity? I can’t believe that is what I look like from behind?

Dressing room mirrors are not from Jesus. I am of the religious belief you are not supposed to see what you look like from behind. That’s the devil’s work.

If swimsuit shopping were done in a room with no mirrors, would I still contemplate my thighs this absorbedly? Is there any other body topic I scrutinize with this passion? And what is that fresh lump of fleshy hell above my knees?

Am I getting grosser?

Is there a scale for grossness? Is this a loss of elasticity or a flesh gain? I totally switched to Skinny Mochas in March, and how in hells bells is it June? How did that sacrifice not reap more benefits? If my husband cuts back from two to one beer the caloric deficit affords him a 40-pound weight loss. If I gave up food altogether and I only survived on shaved ice, there would still be blurbs of corpulent butt meat poking out of this industrial strength “sliming” lycra spandex vice.

And the slimming top pushes more stuff down and then the slimming bottoms push stuff up and I look like I have Russet potatoes randomly stuffed under different sections of this enormous purple tankini. Wait, that’s my boob. How did it get back there?

Oh, Jesus… I am going to cry again.

Please don’t let anyone come in here and hear me crying again.

Yes, that mall security guy was sweet, bless him. I need to get him a Starbucks card, he went above and beyond, escorting me to my car… calling Justin to make sure I got home safe. But I just knew this year would be different. Not just the Skinny Mochas, I did that thing with the sliced tomatoes and 4 almonds. OH! and I drank like a gallon of green tea and apple cider vinegar like every day? And I know I am 45, but how can I possibly look better buck naked than I do the second I strap on a swimsuit?

Am I swelling?

Is this a spandex allergy?

Does my flesh expand when it touches lycra? And if I am chaffing in this 4×4 dressing room what kind of hellish rash will I manifest by the end of August? The injustice. Remember? I switched to lettuce cups instead of taco shells? Where are those low-calorie credits, that martyr bit reckoned zilch?

Literally, my calves are the size of ordinary people’s thighs? My Viking breeding stock doesn’t bow to this season’s fun fashions. No, it lends more toward the pillaging of the Country Club Cabana’s snack bar and ripping the tanned and toned arms off young maidens in bikinis with tramp stamps lounging around the kiddy pool. They smartly sound off at their toddlers with hyper-metaphorical names, “Spurgeon, Runs-with-Fire, and Talula-Grace! Come eat your tofu-dawg!”               

And who is the mastermind designer that put these ENORMOUS flowers on this suit? I look like I am swaddled in the wallpaper from the nursing home where my great-great Aunt Bambi died in 1984. One of the only decent fitting suits had a massive bird of paradise decorated across the left DD cup. It looked like it could come alive and eat my face.

I know, you have a universe of troubles, but Jesus, help me.

Guide me in ways of the cosmos to something I can wear to a Labor Day picnic without having to be sedated?

Our Father, who art in Heaven… how are these my thighs?

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done… on the beach or swim club as it is in Heaven.

Give us this day our daily carrot sticks.

And forgive me those mashed potatoes and the other mashed potatoes before the last batch.

Lead me not into the junior section and deliver me from the evil of this dressing room.

For thighs are king size, the plumpest, and the grodiest ever. Amen

May your floors be sticky and your swimsuit just perfect!

Love, Jami

This post was originally published at sacredgroundstickyfloors.com.

So God Made a Mother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our new book, SO GOD MADE A MOTHER available now!

Order Now

Jami Amerine

Jami Amerine is a wife, and mother to anywhere from 6-8 children. Jami and her husband Justin are active foster parents and advocates for foster care and adoption. Jami's Sacred Ground Sticky Floors is fun, inspirational, and filled with utter lunacy with a dash of hope. Her blog includes topics on marriage, children, babies, toddlers, learning disabilities, tweens, teens, college kids, adoption, foster care, Jesus, homeschooling, unschooling, dieting, not dieting, dieting again, chronic illness, stupid people, food allergies, and all things real life. You can find her blog at http://sacredgroundstickyfloors.com/ or follow her on Facebook or Twitter and check out her podcast The Easy Wife.

This Will Not Last Forever

In: Faith, Motherhood
Woman looking at sunset

“This will not last forever,” I wrote those words on the unfinished walls above my daughter’s changing table. For some reason, it got very tiring to change her diapers. Nearly three years later, the words are still there though the changing table no longer is under them. While my house is still unfinished so I occasionally see those words, that stage of changing diapers for her has moved on. She did grow up, and I got a break. Now I do it for her baby brother. I have been reminding myself of the seasons of life again. Everything comes and...

Keep Reading

God Calls Me Flawless

In: Faith, Living
Note hanging on door, color photo

When I look in the mirror, I don’t always like what I see. I tend to focus on every imperfection, every flaw. As I age, more wrinkles naturally appear. And I’ve never been high maintenance, so the gray hairs are becoming more frequent, too. Growing up a lot of negative words were spoken about me: my body, my weight, my hair, my build. Words I’ve somehow carried my whole life. The people who proclaimed them as my truth don’t even remember what they said, I’m sure. But that’s the power of negative words. Sticks and stones may break our bones,...

Keep Reading

Your Husband Needs Friendship Too

In: Faith, Friendship, Marriage
3 men smiling outside

As the clock inches closer to 7:00 on a Monday evening, I pull out whatever dessert I had prepared that week and set it out on the kitchen counter. This particular week it’s a trifle, but other weeks it may be brownies, pound cake, or cookies of some kind. My eyes do one last sweep to make sure there isn’t a tripping hazard disguised as a dog toy on the floor and that the leftover dinner is put away. Then, my kids and I make ourselves scarce. Sometimes that involves library runs or gym visits, but it mostly looks like...

Keep Reading

This Is Why Moms Ask for Experience Gifts

In: Faith, Living, Motherhood
Mother and young daughter under Christmas lights wearing red sweaters

When a mama asks for experience gifts for her kids for Christmas, please don’t take it as she’s ungrateful or a Scrooge. She appreciates the love her children get, she really does. But she’s tired. She’s tired of the endless number of toys that sit in the bottom of a toy bin and never see the light of day. She’s tired of tripping over the hundreds of LEGOs and reminding her son to pick them up so the baby doesn’t find them and choke. She’s tired of having four Elsa dolls (we have baby Elsa, Barbie Elsa, a mini Elsa,...

Keep Reading

When You Just Don’t Feel Like Christmas

In: Faith, Living
Woman sad looking out a winter window

It’s hard to admit, but some years I have to force myself to decorate for Christmas. Some years the lights look a little dimmer. The garlands feel a bit heavier. And the circumstances of life just aren’t wrapped in a big red bow like I so wish they were. Then comparison creeps in like a fake Facebook friend and I just feel like hiding under the covers and skipping it all. Because I know there’s no way to measure up to the perfect life “out there.” And it all just feels heavier than it used to. Though I feel alone,...

Keep Reading

When Your Kids Ask, “Where Is God?”

In: Faith, Kids
Child looking at sunset

How do I know if the voice I’m hearing is God’s voice? When I was in high school, I found myself asking this question. My dad was a pastor, and I was feeling called to ministry. I didn’t know if I was just hearing my dad’s wish or the call of God. I was worried I was confusing the two. It turns out, I did know. I knew because I was raised to recognize the presence of God all around me. Once I knew what God’s presence felt like, I also knew what God’s voice sounded like. There is a...

Keep Reading

To the Woman Longing to Become a Mother

In: Faith, Grief, Motherhood
Woman looking at pregnancy test with hand on her head and sad expression

To the woman who is struggling with infertility. To the woman who is staring at another pregnancy test with your flashlight or holding it up in the light, praying so hard that there will be even the faintest line. To the woman whose period showed up right on time. To the woman who is just ready to quit. I don’t know the details of your story. I don’t know what doctors have told you. I don’t know how long you have been trying. I don’t know how many tears you have shed. I don’t know if you have lost a...

Keep Reading

I Was There to Walk My Mother to Heaven

In: Faith, Grief, Loss
Hand holding older woman's hand

I prayed to see my momma die. Please don’t click away yet or judge me harshly after five seconds. I prayed to see, to experience, to be in the room, to be a part of every last millisecond of my momma’s final days, final hours, and final moments here on Earth. You see, as a wife of a military man, I have always lived away from my family. I have missed many birthdays, celebrations, dinners, and important things. But my heart couldn’t miss this important moment. I live 12 hours away from the room in the house where my momma...

Keep Reading

God Sent Me to You

In: Faith, Motherhood
Newborn gazing at mother with father smiling down

I was a little unsure As I left God’s warm embrace: What will it be like? What challenges will I face? There were so many questions Running through my mind. I asked around for the answers I was hoping to find. Who will hold me And cuddle me tight? Who will rock me To sleep at night? RELATED: The Newborn Nights Feel As Endless As My Love For You Who will comfort me When I’ve had a rough day? Who will be there To take my worries away? Who will nourish me And make sure I grow? Who will read...

Keep Reading

Addiction Doesn’t Get the Final Say Over My Son

In: Faith, Motherhood
Woman praying with head bowed

She is so tired. It is a kind of tired that no amount of sleep or rest can alleviate. It is a kind of tired that surpasses physical and even mental fatigue. It is a tiredness of soul—a tiredness that comes from wondering, and grieving, and not knowing how to save her son from the drugs the enemy has bound him up in. She kneels alone on the floor in her bedroom closet. This is where she came when the fear and the uncertainty and the panic started to creep into her heart again. She came here to pray, though...

Keep Reading