When I was 30 lbs heavier than I am now, I remember looking at pictures of myself when I was in high school and thinking, “if I’m ever that skinny again, I’ll be happy.” And for a while, I was. I had visible abs again. I could fit into things I hadn’t been able to zip up in a decade. I knew how awful it felt to be gaining weight that everyone noticed – and losing weight that everyone noticed was just as strong a feeling, but in the other direction.
But as the novelty wore off, I realized that I hadn’t overcome my insecurities; they just took new names. I’d become somewhat obsessive about what I ate and working out. I would find myself on the verge of a nervous breakdown thinking about going home for holidays, where I had no control over the food or ingredients in my parents’ home, and had to depend on my siblings taking me as guests to the gym.
I wasn’t self conscious about love handles or the way my stomach looked in direct sunlight any more. But I had lost so much weight that my once plump and nearly perfect C cups had lost volume. My butt had done the same. And no matter how much weight I lost or how much muscle I accumulated, I couldn’t fully eliminate the hormonal fat in my arms.
Even with my newfound physical frustrations, after spending the earliest part of my 20s chubby and most of them average, once I achieved a thin frame without shortcuts or cheat codes when so much in my life felt out of my control, I never wanted to let it go.
At one point, I had gone multiple weeks barely working out and eating in a quantity I usually wouldn’t. I finally got back to the gym, and decided to weigh myself, bracing for an extra 15 lbs or so. But I was actually at my lowest adult weight, and that’s when I started to realize that I might have a problem.
My body was becoming an idol.
It really clicked for me when I noticed that I could go weeks without cracking open my Bible without a second thought, but if I had to spend more than a weekend without the structure that maintained my figure, I began spiraling.
When we have idols that are obviously rooted in sin – like getting drunk or gambling – they’re usually easier to recognize.
But when we idolize things like fitness, marriage, or achievement, that we think of as inherently positive, we often struggle to see them for what they are.
There’s nothing wrong with taking care of your body, or longing for companionship, or a sense of ambition. But when we don’t anchor our desires in Christ, our hearts eventually corrupt them and in the end, they destroy us.
When your appearance is more important to you than your relationship with God, you’ll never be satisfied with it. What was supposed to be stewardship will be replaced with vanity. You’ll find yourself voluntarily eating like you’re in a refugee camp, inventing new flaws out of thin air, working yourself to exhaustion and literally jeopardizing your life. And if you can afford it, you might find yourself going to a plastic surgeon’s office as often as you go to your dentist, eventually turning yourself into a caricature in pursuit of a goal post that can’t be reached.
Likewise, when romance is more important to you than your relationship with God, you’ll find yourself rushing into and remaining in relationships you were never supposed to be in, ignoring red flags the size of billboards, convinced you know better than God or that you can do His job for Him. What was supposed to come from love is replaced with desperation.
When your accolades become more important to you than your relationship with God, you’ll find yourself constantly striving but never fulfilled. You neglect and push away the people that really care about you, and in many cases, find your moral compass compromised as you cling desperately to fleeting sources of validation. The talents God gave you to serve Him and others are instead wasted on your insatiable ego.
Without Christ, nothing is ever enough.
God doesn’t want to be the center of our lives because it does anything for Him – but because it does everything for us.
When I realized I was idolizing my body I tried to find practical ways to invite Him into the process and make Him the priority. I started praying before my work outs, I started listening to a Bible podcast during them, and I committed to spending 10 minutes reading the Word for every 30 minutes I spent in the gym.
And I don’t know how or when, but I think it worked.
Eventually, I found myself less militant about my nutrition and movement, knowing that while I cared about my physique, it would never be the most important thing about me, and lasting contentment would never be found outside of my Creator.
No matter who you are or what’s standing between you and the Lord, your outlook will drastically improve once you lay it at His feet.
At first it may feel clumsy or corny. You might struggle to find your rhythm. But if you walk towards your Father in earnest, I believe He’ll sprint towards you even if you stumble, and finish what you started in an act of faith.
When we let our bodies, our relationships, our victories or any other idol define us, we put our lives on ticking time bombs that are destined to implode because no gratification we get from this world is designed to endure.
When we surrender to God and put Him at the forefront, we take an immense amount of pressure off of ourselves and can find true joy and unconditional freedom unbound by results, performance or circumstance.
Some days I love the way I look, and some days I don’t. But even as my self-perception fluctuates, I know that my identity and value aren’t in the scale, the tape measure, or the mirror but in the Alpha & the Omega.
As my body and the way I feel about it changes, I know that He never will.
what do you think?