God Is Not Concerned With the Number on Your Scale
I’ve been at war with my appearance for longer than I care to admit. Weight, age, shape, strength, speed — there’s always been something I’ve told myself isn’t enough. I’ve felt physically lacking for most of my life. Now, as a woman in her forties, I’ve been hit with the double whammy of worrying about the scale and shouldering shame from seeing the signs of aging that creep across my face and neck.
The five pounds I’ve been trying to shirk for the last six months won’t budge, all the old tricks from my youth seemingly fail me. The lotions and serums I’m smearing around my eyes and under my chin are busting my bank account. They’re also not changing the creased skin that looks back at me in the mirror.
It all feels like a losing battle. . .
On a morning walk to Starbucks one Tuesday, I hear God ask, “What do you value? Do you think your shape is why I love you?” These are not the prophetic words I want. Still, they cause me to relax a bit . . . like I’ve put down a load I didn’t even know I was carrying. Maybe this is the weight that’s been tipping the scale every time I step on it? Maybe these are the five pounds I’ve been trying to shed?
Shedding spiritual weight isn’t easy, though, so I push back at God. “You’ve got the wrong person, God,” I say, sounding like Moses when God asked him to do something he didn’t think he could do. Change is ahead, but I’m not sure I want to shed these emotional five pounds. Can’t I just lose the weight from my thighs and arms instead? Those are the real problem areas, not this bigger thing He’s trying to turn me toward.
The truth is an unholy confession: I want my body to change, not my heart. Even as I resist, I think about Adam and Eve naked in the garden. Peaceful. Open. Without mirrors. Without scales. Without denim that shrinks with every passing wash and year.
To finish reading this post, click here and join me today at Incourage.
Sign up here to receive free notes from (in)courage, delivered daily to your inbox!
