Whose Scale Is It Anyway?

I weigh myself every day on scales that don’t matter.

On a scale from toned-up-and-slimmed-down, I-am-rocking-my-skinny-jeans down to an overeating-unworked-out-blob of a body. From Aly-the-rock-star-grant-writer to Aly the failure, the procrastinator, the office imposter.

What scale do you weigh me on?






The fruit of the spirit. Faith. Steadfastness. Compassion. Generosity.

NOT how many muscles I can clearly identify in my wannabe six pack or how many reports I finish at work.

But maybe most of all, you don’t even weigh me.

I’m bringing out the scales and measuring tape and all you want to do is hug me. Be with me. Scoop me up in your arms because no matter how big or small I get or how many accomplishments I tick off on my running tally, your arms will be big, they will be warm, and they will be all encompassing. They are bigger than my sins. They are bigger than my shame. They are bigger than my doubts. They are bigger than the lies I tell myself and the truths I choose to ignore.

You curl up next to me and envelop me. When I don’t want to workout or work or think or process or engage or give. When all I want to do is rest and lay here, you surround me. You love me.


You are LOVE.


God, remind me of your scale. Remind me that your scale doesn’t weigh down, but builds up. Remind me to forget my scale and my striving.

Actually, today just bring me closer to your heart. To your weightless spirit.

Draw me close to you.


One thought on “Whose Scale Is It Anyway?

  1. A beautiful prayer of many women.

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