Living up to my Privileges (or, why I do Yoga)

As I did Yoga at 4:45 this morning (yes, really, I had a busy day ahead), I got to thinking (as Yoga allows me plenty of time to do, with all that time you spend holding poses) about why exercise has become almost a form of worhsip for me. And I don't mean that in a sacriligious way. Yoga in particular is a physical form of prayer, not invented by Christianity, but as a Christian those are the prayers I offer as I do it, as I do when doing other forms of exercise as well. I offer a prayer of thanks to my Father in Heaven for giving me the precious gift of a body.

Psalm 139:14
I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvellous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well.

Our bodies are incredible! They can bend, they can flex, they can grasp, they can carve, they can build, they can lift, they can climb, they can hug, they can smile. They can create! They weren't given to us for no reason in particular. They serve a great purpose in our Father's Plan for us. I feel a strong motivation to care for this gift, rather than allowing it to collect dust. I love discovering what it's capable of, and pushing myself to discover it's limits. A longer distance run. A heavier weight lifted. A new dance routine mastered. It's a source of joy in my life.

I grew up as a chubby kid and an overweight teen. I was married in a size 20 wedding dress, and my highest weight was over 220lbs. I spent the first 2/3rds of my life out of shape, but with the birth of my daughter I wanted to be a better model of how to care for ones self, so I joined a gym. I got to my smallest weight ever, and then immediately got pregnant with Errol. I worried that I wouldn't be able to lose the weight a second time, but his birth shot that fear out the window. Raia had been delivered via emergency c-section, but Errol was delivered in a drug-free VBAC. Talk about a moment to discover how incredibly made our bodies were! My body did what it was especially designed to do, and did it well. It was one of those "I am woman! Hear me ROAR!" moments. The moment I looked at the clock in the hospital and realized that 24 hours had passed I started to cry, because I felt time carrying me irrevocably away from this incredible experience. And while my memory of it has since faded, the impression it left on me hasn't. Our bodies are a precious gift. Not to be taken for granted. They were created to do incredible things! I'm not so much addicted to fitness for the sake of fitness, as I am addicted to discovering all of the "fearful" and "wonderful" things my body was especially created to be capable of doing.

I love mythis body that my Father has blessed me with. The good and the bad. The pregnancy-stretched and scarred skin of my stomach, the lumpy scar on my inner thigh from a childhood bike accident, the muscle definition in my thighs and arms from so many lunges and push-ups, the silverered stretch marks on my hips from my teenage growth spurts, the spots on my arms and shoulders from summers spent in the sun, the blisters on my heels from my long runs, the laugh lines forming around my eyes and mouth. They are the marks of my human experience. I hope to aquire many physical marks of a life well lived for my Father to see when I return to His Presense. I want Him to see that I lived up to the privilege of having a physical body; and while age, illness, or accident may someday limit what my body is capable of doing, I won't self-limit myself.

It is a gift I intend to use to it's fullest.