Off the Couch

Let's be honest: I'm awkwardly skinny.

You know those things in the gas station bathrooms with a height and weight chart based on body type? The "small build" for my height starts ten pounds above how much I weigh.

I promise, I'm not trying to lose weight. Really I would like to gain some. So, to combat this, I eat like a pig (minimum of three plates) and avoid the gym (no one likes a skinny kid on a treadmill).

But what if that was how I lived spiritually?

What if I sat around reading devotional books, blogs, and my Bible? What if I attended as many Bible studies and small groups as I could possibly fit into a single week? What if I went to every church service offered, listened to every online sermon I could find, and attended every Christian concert within two hours of here?

What if I ate, ate, ate spiritually?

Don't hear me saying those things are bad. Eating isn't just good, it's vital.

But what if I did no more than eat? What if I avoided the spiritual gym? Herein lies the problem.

What if I didn't reach out to those around me? What if I didn't seize missions opportunities to see what the Lord is doing in Jerusalem, Judea, and Samaria? What if I ignored the hurting, homeless, and hungry right here in my own city? What if I failed to show compassion, encouragement, and love to those I interact with?

Eating like a pig and avoiding the gym are physically unhealthy. Just as they are spiritually unhealthy.

Eating and exercising need to co-exist.

It's like breathing. You can't breathe in without also breathing out. You can't eat without also exercising.

There's a balance. It can be hard to find, but it is good.

Excuse me now why I get off my spiritual couch and head to a spiritual gym to work off that spiritual brownie I just inhaled.

<>< Katie

Does this match?

Even though I'm not doing anything particularly strenuous during the day, I'm ready for bed by the end of it.  The other night, I trudged back to my apartment sometime between 8:30 and 9.  I was ready to take a shower, put on my pajamas, and chill for the next few hours.  It was going to be great.

Then I remembered the prayer walk at 10pm.  I took a shower and opted against walking around campus in my pajamas because they're really classy.  I put on a "better," comfy outfit instead.  My only non-pajama sweatpants are bright blue, and they match literally nothing.  I call them my dentist pants because they look like scrubs.  I didn't want to dirty another shirt, so I pulled on a brown wife-beater tank top.  Ok, not runway attire but not bad for lounging around either.  Until I put on my black Chacos and red pull-over polar fleece.  Except at the prayer walk it was too hot for the polar fleece, so I tied it around my waist.  Oh, and my hair was still wet from the shower.  Maybe my pajamas would have been a better choice.

Honestly, I didn't really care.  Or at least I didn't think I did.  It was dark and people could only see my silhouette.  However, the further we prayer walked the more annoyed with myself I became.  Why did I have to bring the polar fleece?  (Oh, yeah, I'm from the north were the temperature drops dramatically at night.  I forget it doesn't do that here).  Why did I buy/ why do I wear the dentist pants?  Maybe some other shoes would have been a better choice.  Why am I so awkwardly skinny?

It was in that awful self-loathing session that I realized I am comfortable in who I am.

Huh?  Let me explain.

Even though I looked like a dope, I didn't run from a social event.  In fact, I made jokes about wanting to return to the 90s and the drown rat look I was sporting.  I can laugh at myself.  I dropped my socks in the toilet for goodness sake!

As I was thinking about this I realized that in the days and months to come girls who have worse image problems than I do are going to walk these same sidewalks.  My heart broke for them.  What may be a love-sass for me might be devastating for them.  I began to petition to the Lord to heal their insecurities, give them comfort, and show them acceptance.  Let them see that they are beautiful on the inside and out.  Let them feel loved.

I've said this before and I'll say it again: tell her she's beautiful.

"You are altogether beautiful, My love; there is no flaw in you." 
- Song of Solomon 4:7

I love you all,
<>< Katie

Tall and thin isn't great

I normally try to keep the blog a complain-free zone.  Today you're going to have to excuse me while I throw a temper tantrum.

"Oh my gosh, you are soooo skinny!"
Every single one of us have said it at some point in time.  Please, let's every single one of us erase this sentence from our vocabulary.  As well-meaning as it may be, it is often not well-received.

1. You wouldn't walk up to someone who's overweight and say, "Oh my gosh, you are sooooo fat."  Would you?

2. A lot of times it's followed up with a concern--either verbally or mentally--about how much the "stick" eats.  I understand and appreciate the concern.  Eating disorders are a problem in today's society, absolutely.  But do you really think your question about how much he/she eats is really the best way to approach the (suspected) problem?  I have a close friend who has strugged with an eating disorder.  She says comments, even complements, on her weight now are well-meaning but they make her cringe.  She hates words like "healthy" and "well" because of the connotations they have, even if those connotations are ones she's put on them.

As someone who has always been skinny, the question about what I eat is down right obnoxious and, frankly, borderline rude.  If you want to know about my eating habits, watch me devour a steak dinner.  It was delicious the first time.  There is no possible way I'd like to taste it a second.

3. "Try finding pants that fit." 
That's usually my response to people who feel the need to give me this counter-productive complement.  I've written many a blog-rant from fitting rooms as I'm choking back tears of frustrations.  It happened again today.  Before we left on our shopping excursion, Laura, Mom, and I took measurements.  My waist?  Yup, ended in a .5.  Hips?  --.75.  Inseam?  --.25.  It's no wonder clothes don't fit me!  We arrived at the store, and I picked out a pair of jeans one .5 larger than my measured waist.  They were great... if I were going for a muffin-top look.  I searched for pants one size bigger (which is really two sizes since all of the pants were even numbered).  Perfect, if I wanted to store a book in the back of my pants.  Mom miraculously was able to find the odd number, the middle size.  Too small in the front; too big in the back.  Just my luck!  Discouraged, we left, and I realized I have one alternative to this constant fight: nudist colony.

Please, I beg you, just leave the weight subject alone. If you must make a complement about a physical aspect of a girl's body, pick her hair, her eyes, her smile.  Tell her she's beautiful but don't use her weight to justify your opinion.

Thanks for letting me vent.  I'd love to hear your thoughts, if you agree or if you think I'm crazy.

<>< Katie