It was 2007 or 2008, and I was sitting across the desk from one of the OB/GYNs in the practice I was going to. I’d just had my annual pelvic exam, but really good gynos check out everything, probably knowing that women aren’t great about scheduling annual physicals. All was well “down there,” but the weight was another matter. The doctor said, “Your BMI is way too high [probably around 33 or 34 at the time]. You need to get down to 135 pounds.”
I looked at him and said, “That seems unhealthily skinny to me. I’d feel more comfortable at 150.”
Fast forward eight years to when I started trying to lose weight by tracking my food intake and walking–a lot. One of my goals at the time was to be able–physically fit enough–to be able to do mission work if called. I wanted my body in good enough shape to handle the possible rigors of being the hands and feet of Jesus. Then fast-forward to now. Today I hit 150 pounds, and I feel like I’ve got another ten to go.
I haven’t been called to the foreign mission field. I haven’t gone to Costa Rica or Haiti to help build homes from earthquake rubble or repair a church. I haven’t even been called to do local mission work through a non-profit or with one of a church’s ministry partners. But I have been called to serve.
About two months ago, my maternal aunt died, and my mom is the executor of the estate. She’s under a tight deadline to get everything done, and it’s a lot for her to handle, even with Dad’s help. Last week I told her I’d come up to help. I sat on the floor for about half an hour inventorying my aunt’s extensive CD collection. I climbed up and down off a step-stool cleaning out her kitchen cabinets. I hauled boxes out. I used that same step-stool to bring items in my aunt’s closet down to lower shelves to make it easier for my parents to get to them when they were ready. It was three solid hours of a great deal of movement. Thing is, I wouldn’t have been able to do these things nearly so easily had I not dropped so much extra weight.
And it’s not just a matter of dropping weight. I’ve been practicing yoga since spring 2018 which has given me the flexibility and balance to sit on the floor (and get up) and climb on step-stool. My weekly weight training–much as I hate doing it–enabled me to have the upper body strength to haul boxes loaded with canned goods. The mission work that I envisioned being in foreign and exotic places took place two hours away in a lovely house in autumn. And it was good.
Sometimes we miss seeing where God is putting us because it’s not where we were expecting to go. Mission work, though, is simply being the hands and feet of Jesus, or sometimes the ears and shoulders of Jesus as we move about in our day-to-day.
