Today, I sulked in a bathroom stall at the gym.
I couldn’t bear another moment of feeling my arms buckle as I struggled to finish that measly fifth rep on the dip machine. Exasperated, I crawled down and took a walk around the track, talking to myself.
“I can’t believe I’m still so weak.”
“I was such a beast!”
“I hope no one saw me struggling!”
Avoiding eye contact, I walked past two female personal trainers and I silently reminded myself that I was once like them.
Was.
I was once fit and powerful, throwing at least seven sets of 12-15 reps on just about any machine I wanted to, continually increasing the weight as needed.
Privately, I joked that one day I’d put together a video compilation of proof—footage from the various storage unit surveillance cameras that have recorded me over the years, moving heavy furniture and equipment by myself.
That’s who I was.
Ever since the miscarriage before my divorce nearly a decade ago, my muscles weakened beyond recognition. I felt like Sampson after Delilah cut his hair: betrayed, powerless.
While loitering the toilet this morning, I dabbed tears from my eyes. As I thought about all the yesterdays, I felt my powerless body prolonging the betrayal.
In shame, I started planning the quickest exit from the building.
Then I remembered the simple “good morning” note from my boyfriend claiming goodness over my day. It reminded me that I have control over my thoughts, my perspective. I could “woe is me” in the locker room or I could do something with this day in my life.
Yet, that something alluded me.
Then, a quote I’d read just before hitting the gym, hit me:
“Do not allow personal issues to distract or divert [you] from accomplishing His purposes.” (Quentin L. Cook)
The personal issue was clear, but what purpose did the Lord have for me that I was being distracted from today?
That’s when I heard my fifteen year old daughter’s voice calling to me from the other side of the door: “Mom, are you coming? I need you to show me how to use one of these machines.”
She had been waiting for me.
In that moment, the purpose became clear. It wasn’t about me anymore. I didn’t have the strength, but I had the know-how and experience to pass along.
Today, I couldn’t do seven-twelves, but…
I could model one nearly flawless chest press for my baby girl.
I could gently correct her form.
I could admire her strength and hereditary muscle definition.
I could celebrate her five-sevens.
Even when your strength is gone in some areas, and you doubt your worth, God can still use you just as you are.
He certainly used me today.
#letHimworkitout
#joyinthejourney
#pridemustfalltoliftothers
#39andstillgoingstrong
#mybuffbfisthebest
#mygirlisabeast
Originally posted on 2/21/2018