The Dangers of Exercise

I always laugh when people ask me if I run. (Some are actually looking right at me and can't come to a logical answer to that question!) Now, I run errands, and I run out of patience, but to say I physically move my legs quickly up and down, propelling my body in a forward motion....no- can't say that I do. I could probably work up a dash if a small child was in imminent danger of being hit by a speedy automobile, but short of impending death, not much would motivate me to run.

First of all, my body is not built for it. I don't have long, lanky legs. The adjectives to describe them would veer more to the side of short, fat and stumpy. Its not that with a little effort they couldn't become leaner, but lithe and willowy could never enter the picture. Lanky...graceful....NAW!!!

I also am a little top heavy. I'm afraid the Laws of Inertia might prove fatal if I got all of this bulk going at once and then was forced to halt rapidly. I just don't think I could make it all stop. It would be like the lead time a locomotive would need to stop for a bovine blocking the tracks. There's going to be a mess!!!

My top heavy tendencies would require a bra with the technology that would be capable of say...stopping a rocketship midflight. I know this from a near fatal experience I once had in an aerobics class. I was happily (okay- not so happily) doing jumping jacks, when I was accosted by some sort of wild criminal who was holding a knife to my throat. I got no demands for money (where would I be keeping it in the horrible exercise outfit I was wearing?), so I couldn't imagine what this thief might want. It was then that I realized that the underwire in my bra had cut loose and worked it's pointy way up to my neck. It's a lucky thing my terror froze me, because one more jumping jack and I could have experienced a fatal stabbing to the corotoid artery. Looking back on it all, I shutter to think how my obituary would have read. "MEMORIALS MAY BE DIRECTED TO PLAYTEX RESEARCH FOUNDATION''

Despite my reluctance to exercise, and the fact that it can sometimes be dangerous for me, I know that I need to do it. It is the same with exercising our faith. Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it's embarrassing to be vulnerable and put on the leotard of God and go traipsing off to Jazzercise . Sometimes we fall off the Step Aerobics stool and twist our ankles. When we try too hard, we may encounter a little pain, so we need to do the 'B' version of the exercise. (You know- the one that the perky, firm instructor demonstrates so that the fat girls can keep up with Suzy Showoff). That's okay though, because the effort makes the difference. As long as we keep trying, progress will be made and our faith muscles will increase. Slowly, but surely we can bulk ourselves up to Arnold size and stand victorious over the fat and flab of a weak faith.

The Best Fruit

I love getting inspirational e-mails, and since I am a girl, many of them have to do with encouraging us girl-like creatures. One of the most favorite ones I have ever gotten draws a parallel between women being apples and men being monkeys (or some other sort of climbing creature).

Anyway- it explains that women are apples and that the best fruit is at the top of the tree. Men (or monkeys, if you want to explore MY spin on it!) are afraid to climb that high for the best fruit for fear that they will fall or get hurt, so the big shiny apples at the top of the tree think they are not worth climbing for. In the meantime, the ravenous monkeys are chomping down the easy apples that are wormy and have fallen to the ground because, well, they're easy.

The little analogy concludes with the inspiration that women should realize their worth, and not worry about the lazy monkeys on the ground, but wait patiently for a bold, strong monkey to clamor to the top of the tree and pick her. It is the monkey that shows effort, ability and grace that she wants.

I wish I would have heard this little fable when I was younger. Despite the fact that my mom told me a thousand times to stay away from lazy, worthless monkeys, I found myself throwing myself to the ground because I wanted to be picked. I got wormy, and rotten and a little mushy on my underside, but lazy monkeys don't care. They'll eat whatever is offered, as long as they don't have to work too hard for it.

In trying to tie this analogy to something Biblical or inspirational, I struggled with somehow getting those rotten apples back up to their rightful standing at the top of the tree. I know my life reflects the fact that it is possible, but I couldn't quite make it all work within the monkey/apple context....until I thought of GRACE.

Grace is an unexplained gift from God that we don't deserve. With GRACE, anything is possible, so I don't have to wrack my little brain trying to figure out how to put wormy apples at the top of the tree in full splendor. God can do that in the blink of an eye, without much effort. He allows me to tell this ridiculous story, and end it the way it needs to be ended...because with Him, all things are possible.

So if you're a mush-bottomed apple, grab onto Grace and visualize yourself at the top of the tree, full and plump and shiny...and wait. Wait for that handsome monkey who is rooting around at the bottom of the tree to come to his senses and realize that the sweetest, best fruit is at the top. Swing in the breeze for awhile. Reflect the light of the Son and get those monkey's attention!

And if you're a monkey, stop eating rotten fruit and grab a branch. When you get to the top- savor the apple you pick and appreciate it for all the nutrition and sweetness it will bring to your life...and don't let go!

Feel No Pain

I recently was listening to a broadcast about a little girl who had the inability to feel pain. My first impression was that it would be wonderful to be free from the burden of being hurt, but as the story continued, it described the fact that this little girl would touch hot things and burn herself. She would break bones without realizing it. She chewed on the inside of her cheeks until she had huge sores. She suffered all the physical trauma, but was unaware that she was doing it. Her parents had to be on a vigil 24/7/365 because she simply did not know what things were dangerous and could lead to fatal mistakes. She was bandaged and scarred.

On the flip side of this ailment, without a sense of touch, she also couldn't feel the softness of rabbit fur, or the pleasure of her mother's kiss. She didn't feel the deep pile of carpet beneath her feet or the warm saltiness of the ocean on the beach. She couldn't feel a whisper of wind on her cheek as the warm sun beat down on her face. She missed out on the good feelings too.

In looking back over my life, I realized that many times I had gotten to the point where I wouldn't allow myself to feel the pain anymore. I put up walls. Blocked myself out emotionally from those who would hurt me, physically, mentally and emotionally. I was still getting hurt, and engaging in hurtful behaviors, I just didn't realize the consequences- even though I still suffered them on some level.

In doing so, I also missed out on love. I skipped over affection in search of safety. I toughened my skin, my heart and my mind until NOTHING could penetrate, but being bulletproof also meant loneliness. Being impenetrable was impossible, but I thought I was protected.

Once God entered my life, and offered me HIS full body armor, I realized I didn't need my own anymore. He provided me with all of the protection I needed. Slowly, I began to feel again. It's not to say that I don't still experience pain, but when I do, God is right there with a band-aid, the Bactine and a magic kiss that makes all the pain go away. The beauty of this situation is that now am flooded generously with laughter and smiles and warm, fuzzy feelings, so even the worst of boo-boos don't seem to hurt as much.