Thursday, August 2, 2012

Get My Massage On

What's with the 10-minute massage chairs at the mall? The ones where the therapist guys stand around, waiting. On one hand, I find it strange. I mean, right there in front of Macy's and Build-a-Bear... let's do this? But on the other hand, I'm tempted to plop myself down and have the guy massage it. I don't know, though. The whole face-in-the-hole thing stops me every time.

There's just no therapy like massage therapy. And it's always a treat for me because I get about one, maybe two a year. But we all have those fancy friends - where it's a lifestyle:

Mondays - tennis. Tuesdays - hot yoga. Wednesdays - hire personal shopper at Neiman Marcus. Thursdays - lunch date in Newport Beach. Fridays - massage in their home. Saturdays - massage at the spa. Sundays - massage under cabana rental. Repeat.

But I grew up old school style. My mom and I would watch Moonlighting while taking turns scratching each other's backs. Scratching... massaging... two different things. But wouldn't it be great if Glen Ivy added "back scratching" to their menu? I'm definitely onto something here.

So I recently got a professional massage - or as my little girl used to say, "fessional sammage." It was a good one, too. The lady was super natural and granola (modern hippy woman minus the drugs), so you just know she's in tune with my body and stuff.

And she'd soothingly say things like, "I'm reminding the muscles where they live." And my aunt, who also got one (and who has no business joking this way) said, "I wonder if she could remind other things where they live?" Mmm, gurrl.

However, on this day, this particular massage was like none other, for the therapist prayed before she began. Prayed? Yes. It was lovely. And it went a little something like this:

"God, thank you for Molly. Bless this time in which she gets to relax and zone out. Thank you for making our bodies so amazing. It's a miracle that they move and function the way they do - all the cells doing what they do so beautifully. And thank you for the gift of massage - a time of healing for our bodies. But you, Lord, are the healer of our soul. Amen."

She had me at "thank you for Molly," for I instantly relaxed and felt confident of this one thing:  that I was created wonderfully complex. And how God's workmanship is absolutely marvelous. (See Psalm 139:13-18.)

So what was that you said, Molly? You don't like your short forearms? Sick of the spider veins? Not a fan of your funky hair line? Lisp has got your tongue? All nonsense. I'm a working, breathing, exercising, laughing, shopping, eating (tripping, spilling, complaining, forgetting, sinning) creation of God's - a God who thinks precious thoughts about me. A lot of thoughts, too - more than the grains of sand in the sea.

As for the 10-minute massage chair guy? Not too sure I'll be taking him up on his offer to de-stress my shopping experience - prayer or no prayer. But as for the cabana-renting, glamourous friends out there? I can easily switch-out any of my days - either my Del Taco Thursdays or my two-minute-back-rub-by-husband-on-couch Sundays - to spend time with you.

1 comment:

  1. Molly I agree with you, massages are usually very relaxing...until you see the bill on your credit card a month later. Then you ask yourself, "Wow, was I really THAT stressed?"