Day 2
When brush strokes of brilliance illuminate the forehead of Your child, is it a kiss, a blessing, a promise?
Today, the light of His sun seemed to encourage me - loaned me strength. Loaned, until I would find strength under a barbell, and within the sound of leather striking leather.
Yesterday was ... well ... it was the dawn of midnight. But today was a new day. And despite the darkness I was wrapped in, every new day offers new experiences, and opportunities to draw closer to Him.
Walking into the gym, an index finger protested. It continued to wag at every weight, taking an opportunity to make it clear that it wanted nothing to do with the 4 sets, 10 reps. But I had recently discovered the pleasure of burning muscles - the sting of accomplishment, followed by the pounding heart celebrating its Divinely appointed mandate. Life!
Now, bearing an "official diagnosis", which the doctor had etched into my identity, the weights meant even more. They offered hope.
Isn't this strange? Here I am, a spiritual teacher, looking at a lump of metal as a source of hope and healing.
When I had completed the last set of dumbbell reps, I motioned to John.
What a loving man he is. So attentive to my needs.
I lay on a bench and reached up to the bar. John, my spotter, was ready.
My spotter. Would he one day be my caregiver?
I had never tried a bar press before. I wasn't sure if I could even lift the bar once.
Cold hardness in hands felt righteous - holy even. The bar came down to the chest, kissed the breast, and waited for a response.
It was as though the doctor's words, "I'm so sorry", words of defeat, were suddenly transformed into victory.
I thought of his words and responded, "Is that all you got? I belong to the King. Watch and see. See how He puts strength into this body's arms."
The bar went up, moved upwards in response to my thought. I lowered the bar.
I watched as the bar went up again. I was amazed and honestly relieved. I had been a bit worried that I might be pinned under its weight.
I imagined cold steel asking me, “What will you say when the bar of life's challenges is raised?”
I prayed. "Father, thank you for the challenge. Thank you for the strength to meet the challenge."
I let the bar go down to my chest.
As though it had heard my prayer, the bar increased its heaviness. It was as though the bar taunted, "You can't do this! What are you even trying for?"
And the bar went up.
God said, "You are tough."
When our workout was over, I felt like jumping up and down, running a five-mile dash, and catapulting over the Euphrates River! Hands shaking from the exertion of exercise, my fingers knocked together as though they were in the presence of greatness.
I walked out of the gym, one arm swinging like an athlete, the other hung by my side. I felt fantastic! I felt broken. Two shared one body.
A covenant.
Today, the light of His sun seemed to encourage me - loaned me strength. Loaned, until I would find strength under a barbell, and within the sound of leather striking leather.
Yesterday was ... well ... it was the dawn of midnight. But today was a new day. And despite the darkness I was wrapped in, every new day offers new experiences, and opportunities to draw closer to Him.
Walking into the gym, an index finger protested. It continued to wag at every weight, taking an opportunity to make it clear that it wanted nothing to do with the 4 sets, 10 reps. But I had recently discovered the pleasure of burning muscles - the sting of accomplishment, followed by the pounding heart celebrating its Divinely appointed mandate. Life!
Now, bearing an "official diagnosis", which the doctor had etched into my identity, the weights meant even more. They offered hope.
Isn't this strange? Here I am, a spiritual teacher, looking at a lump of metal as a source of hope and healing.
When I had completed the last set of dumbbell reps, I motioned to John.
What a loving man he is. So attentive to my needs.
I lay on a bench and reached up to the bar. John, my spotter, was ready.
My spotter. Would he one day be my caregiver?
I had never tried a bar press before. I wasn't sure if I could even lift the bar once.
Cold hardness in hands felt righteous - holy even. The bar came down to the chest, kissed the breast, and waited for a response.
It was as though the doctor's words, "I'm so sorry", words of defeat, were suddenly transformed into victory.
I thought of his words and responded, "Is that all you got? I belong to the King. Watch and see. See how He puts strength into this body's arms."
The bar went up, moved upwards in response to my thought. I lowered the bar.
I watched as the bar went up again. I was amazed and honestly relieved. I had been a bit worried that I might be pinned under its weight.
I imagined cold steel asking me, “What will you say when the bar of life's challenges is raised?”
I prayed. "Father, thank you for the challenge. Thank you for the strength to meet the challenge."
I let the bar go down to my chest.
As though it had heard my prayer, the bar increased its heaviness. It was as though the bar taunted, "You can't do this! What are you even trying for?"
And the bar went up.
God said, "You are tough."
When our workout was over, I felt like jumping up and down, running a five-mile dash, and catapulting over the Euphrates River! Hands shaking from the exertion of exercise, my fingers knocked together as though they were in the presence of greatness.
I walked out of the gym, one arm swinging like an athlete, the other hung by my side. I felt fantastic! I felt broken. Two shared one body.
A covenant.