Painfully Aware

It is Wednesday, and that means blogging day! Hurray!

On paper, today wasn’t a great day. I went into my WeightWatchers meeting and, even though I’ve been working out for an hour and a half every weekday for the past two weeks, I gained 2.6 pounds.

In my past, gaining weight the week I started to work out was pretty normal.
I was just hoping it wouldn't happen this time. 

This is enough to make anyone upset; however, my entire body was also angry and aching because of my workouts. And the combination of weight gain and physical pain made me second-guess this whole sin-slaying adventure.

But only for about 2.5 seconds.

Yes, I was tired and hurting. Yes, I was angry at the scale (still am). BUT, this journey isn’t just about the physical weight. It is about the emotional weight I’ve been carrying around for so long, and the spiritual burdens that come from putting your hope in anything other than Jesus.

Which made me think for a bit.

This week, I’ve been focused mainly on the pain I’ve been feeling. EVERY MOVEMENT IS EXCRUCIATING. Even my morning latte isn’t worth drinking when I know how many lunges and crunches it will take to work it off later. But what I’ve really been aware of is the simple fact that I HATE physical pain.

I hate it. 

Avoiding physical pain in the gym has earned me a lot more pain (of a different sort) than was ever necessary. Had I continued to work out (and endure physical discomfort) in 2008, I never would have gained back the 55lbs I initially lost freshman year. But instant gratification always looks better than a little bit of hard work. And in return for a no-pain lifestyle, I have endured much emotional turmoil due to self-consciousness and a deep seeded hatred of my body. I’ve traded a little bit of physical pain, for countless moments of emotional agony.

There is also the concept of enduring pain for spiritual gain. I am comfortable with the thought of enduring hard circumstances in order to follow Christ. I am comfortable with the idea of being poor or living in a third-world country, or working with hurt, lost, and broken people. But the thought that following Christ might mean actual, physical pain isn’t something I ever really consider. It certainly isn’t something I’m comfortable with.

Sure, dying for Christ might be ok… if it is quick and relatively painless. But the idea of living daily life in physical pain because I am following Christ… never crossed my mind. And I certainly never thought that this physical pain would come from working out for Jesus.

Why is it that I am so comfortable with emotional pain, but physical pain seems unendurable?

Well, I have a couple of answers.

First of all, the enemy is real. He knows how much trouble an emotionally healthy Christian, who puts her trust in God, can be. I firmly believe that Satan wants me fat and miserable. He knows the reasons behind my eating. He knows that I turn to the pleasure and comfort of food instead of turning to God, and he wants to keep it that way. So he whispers the lies into my ears:

You can’t ever be thin (or even average size) like the other girls. You might as well stop trying.

No one would want you, even if you were thin. You might as well eat that cookie.

You aren’t good enough, or smart enough, or talented enough. Just keep hiding behind your weight. It is safer that way.

The pain isn’t worth it. It will never go away. Eat this instead. It won’t disappoint.

Eating that isn't REALLY sinful. You have to eat food to live. Please, continue to stuff your face with chocolate. 

The lies keep coming—packaged in whatever way is necessary to do the trick. And they have worked like charms for years.

Secondly, (I think this answer is a little harder to admit) I am comfortable with the pain that I know. I know how to be overweight. I know how to be a wallflower. I know how to joke about my appearance and not try too hard to look put-together. I know how to eat my way through an entire batch of cookies when I’m anxious. And the comfort of the familiar seems like an easier pain to endure than the pain of working hard in the gym and feeling the results in my tired, aching muscles.

But what does this pain mean spiritually? What does God want to teach me through my physical and emotional pain?

I read the crucifixion story today in Mark, and started to marvel at the amount of physical pain that Jesus willfully endured on the cross… all for me. I must admit I got a little convicted. I can’t imagine willfully allowing someone to nail me to a cross. Heavens, it takes every ounce of the strength that I have to do three sets of lunges, and that’s with Casey and Detchen cheering me on.

And it is worth noting that Jesus didn't care about the physical pain. What bothered him was separation from God. 

He chose ME, over pain and separation from God. 

I mean, I know working out isn’t really comparable to the crucifixion, but I’m trying to die to myself, and pursue Christ, and right now that looks like going to the gym, and eating healthy foods for sustenance, not pleasure. When I see what Christ was willing to endure for me, it makes me want to go do more lunges (well, kinda) and it makes me think differently about the pain.

I WISH I could look at the pain as a victory. A sensory trophy of sorts, but I can’t say I’ve made it that far in my journey. I’m afraid that I can’t say I’ve learned to enjoy the aching muscles.

Clearly, I am not as hardcore as this cat. 

What I can say is this:

The emotional and spiritual pain I’ve been in (for most all of my life) is far greater than the pain I’ve felt in my legs, and arms, and back, etc., this week. There is no physical pain that is worse than the emotional pain I felt during previous bouts of depression. Finally, if Christ can endure the cross for me, I can endure a lot of sweat and a tears for him. The pain is a good pain, and I won’t trade it in for Satan’s lies about instant gratification and the power of food. I’m painfully aware of the cost of following Christ. But I’ve counted up the cost. And he is worth it.

I’m still running after the prize, even though it seems 2.6 lbs more elusive.

Blessings,

Christy