Bringing Faith to Life
Posts tagged exercise
Stretch to strengthen: pain of a healing sort
01 year
by wlebolt
in Body, Call to Action, church, Deeper Sensation, faith, In Action, Made to Move, prayer, witness, writing
No one really wants to be stretched. At least not too far, and definitely not when the stretching goes beyond what feels comfortable.
There’s just a certain out-of-control-feeling when someone is pulling you and you don’t know how far they will go, or even if they will stop. If you have ever had physical therapy after an injury or surgery, you know exactly what I’m describing. It’s painful but it’s pain of a healing sort. It helps recover your range of motion, and once you have that, the strengthening can begin. Then you’re on the road to return to action.
While there lots of ways to strengthen — exercise machines, dumbbells, pulleys, weights — it’s likely that when you earn your discharge from the PT gym you’ll be sent home with a lovely parting gift called a resistance band. It’s meant to be your home exercise companion. And it comes with a wonderful secret: When you stretch it, it strengthens you.
I know that sounds a bit counterintuitive, but it’s true. When you pull, it resists, gently. As you pull harder, it stretches, slowly. The harder you pull, the more it stretches and the more that strengthens you. This feels very much like life these days and, to me, very much like the life of faith. Body and soul engaged in a give-and-take which feels very much like exercise.
Apparently, my approach is a bit atypical. While most faith-folk tend to start with the soul and then invite the body along, when I begin with body, my soul always comes along for the joy ride. *
Try for yourself. Here’s a simple prayer routine using the “exercise” band and the words to the praise song, Spirit of the Living God. My daughter Stephanie’s lovely voice accompanies me.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mse98SpD1v4]
The movement is prayer. The words are prayer. The music is prayer.
But even better, even after the prayer-exercise is done, the sensation of prayer remains… in the body! The muscles that moved the band — the effort, the stretch, the exertion of prayer — reverberate and reiterate: melt me, mold me, fill me, use me. Literally, the prayer is still there.
This is too good to be true, right? Try it again. Become aware of the energy, the symbiosis, the connection of stretch to strengthen. Let your body prayer become fluid, flowing one motion into the next. Body and soul, together. Who could conceive of something so powerful and yet so simple?
*My thanks to the folks at the Upper Room for honoring my unusual approach and inviting me to join them to lead worship at SOULfeast 2013.
Creative Juices
3Where do creative juices come from?
This is my question as I plod along a very familiar path. Foot by ever-loving foot, sneaker meets pavement. The feet move slower than molasses but the brain is another story. Literally.
My brain whirrs with ideas, putting things together that I never thought knew each other. Suggesting solutions. Sketching plot. Outlining. Organizing. Energizing. What had no life when I stepped out the door now seems like the best idea ever. Strategy meeting serendipity all along my way.
If this only happened once, I’d dismiss it as lucky and be on my way. But it always happens. It’s as reliable as the sunrise and as remarkable as stumbling on an old friend you haven’t seen in 30 years. It emerges out of nowhere, but yet it doesn’t. And the odd thing, and this honestly seems unfair, is that calling it up is entirely within my control — even as it has a mind of its own.
This creative swirl waits for me … to let it. To let it in. To let it happen. To let it dance and sing and have its way with me. All I have to do is move. To take this old body out for a spin and see what shows up.
No equation for success here. No requirement of “this many minutes before the endorphins kick in.” No exclusion clause stating “only works after six weeks,” or “must be fit to apply.” No, this is not an exercise device; this is a bodily device. A gift my body gives me when I love it enough to take it out of the box and play with it for a while.
It plays back. And we have a fine time. Let’s do this again, we say, and then we do. And whatever I’ve brought with me sorts itself out. Creatively, with all the juicy parts included.
So juicy, in fact, I run for pen and paper the minute I hit the door. Don’t even bother finding my reading glasses, I’m in such a hurry to get things in writing before they disappear into the distraction of the rest of my day. If my scribbles are a bit hard to decipher later, well, that’s part of the puzzle of fun, too.
If you’re ready to let your creative juices flow or maybe give ’em a bit of a kick start, my book, Made to Move: Loving God through our Bodies will give you 6 weeks of mind and body activities to get you going.
It’s NOT an exercise book. It’s a movement opportunity. See you along the path!
On Eagles Wings
0“It’s a fun run. We all have to do it,” Jaylin told me. “You should come.”
So I did come, not to run but to watch. Not just to watch but to help. On my arrival, they were breaking for lunch, so I set out along the course marked out, intending to pick up random discards: cups, juice pop wrappers, and other assorted trash. Wouldn’t want the kids to trip and fall.
As I walked, I also read the signs. Professionally printed on foam boards and stuck in the ground like political placards, personalized signs urged kids on in their running. Each sign had been purchased for $10 – this was a fundraising event. This elementary school, classified a Title I school, is in an impoverished neighborhood. These families didn’t have extra cash. Someone who loved these children paid for the privilege of encouraging them.
As I walked I read. As I read, I prayed. As I prayed, I shed tears. Oh, the love of these parents, grandparents, aunties and uncles. I wondered about each little one’s story. I spoke thanks into the spring breeze for these teachers and administrators who had purchased signs encouraging these kids.
And then out came the next batch of kids, full of energy and enthusiasm, cheering for themselves and their classes.
“Parents,” the teacher with the microphone said, “you can spread out anywhere on the course.”
Though not a parent to these children and yet with no volunteer position assigned, I seized the opportunity to head out onto the course – ALL the way to the fence, clear across the field, to the middle of the backstretch. I was alone there. Just me, the backstop, two big trees and the soccer field beyond the fence.
Then, here came the kids!
I clapped, shouted and whooped as they came by. Some smiled, some looked away, and some pretended not to notice. Next time around, I offered high fives: “High fives! Free high fives! A little extra energy…who needs a little extra energy!”
Now really here came the kids. They would re-route to slap me five, cut off classmates, even, to swing near. A few slowed to a walk to get a “re-charge.” I learned a few of their names. Plenty complained that their stomachs were hurting, it was hot, they were exhausted. Some of the walkers began jogging when they saw me. A few stayed wide and clear of traffic to get in as many laps as possible.
Some walked and read each sign. Looking for theirs. A teacher had stopped to take 
Alexandra’s picture next to hers – I’m sure to be able to share with the family – but now kids were asking, “Where is MY sign?” “Can you help me find my sign?”
I had counted about 75 signs, but there were hundreds of kids.
I was their sign… “You can do it!” “Look at you go!” “Way to keep up the pace!” Way to keep going!” “Whoa, you’ve run how many laps?!””I’m so proud of you!”
Free high fives, free energy, free encouragement. That’s all I had. Nothing for sale. Everything to give. Cost me nothing. And it filled me up.
Suddenly, one little first grader came ’round the bend. I held out my high-5 hand but instead she grabbed me around the middle and held me tight, for just a second, before jogging on.
Oh my. Filled to the very brim. What had I done to deserve this plenty?
I cajoled the last three girls to complete their last lap. One jogged, one walked, one made me wait saying she didn’t want to run…and then sprinted ahead of me shouting, “I bet I can beat you!!”
And so they did. So they all did.
I watched them enjoying their juice pops and meandered by. Not a soul noticed. Not a soul cared.
I looked again at those fund-raising signs, with names of these little ones printed in colorful ink, all in a row along the course they had run. They had run and not grown weary, walked and not grown faint.
but those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength,
they shall mount up with wings like eagles,
they shall run and not be weary,
they shall walk and not faint. ~ Isaiah 40:31
What had first looked like tombstones set in a row, now looked like runways set for take-off. Even the crazy guy, Rob, who advertised “best deals on cruises” by donating 10 bucks to the cause must have known what I now know, that Alta Vista Eagles are meant to soar.
What a privilege it is to witness them take flight.
Along the way
0I’m walking to yoga class. It’s not far, maybe half a mile. I’ve left enough time. No rush.
Coming ’round the bend, a car slows and the driver peers out the window. I know her from yoga class. She’s offering me a ride, which I decline. She continues along her way and I along mine.
Ahead of me, I see another classmate exiting her house and striding along the sidewalk. See? Another walker, plenty of time… but she is quickly pulling away, must not have seen me, must be in a hurry, may be in a mood.
Oh but…Look up at the cotton white clouds that decorate Carolina blue skies. There, the egret stands in the tall shore grasses. Sweet lily pads wave at me as I cross the bridge, a ruddy duck floats among them. Is that a heron just flying overhead? Of course, there are those noisy black ravens, cawing, cawing and oh my, the squawk, the shudder, the screech of those hilarious Sandhill Cranes, always in two’s. Keep away from our nest!
I arrive at yoga, find a spot and settle in on my mat. After class I thank my neighbor who had offered the ride. “I like to walk,” I tell her, hoping she’s not offended.
“Oh, I like to walk, too,” she says. “Three times everyday. We do our 10,000 steps.”
Is this what walking is now? To be quantified, measured, and recorded? Have we squeezed out all the juice and found the pulp sour but good for us? Oh, if we could only see ourselves, see in ourselves, to see for ourselves all the signs and wonders and magnificent gifts at our very door step.
Oh, the places we’d go if we realized the places we are.
Stuck in the middle
0That moment when you’re
r e a c h i n g
as far,
no, farther
than you’ve ever reached before.
Just a little. bit. more.
S T R E T C H I N G
further,
and further,
closer than you’ve ever been before.
Your thighs are burning
oh, it h u r t s,
but that’s how you get there.
Maximum separation,
until it flattens on the floor.
That moment when you’re
. S T U C K .
Can’t go further.
Can’t get out.
Can’t get up.
One foot gone right,
the other so far left,
past pulling back, and well beyond shouting distance.
Here in the middle it’s
…aaaagonizing… and (embarrassing)
Must. choose. now.
rip and crumple,
turn and topple,
… S l i i i p p p i n g…
Now what?
Lift and pray.
Why do we wait?
Love wants to answer.
But true love waits
to be asked.
Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.
~ 1 Corinthians 13: 4-8
Doing the Shuffle
08 years
I walked past the shuffleboard courts this morning. Empty, as they have been since I arrived and as I trust they will be when I leave. It’s an old person’s game, I guess. No cue’s or disks around or I might have taken a turn, just to see if I could still gauge the distance and the speed to stop the disc right where I wanted. Whether I still had the touch, the finesse and the feel of the game.
Are we even teaching that these days? The touch and the finesse? The give with the take? The push and the pull? Where do we develop the moderate hand that senses just how much is needed to nudge the other aside but leave my disk centered in the scoring triangle?
“Stay off the courts” it says. Oh, okay.
I suppose it’s a game for old men, a pastime whose time has passed. Maybe it’s moved indoors where folks don’t have to deal with the sand and the sun and the gawkers passing by.
I’ll come by later and see if I can find a game.
walk the walk and let ’em talk
0
After three long days of sitting in scientific meetings telling me Americans don’t get enough exercise, I skip out the front door of the convention center and into a city I don’t know and turn right. Weaving my way around pedestrians, past store fronts, around tree stumps, over uneven cobblestones, I swing wide to navigate past a woman walking her dog.
Smitten, of course, it’s a sweet old dog, I pause to greet the lumbering black and white beast and smile at his owner who is gamely trying to pull her charge along. He’s being a bit contrary, ambling begrudgingly despite his master’s prodding.
The woman looks at me and back at the dog. “See?” the woman says nodding in my direction,”She’s sporty. We all need our exercise.”
I’m sporty, apparently, because I go for a brisk walk in sneakers and track pants. I speak exercise to those I pass, not in a ‘you should be’ way but a ‘don’t you wanna?’ way. This woman and I have never met, but one look tells her a lot and speaks even more.
Oh, the irony, as there are thousands of sport science experts just around the corner at the convention center, presenting their findings, debating the details, and lamenting the sad state of the health and fitness of the people in their communities. Ah, progress marches on and science with it. Knowledge is powerful, but what about the power of practice?
If we walk the walk, words are optional.
Firm Outside, Flexible Inside
08 years
Inflexible, rigid, immovable, carved in stone…There’s a place for these, but in me is not that place. I’m meant to give. My body says so.
I’m meant to be flexible, able to bend against the storms of life and not snap.
I’m meant to be supple, easily folded, twisted and worked into shape.
I’m meant to be elastic, stretching without breaking as forces threaten to pull me apart.
I’m meant to be pliable, yielding to hands that refine and reshape as I’m put to use.
The world may call me a pushover, accusing me of giving way too easily, hesitating too much, bending too readily. “Stand firm for your convictions or the steamrollers of progress will flatten your good intentions, your bleeding heart, and your diplomacy,” it exhorts. “Dig in your heals and learn how to take a punch without flinching!”
That’s just not me. I’m made to bend, flex, stretch and yield. I’m meant to give so I don’t break, perhaps especially because my toes are wedged firmly under the cornerstone who is unmovable, firm and uncompromising.
In a world that seems often to spin out of control, it is good to know there is a place for solid rock.
All else is sinking sand.
Life is a Workshop
0“Life is a workshop; the crafting of our soul is our own work to do. We are all pieces of creation, of clay, into which we are asked to breathe life. It is ours to work that clay.”
~ Dee Dee Risher in The Soulmaking Room
Work that clay…
Not, take that clay to the gym and work up a good lather.
Press, Pull,
Twist, Lift,
That’s designed to work out.
Squeeze every ounce
into the juice glass to be consumed.
Work that clay…
Meant to work something in.
Blend, Knead,
Roll, Shape,
To reach the consistency just right
for baking.
Broken that we might be given.
Use it or Lose It, It’s Biblical!
09 years
Use it or lose it! We didn’t invent the phrase. It’s been around for generations, maybe for millenia.
My Grandfather, though I never knew him to lift a weight or go for a jog, applies the adage to a quite familiar, but hard to swallow, parable which concludes…
I tell you, to all those who have, more will be given; but from those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away. But as for these enemies of mine who did not want me to be king over them—bring them here and slaughter them in my presence. (Luke 19:26-27)
This is Luke’s version of the parable of the talents. A nobleman (who is disliked) has gone away to gain a Kingship, leaving his slaves to trade with the ten pounds he’s provided during his absence. Upon his return he finds that some have made more with their pound. To them, he gives more. Some have made a bit less, so they get less. But at least one poor timid soul has hidden the pound away. He gets his reward, and it’s ugly.
“Struggle with it as we will,” Dr. Rilling offers, “Jesus here states a law of life that is as unbreakable as the law of gravity: “Use it or lose it!” There is no third possibility.”
I’m even hearing echos of Yoda: ‘Do or don’t do. There is no try.’
But wait a minute! Let’s not be so hasty and rush to the what we’ll get if we squander a bit here and there part. Surely, at the end of the day, all will be forgiven and the Master will relent and pay everyone the same. But no. Use it or lose it, apparently, applied even back then.
And this, I’ll admit, rings very true with my experience now. We use our muscles or they atrophy; we use our brain cells or they self-select away; we use our gifts or they rust. The human condition itself speaks ‘use it or lose it.’
Thus, for our good, the Father says, “This that I press into the palm of your hand is meant to be used. No need to compare with others because what I have given them is meant for them. This is for you. Go and be fruitful with it.
When I come back, you can tell me all about your exploits. Just you and me, a little Daddy-daughter time. Okay?”
So shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and succeed in the thing for which I sent it.
(Isaiah 55:11)