Just Move.
"It hurts so good".
This is how I feel about growing up, an activity I've been engaged in off and on for the past thirty-eight years. Nearly four decades of learning to move forward, albeit awkwardly, from one plateau to the next, all along assuming that there is a destination in which to arrive. It hasn't been until recently, I've realized there will not be a mountain-top celebration after which I live a mostly flawless existence, all-wise and without temptation, not on this side of Heaven. Several weeks ago, our pastor Adam Nagle said something that has stuck with me ever since. It was this:
"Growth is more about trajectory than it is destination"
A thousand times and for a thousand different reasons, I've set my sights on the destination instead of celebrating the small victories which inch me closer to it. When I do this, and when I inevitably either falter or the plan fizzles out, I slump down in the seat of perceived failure. The fact is, we will never achieve a plateau of perfection in our Earth-bound efforts. It simply isn't possible. This is why the destination isn't nearly as important as the direction we are taking.
Take for instance, exercise.
I have never been an athletic sort. All the way through school, I would dabble in a sport once every so often because it seemed the thing cool kids did, but when I did I would always lament over having to stay for practice after school when I could have been at home curled up eating a generous slab of Entenmann's Cheese Danish while watching The Facts of Life. Even though my father affectionately called me a "human garbage disposal" after watching me lick off the leftovers from my sister's plates after dinner, my metabolism covered my arse then and continued to until roughly two years ago when it decided to unfriend me. It no longer seems interested in helping me digest fatty foods in a timely manner as it used to or keep a lid on my muffin top. On top of that, I haven't been chasing after babies and toddlers any more as I did just a few years ago. And on top of THAT, I'm nearing forty and have felt generally lethargic, stuck and a little bit depressed (which is not typical for me).
When I first started feeling this way last year, I did what I always do: I picked myself up, gave me a good talking to and set out to conquer my physical stagnation by way of popular means. I marched into the local Y wearing my annual purchase of athletic gear in attempts to fool my body into thinking it liked fast, perpetual movement and I signed up for a myriad of classes with titles like "Body Pump" and "Cycle In The Dark 'Til You Die or Your Thighs Fall Off" (Ok, so I made up that last one, but that's what it felt like). For several weeks I woke up before dawn to subject my body to lifting weights and took the twins to childcare while going nowhere for miles on a bike that wanted to kill me. I can tell you (and I don't use this word lightly): I HATED IT.
And so I quit. Done. Nothing. I reverted back to doing nothing, while sipping coffee in the morning and wine at night (with a cup of water in between). It took two hands to get a handle on my belly flab and I died a little every time my one six year old twin would try to plant a noisy zerbert in it's folds. Gross. I had not reached a do-able destination, therefore, I stopped moving all together and wallowed around in the flubber. Another failure.
At the end of last year and the beginning of this, I was internally not doing well. Certain it was hormonal, I researched all kinds of things. I felt I was running behind the pack in all aspects of my life, looking around at women with more children than I, more obstacles in their way who were running CIRCLES around me and wondering how the heck to get out the slump I was in. It felt as though all I could do was stare as the world whisked around me.
It was during a low, low day...when my family was tip-toeing around me because as hard as I was trying, I just couldn't stop my spot-on Cruella DeVille impersonation...that I finally thought to consult the One who made me over the state of my physical and emotional affairs. Imagine that! Checking in with the Originator of the concept of ME! Not a popular movement, not a well-known fitness/wellness guru or an article with a zillion likes on Facebook. The God who designed my DNA told me, indirectly but very clearly, two things:
1. Stop your nightly glass(es) of wine
2. Just start moving. Don't try and be a rock-star in the gym. Find a way that works for you, and start moving.
And so I did. This time, however, I did not start with a bang. I didn't set out to be superstar. I took time to consider my wiring, the ways in which I am predisposed to forming a habit. When it comes to physical exercise, I've come to understand I must approach it in baby steps and outside of a group atmosphere. While I think the concept is great, and love seeing it work for others, I simply don't like sweating profusely and concealing heavy breathing from people immediately to my left and right. Additionally, my body begged me not to wake up early and push it into an activity that required any quicker motion than my arm moving a coffee to and from my mouth. There was and is not a destination set of losing a certain number pounds. I was careful to clarify to myself why I was doing this: to feel healthy, to feel ALIVE again.
I am now on week three of at least three times a week making beeline to the treadmill at the gym, earbuds affixed for either listening to Tim Keller (he's so articulate!) or to watch my good friends, Chip and Joanna (I want to relocate to Waco) on the complimentary TV. I do not focus on the 70 year old sprinting beside me and I try not to judge pay attention to the 20 year old in skin-tight workout wear with an iphone10 stuck in her bra (seriously? you look ridiculous. and way too sexy). I do not obsess over the paltry amount of calories I am burning or the amount of miles I am walking. I am simply MOVING, which was what I was told to do if I wanted out of the muck. As it turns out, my endorphins had been in hibernation for a long time and in desperate need of a walk around a block.
This unimpressive but consistent pattern - even with a few hurdles in scheduling- has made a HUGE difference in how I am feeling. Everything is coming back into focus again. My thinking has a new level of clarity. My awareness is sharper. My sleep is sounder. And even though I still pine for my nightly glass of Cab (*tears* I miss you too Reisling!), the overall affects of following two simple directives is distinctive enough to keep me moving forward with my now nightly cups of Harney and Son's Fine Teas (I will learn to love tea, I will learn to love tea). It turns out, on both accounts in my life, God knew what He was talking about. Fancy that.
I write about exercise yet the concept of growth and success being about the trajectory more than the destination applies to every other area of my life. My marriage, motherhood, friendships, how I approach my dreams and handle my disappointments. We are living in an age where instant mastery is preferred and perfection is implied. Neither are realistic when it comes to fallible human beings who require SPACE and GRACE to grow up and into who God intended and nothing can rush what takes time to carefully cultivate.
We can, and absolutely are wise to first consult the Maker of us on how to move forward. We can be sure, in one way or another, he will answer. Likely, the answer will involve some form of moving, taking steps forward be they literal or physical, large or little. His end goal is not to have us be perfect and neither should it be ours. His goal is to grow us closer to the place where we are freed from what is holding us back so we can move with freedom to use the gifts He has given us. We will take forward steps and we will take plenty of steps backwards towards the destination that we do not yet have the eyes to see.
The important thing is to grasp onto Grace and move forward. One imperfect step at a time.
(If you haven't already, watch what Steve Harvey has to say about that HERE. He says "jump", but it's the same meaning as "move". It is absolutely worth your time).
This is how I feel about growing up, an activity I've been engaged in off and on for the past thirty-eight years. Nearly four decades of learning to move forward, albeit awkwardly, from one plateau to the next, all along assuming that there is a destination in which to arrive. It hasn't been until recently, I've realized there will not be a mountain-top celebration after which I live a mostly flawless existence, all-wise and without temptation, not on this side of Heaven. Several weeks ago, our pastor Adam Nagle said something that has stuck with me ever since. It was this:
"Growth is more about trajectory than it is destination"
A thousand times and for a thousand different reasons, I've set my sights on the destination instead of celebrating the small victories which inch me closer to it. When I do this, and when I inevitably either falter or the plan fizzles out, I slump down in the seat of perceived failure. The fact is, we will never achieve a plateau of perfection in our Earth-bound efforts. It simply isn't possible. This is why the destination isn't nearly as important as the direction we are taking.
Take for instance, exercise.
I have never been an athletic sort. All the way through school, I would dabble in a sport once every so often because it seemed the thing cool kids did, but when I did I would always lament over having to stay for practice after school when I could have been at home curled up eating a generous slab of Entenmann's Cheese Danish while watching The Facts of Life. Even though my father affectionately called me a "human garbage disposal" after watching me lick off the leftovers from my sister's plates after dinner, my metabolism covered my arse then and continued to until roughly two years ago when it decided to unfriend me. It no longer seems interested in helping me digest fatty foods in a timely manner as it used to or keep a lid on my muffin top. On top of that, I haven't been chasing after babies and toddlers any more as I did just a few years ago. And on top of THAT, I'm nearing forty and have felt generally lethargic, stuck and a little bit depressed (which is not typical for me).
When I first started feeling this way last year, I did what I always do: I picked myself up, gave me a good talking to and set out to conquer my physical stagnation by way of popular means. I marched into the local Y wearing my annual purchase of athletic gear in attempts to fool my body into thinking it liked fast, perpetual movement and I signed up for a myriad of classes with titles like "Body Pump" and "Cycle In The Dark 'Til You Die or Your Thighs Fall Off" (Ok, so I made up that last one, but that's what it felt like). For several weeks I woke up before dawn to subject my body to lifting weights and took the twins to childcare while going nowhere for miles on a bike that wanted to kill me. I can tell you (and I don't use this word lightly): I HATED IT.
And so I quit. Done. Nothing. I reverted back to doing nothing, while sipping coffee in the morning and wine at night (with a cup of water in between). It took two hands to get a handle on my belly flab and I died a little every time my one six year old twin would try to plant a noisy zerbert in it's folds. Gross. I had not reached a do-able destination, therefore, I stopped moving all together and wallowed around in the flubber. Another failure.
At the end of last year and the beginning of this, I was internally not doing well. Certain it was hormonal, I researched all kinds of things. I felt I was running behind the pack in all aspects of my life, looking around at women with more children than I, more obstacles in their way who were running CIRCLES around me and wondering how the heck to get out the slump I was in. It felt as though all I could do was stare as the world whisked around me.
It was during a low, low day...when my family was tip-toeing around me because as hard as I was trying, I just couldn't stop my spot-on Cruella DeVille impersonation...that I finally thought to consult the One who made me over the state of my physical and emotional affairs. Imagine that! Checking in with the Originator of the concept of ME! Not a popular movement, not a well-known fitness/wellness guru or an article with a zillion likes on Facebook. The God who designed my DNA told me, indirectly but very clearly, two things:
1. Stop your nightly glass(es) of wine
2. Just start moving. Don't try and be a rock-star in the gym. Find a way that works for you, and start moving.
And so I did. This time, however, I did not start with a bang. I didn't set out to be superstar. I took time to consider my wiring, the ways in which I am predisposed to forming a habit. When it comes to physical exercise, I've come to understand I must approach it in baby steps and outside of a group atmosphere. While I think the concept is great, and love seeing it work for others, I simply don't like sweating profusely and concealing heavy breathing from people immediately to my left and right. Additionally, my body begged me not to wake up early and push it into an activity that required any quicker motion than my arm moving a coffee to and from my mouth. There was and is not a destination set of losing a certain number pounds. I was careful to clarify to myself why I was doing this: to feel healthy, to feel ALIVE again.
I am now on week three of at least three times a week making beeline to the treadmill at the gym, earbuds affixed for either listening to Tim Keller (he's so articulate!) or to watch my good friends, Chip and Joanna (I want to relocate to Waco) on the complimentary TV. I do not focus on the 70 year old sprinting beside me and I try not to judge pay attention to the 20 year old in skin-tight workout wear with an iphone10 stuck in her bra (seriously? you look ridiculous. and way too sexy). I do not obsess over the paltry amount of calories I am burning or the amount of miles I am walking. I am simply MOVING, which was what I was told to do if I wanted out of the muck. As it turns out, my endorphins had been in hibernation for a long time and in desperate need of a walk around a block.
This unimpressive but consistent pattern - even with a few hurdles in scheduling- has made a HUGE difference in how I am feeling. Everything is coming back into focus again. My thinking has a new level of clarity. My awareness is sharper. My sleep is sounder. And even though I still pine for my nightly glass of Cab (*tears* I miss you too Reisling!), the overall affects of following two simple directives is distinctive enough to keep me moving forward with my now nightly cups of Harney and Son's Fine Teas (I will learn to love tea, I will learn to love tea). It turns out, on both accounts in my life, God knew what He was talking about. Fancy that.
***
I write about exercise yet the concept of growth and success being about the trajectory more than the destination applies to every other area of my life. My marriage, motherhood, friendships, how I approach my dreams and handle my disappointments. We are living in an age where instant mastery is preferred and perfection is implied. Neither are realistic when it comes to fallible human beings who require SPACE and GRACE to grow up and into who God intended and nothing can rush what takes time to carefully cultivate.
We can, and absolutely are wise to first consult the Maker of us on how to move forward. We can be sure, in one way or another, he will answer. Likely, the answer will involve some form of moving, taking steps forward be they literal or physical, large or little. His end goal is not to have us be perfect and neither should it be ours. His goal is to grow us closer to the place where we are freed from what is holding us back so we can move with freedom to use the gifts He has given us. We will take forward steps and we will take plenty of steps backwards towards the destination that we do not yet have the eyes to see.
The important thing is to grasp onto Grace and move forward. One imperfect step at a time.
***
(If you haven't already, watch what Steve Harvey has to say about that HERE. He says "jump", but it's the same meaning as "move". It is absolutely worth your time).
Comments
Thanks for giving me food for thought today, and for humbly sharing your heart with us.
As many of my peers are into marathons and such, I see a steady stream of fitness posts and pictures on Facebook. Something in me cries out, "STOP your infernal running!" I think I got burned out in cross-country. In high school. You know, 18 years ago. It takes me a while to get over stuff, apparently.
These days if I'm going to commit exertion to something it had better be herding dust bunnies under my bed or scrubbing smudges off of my walls, or in the warmer months, pulling weeds. Not that I am on-top of those things, but theoretically that is what I should be doing. I do long for a gym membership though, but mostly so I could claim child-free hours and swim lazily, tricking myself into believing that I exercise.
I am not a fan of exercise in any form....I hate being hot and sweaty. I remember the days of eating and not wearing any and all food in large amounts. Oh, how I miss those days. You are wise to seek God and then follow his instruction, "go figure" is about right.
I'm trying to get moving as I approach the big 60 in 2016!!! Better to nip it in the bud at 40, trust me, it doesn't get easier AT ALL.
Thanks for the encouragement, always enjoy stopping by..
Hugs!