This week I’m guest posting over at the Hoboken Grace blog as a part of the Direction Series.
Exercise class isn’t usually a place where I meet God.
I used to be one of those people who saw exercise as an instrument of torture, or a means to an end for maintaining weight. I had no natural athletic abilities, so I figured why bother trying to push my body to do something it doesn’t want to do? But slowly, as I’ve given new forms of exercise a try, I’ve begun to discover the benefits athletes seemed to be raving about all long.
Some of my friends who have a close personal relationship with God even talk about how they regularly worship or pray while exercising. There have been a handful of times that I’ve experienced the full pleasure of being alive, of being thankful for how God designed my body and what I have trained it to be capable of, but this is not my default.
I’ve had a complicated relationship with my body these last few years thanks to some significant health issues. I’ve moved through cycles of frustration and exhaustion to hatred to forgiveness and grace to hopefulness more times than I can count. Scripture says my body was “fearfully and wonderfully made,” but more often than not, it has just felt fearful. It has felt broken.