Skin & Bone

“What is your relationship with your body?” asks the life coach guru, and I leave the room. It is a silly, self-absorbed question and we might be the first generation in history to ask it. I’m embarrassed to even consider this. It’s the sort of question only a fragile, navel-gazing snowflake would ask. A real man doesn’t care how he feels about his body – he just does stuff with it like the competent lumberjack he is.

Besides, my body and I are not friends and I’d just as soon keep it that way. I imagine weightlifters and athletes view themselves and their bodies as intricately connected. When they go for a run, it is they themselves who are running and their soul expands with their body’s growth. 

I prefer to think of myself as a being trapped inside this thing. This collection of poorly operating organs has failed me in the past, and one day it will fail me permanently. It is little more than a poorly-functioning transport vehicle for my brain and since it hurts me, I hurt it in return. I don’t exercise. I chase prescription drugs with energy drinks, and I would smoke cigarettes if I could stand the smell. Bulimia is sexy and self-destruction is revenge.

Mine is a toxic relationship with real-life consequences, but it’s not the only variety in town. Many people struggle with their bodies in a myriad of ways and at an increasingly young age. Unnaturally enhanced bodies assault our Instagram feeds, body shaming and positivity are everywhere, and eating disorders have never been easier to cultivate. Few of us are unaffected. Maybe we are the first generation to ask the question, but it needs asking.

Regardless of how I feel about it, my body was created and is being maintained by God. This sounds trite, but there is a profound idea that nothing I’m dealing with is an accident. God intentionally put me in the time and place He did and gave me the body I have. Everything was created by God and by Him all things hold together.* If we concede the existence of a sovereign Creator and Sustainer, then I can trust my body to do what He put me here to do. 

I feel like my body fails me constantly in ways large and small, but it’s not actually failing to do its job. It’s just failing to do what I want it to do. This can be deeply annoying and discouraging, and I do not minimize the pain of a failing body. I know what it’s like, and in time I will know it again. I will not be able to do everything I want to do, but there is comfort in knowing I will do what I was put here to do, and nothing – not even my body – can prevent that. 

God promises to give us everything we need to fulfill His purpose.** He does not promise to give us what we want or even what we need to survive. We may die from lack of resources, or (as is more likely) organ failure. But we will always have what we need and if we don’t have it, we don’t need it in the cosmic sense.

My body is not the inconvenient time bomb I imagine. It’s not my best friend either – our relationship is still rocky – but I can trust the God who made it to do what He put me here to do.

J.

*Colossians 1:16-17 

**2 Corinthians 9:8

June 15, 2021