Take Care of Your Body

My mom yelled at me this morning while we were talking on the phone. Before you start feeling sorry for me, don’t. She was right. (See, Mom. I can admit when I’m wrong!)

Lately, I’ve been having problems with my feet. (Bear with me, I promise there’s a point in all of this.) My feet have been hurting like never before and yesterday they were bluish in color. The answer may be poor circulation, high cholesterol issues, or Raynaud’s syndrome, which would explain why I love my warm and fuzzy socks so much. (The crazy colors are just a wonderful bonus.)

But Mom reminded me that I need to take care of my feet because she had pampered them for years when I was a child; exercising them after I was born with windblown feet to set them right, rubbing lotion on them, pampering them with kisses and Band-Aids when I scraped and cut them. And I’m sure there were countless times of wiggling and tickling my little piggies simply out of love.

She insisted I need to buy a new pair of GOOD walking shoes. (Okay, so my husband has been telling me this, too.) But Mom was reprimanding me because she’d taken responsibility for my young feet, had loved and cared for them before I could. When I was toddling around and banging into things, Mom was there to comfort and care for those bumps and bruises.

And isn’t that just like God? God has been there for me, for YOU, from the very beginning. He knitted us together in our mother’s womb in a miraculous and wonderful way. He watched over us, lovingly whispered to us, and has kept us safe in ways we are oblivious to on this side of eternity.

But now that we’re older, what are we doing with those bodies He knitted together? Are we abusing them? Forbidding times of rest because our to-do list is unrolling and stretching out the door? Are we stuffing them full of garbage because we don’t have the time, we don’t make the time, to fix the healthy stuff so we grab what’s fast and easy? Or are we passing on exercise because we just don’t feel up to it? How can we when we’re surviving on imitation cheese slices and bananas? (Side note: That used to be my actual breakfast many years ago.)

Take this little post as God “yelling” at you today, my friend. Lovingly, He is yelling at you and me. (Don’t feel bad, this is the second time I’ve been yelled at today!) We need to take care of our bodies, these gifts He meticulously knitted and crafted. He planned and worked together how you and I were going to look, the feel of our skin, the radiance and the blend of colors in our eyes, the texture of our hair. And He designed our bodies to work in ways I can’t even begin to comprehend. What right do we have to take the miracle of our bodies and frown upon them, viciously abuse them, or just blatantly ignore their needs?

We don’t have the right when we realize: They are His vessels to use, too.

“For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.” (Psalm 139:13 NIV.)

 “Don’t you realize that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit, who lives in you and was given to you by God? You do not belong to yourself, for God bought you with a high price. So you must honor God with your body.” (1 Corinthians 6:19-20 NLT.)

“My child, don’t reject the Lord’s discipline, and don’t be upset when he corrects you. For the Lord corrects those he loves, just as a father corrects a child in whom he delights.” Proverbs 3:11-12 NLT.)

 

Running Out of Steam

If you’re running out of steam, God may stop the train you’re on altogether.  He’s not doing it to punish you or hold you back.  He’s doing it to protect you.  He knows derailment can happen if you push forward too fast or out of sheer exhaustion.

As the train stops and sits idle, you feel antsy as if you’re wasting precious time staring out the window until God asks you to get off the train. He reaches out His hand to you and whispers, “Come to me.”

You take His hand, step down, and take a deep breath. Perhaps God wants you to look around because you may never pass this way again, and you don’t want to miss what He has for you in this very moment.

Maybe these tracks are leading you to something new, a new adventure with God, and you’re about to go through some major changes in your life.  Take a moment to relish the excitement, to hope.

Maybe it’s just been a long time since you’ve stepped away from the train to rest.  Take some time to catch your breath.  Breathe deeply.

Or perhaps the clinking of the wheels on the rails and the lonely echo of the whistle have been blocking out the still, small voice of God and He’s been trying to tell you something.  Take a moment to still your thoughts and listen for His voice.

As you’re holding His hand, standing a few feet from the tracks with the train at your back, relax.  The train is not going to leave without you. Focus on God.  Feel His hand gently holding your own.  Memorize the scent of autumn leaves mixing with the cold winter’s wind as it rushes to you from the horizon, the sunlight kissing your forehead.

Change is coming.  A new season is approaching.  Take it all in and cherish this time you have with God.

That’s why He stopped the train.  Not to discourage you or stop your momentum.  He simply wanted to take your hand and spend a little time with you.  He misses you when you’re rushing full steam ahead.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”  (Matthew 11:28 NIV.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Prison Cell

When something takes place in your life that really hurts you in the core of your heart, it can be devastating. You feel trapped in the moment, stuck in the pain.  You try to move past it.  You try to let go of it again and again and wonder why it still lingers, like a penetrating ache in your chest.

You realize the pain has walled you in, becoming a prison cell. At first you find comfort here:  the walls protect you from being hurt again.  They keep people away.  But soon you learn you’re only free to walk around in the confined space, reliving the conversations, the crushing moments, and the devastating blows to your spirit.  You relive each failure in your mind, the guilt and shame wrapping itself around you like the cold, musty air in your cell. And you can’t see anything new, nothing to hope for because the one window is boarded up, leaving only a crack of sunlight to shine through; that sliver of light hurts because you know the world is moving on without you.

You hear muffled sounds of laughter, joy. It stings because you can’t remember the last time you laughed a genuine laugh that welled up from within and spilled out; not the laugh you force because no one knows where you really are and you don’t know how to ask for help.

But maybe you finally do ask for help because you’re so tired of scratching the walls, of trying to dig your way out. You’re lying on the floor, exhausted from picking yourself up.  You cry out from your prison cell only to hear silence from beyond the bars.  You stare and wait.  But no one reaches in.

You fall to your face and beg God to help. You’re too tired to fight the darkness, the depression, alone.  The burden is too heavy to hold any longer.  A part of you breaks open and spills onto the floor.  You can’t do this alone, not this one.  Not this time.

You need God now more than ever and you tell Him. And when you admit it, when you speak it out loud, God holds you and whispers to your heart, “Let Me have it.”

Your first reaction is anger. You want to yell at God, argue with Him that you have already done that.  You’ve already given Him the entire situation again and again and He should know.

But He gently whispers, oh so gently to your wounded spirit, “Let Me have what’s in your hand.”

You notice your hand, the one you weren’t using to try and claw your way out, is tightened into a fist. And when you finally relax it, finally open it, you find a key.

You drop the key into God’s hand knowing you can trust Him and that He will protect you. As He unlocks the door and carries you out and into the light of a new day, you thank Him for rescuing you.  And you continue to rest in His arms as He holds you close and carries you forward.

“O Lord, I have come to you for protection; don’t let me be disgraced. Save me and rescue me, for you do what is right.  Turn your ear to listen to me, and set me free.”  (Psalm 71: 1-2 NLT.)

The Empty Chair

A writing teacher once taught that to create a fictional character you have to peel away the layers to get to the heart of the person. Like an onion.  Isn’t that how we are as real human beings?

We have a layer we show to the world. You know, the face you show in a busy grocery store or at a crowded department store.  The one that says, “I may nod at you or smile, but don’t talk to me.  I’m in a hurry.”  We have another layer we show to acquaintances, those we see from time to time and maybe ask, “How are you?” as we rush in the opposite direction hoping they don’t really want to talk.  Another layer we reserve for family and friends.  We let them in but only so far as to share what we’re comfortable sharing, but we hold back the rest because it’s guarded.  It’s too personal, too fragile to let anyone see.   It’s like this tiny room we have inside of us that we keep hidden because rejection of any kind here would be nothing short of annihilation.  So we quietly lock the door and pretend we don’t hear if someone knocks.

But God gave you that tiny room.  He is very aware of its location and everything inside.  Maybe that scares you because you’ve stashed some big-time mistakes under the floorboard or crumbled up a few regrets and tossed them in the corner, and you’re afraid He’s just going to drop by sometime.  Or perhaps you think it’s such a mess in there, you think you’ve really screwed everything up, and God wouldn’t dare step inside because it’s so NOT perfect.

You couldn’t be more wrong.  First, He will never come in uninvited.  Never.  He is so polite He always waits for an invitation.  And second, He designed that room.  And maybe you haven’t realized it yet, but it came furnished with two chairs.  One for you.  One for Him.

So when you’re exhausted and you come here to escape the world and all that’s wearing you down, not only do you get to rest, but you can hang out with God here. That’s what He wants, to take a seat on that empty chair and spend time with you.  Don’t worry about the mess.  Just unlock the door and let Him into that room, into that heart of yours.  Listen.  He’s knocking…and waiting for you to answer.

“Look at me. I stand at the door.  I knock.  If you hear me call and open the door, I’ll come right in and sit down to supper with you.”  (Revelation 3:20 The Message.)

The Eye of the Storm

I was talking to God about you last night.  I asked Him what He wanted to tell you, what you needed to hear.  We were about to watch a movie and during the previews a Scripture came to my mind, and I knew it was for you.

Jesus said, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

Maybe you’re overwhelmed, stressed-out, burned-out, or just plain worn-out right now, and you’re wondering how long is this going to last?  Do you feel like you’re in a storm, a chaotic rush of things needing done or people demanding more of you, and you feel you have nothing more to give?  Do you feel like it’s knocking the wind right out of you and you can’t breathe?

Jesus knows.  He sees you right now.  Imagine Him offering you His hand with this sort of expression that says, “Come here and catch your breath for a minute.  Rest with me.”

Maybe you’re wondering, “How can I rest?  I have too much to do.”

Let’s keep going with what Jesus said:

“Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.”    

Okay, what in the world?  A yoke?

A few years ago we went to an Amish farm and saw this massive, black ox yoked to a smaller one.  I had never seen an ox up close before nor had I ever seen one yoked to another.  When I started to pet the big guy, he turned so I could scratch his face in another area that must have itched (or maybe he wanted to get a better look at the woman who was “oohing” and “ahhing” about how beautiful he was).  Whatever the reason, when he turned, the little guy beside him did too.  Whenever the big guy stuck his mouth into the food trough, the little one had to follow along.

So I have to ask, who or what are you yoked to that is wearing you out?  What are you following?  The world?  Let’s narrow it down a bit…are you yoked to people instead of Jesus?  People may try to go easy on you but sometimes they’ll hurt you or overwhelm you.  Some may even load up the guilt if you don’t perform to their standards or do what they think you should be doing.  Not Jesus.  He’s “gentle and humble in heart.”  He’s not going to burn you out.  Why would He?  He loves you, and He doesn’t want to see you suffering with anxiety or panic attacks.  He has more for you.

But isn’t a yoke a form of bondage?

Jesus said, “For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

What?  Something that’s easy and light?  That doesn’t sound like bondage but freedom. If you yoke yourself to Jesus you’ll not only be able to breathe and the heaviness you’ve been carrying will be lifted off your shoulders, but you’ll be doing what you were created to do.  No more overload.  No more panic attacks.  Just like the eye of a storm, there will be peace like you’ve never imagined.  It’s as if God will hold back the world from burning you out like He held back the Red Sea.  No more guilt (unless you allow it), no more hives (unless you eat something you’re allergic to), and no more wondering what in the world you’re supposed to do with your life.  Jesus has it all.  All the answers and all the calm.  Yoke yourself to Him, and you’ll see and do things you never dreamed.

How do I know?  Because this wasn’t just for you…it was for me too.  And I’ve finally come to the eye of the storm.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”  (Matthew 11:28-30 NIV.)