Quick update: If you didn’t know, I’ve started a Substack. Going forward, most of my writing will be moved to Substack. There, you will find essays, poetry, and everything in between, as well as monthly updates and recommendations. I’d be honored if you’d subscribe.
Don’t tell my physical therapist or my husband but against their advice, I ran today. I knew it wasn’t wise considering my psoriatic arthritis diagnosis and my exercise intolerance (thanks to POTS).
My aching hips and ankles screamed at me almost immediately. I shushed them and kept going. I’m so tired of you holding me back, I told my body, as if it were something separate from me, something other, something that is of no use and only hinders me.
I made it only a quarter of a mile before my heart joined in the crying out with its 184 heart rate.
“Fine.” I slowed to a walk, catching my breath, feeling sick with over exertion.
I’m reminded today that our care for our bodies tells a lot about what we believe about them. This morning, instead of taking it slow like my body needed, I revealed my frustration with it. I just want my body to keep up with my mind. And because it so often doesn’t, I’m tempted to despise it. I want to run, but my body says no. I want to mow the grass, but my body revolts with a heart rate of 185, and dizziness steals my vision and my strength. Yet, this is the body God provided for me. The very one he knitted together in my mom’s abdomen. The one he calls good.
I’ve forgotten that my body is part of me—a gift given by a good God. That means my longing to toss it aside, to be free of my body itself and not just the sin that plagues it, is an inordinate desire. We were always meant to have bodies. Even our glorified bodies will be this one we live in now, only perfect, immortal (1 Corinthians 15:53).
We tend to fall into believing that our bodies, because they are marred by sin, are completely rotten like the fruit Eve ate. But the whole person includes both soul and body…
