I was flabby and gooey. I had just had baby #2. I felt awful in all my clothes. I was certain people were pointing at me and whispering,
"Wow. Crystal sure gained a lot of weight with this pregnancy. And she used to be so attractive..."
or
"Look... there goes Crystal The Cow chewing her cud... Moooo."
(I was especially concerned about the second insult because I was lactating. Profusely. All the time. Through my shirts. I'd be minding my own business and then a baby would cry and BLAM... leak marks... Cows lactate, ya know. It's what they're known for. They could be lactation consultants and make a great deal of money... )
Anywho, I became disgusted with the state of my body. I wanted improvement. I wanted it NOW.
I hired a trainer to help me learn how to eat right and lift weights.
Enter: Mark
Mark was a strong, black man with a great deal of enthusiasm and biceps the size of my head. I have an enormous head. I looked down on Mark a great deal. But only because I was approximately a foot taller.
"Flex your tricep," said Mark.
I flexed my tricep. Mark pinched my tricep to measure the fatty tissue which consumed it.
"Go ahead and flex your tricep," said Mark.
"I AM flexing!" I said.
"Oh," said he. "We're going to have to work on those."
Not only was I soft but I was WEAK. I had very little strength to speak of. One push up had me gasping and trembling for 10 minutes. Walking lunges almost put me in the hospital. One time I actually FLEW OFF THE TREAD MILL and landed atop an old man who had been happily watching my backside as I attempted to run. He was pleased to have me aboard. I'm lying about the man and the tread mill and the hospital.
I was in bad shape, is my point.
Mark forced me to push myself beyond what I thought was possible. Sometimes I wanted to clock his enthusiastic face with a dumbell. Sometimes I hated his freaking GUTS! Sometimes I said,
"This is WAY TOO HARD! I CAN'T DO THIS!"
But I persevered.
Mark also took control of my diet. He forced me to keep a food journal. He grilled me every session and looked me square in the eye to see if I had eaten clean. I don't lie well so he always knew if I'd cheated. I denied myself Oreos and chicken wings and Doritos and cheese cake and pizza and Flamin' Hot Cheetos... ( I LOVE those).
Suddenly the fat began to melt. I had gobs of energy. I was strong as an OX. (And what woman doesn't want THAT?! Oxen are sexy beasts of burden...) I felt all feisty and sassy again. I let my husband within 10 feet of me. It was a happy time for all!
Tonight as I was pondering my previous weakness a scripture came to mind. It's a Mormon one. From The Book of Mormon. God is speaking to an ancient prophet. He says,
And if men come to me I will show them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then I will make weak things become strong unto them.
It's the last sentence that runs through my mind often in life.
Physical strength is important to me.
But Spiritual Strength is everything.
Strong Moral Character. Faith. Humility. Gratitude. Love of God. Love of Mankind. Charity.
These are the things I plead for in my prayers. I ask to be shown my weaknesses so I can constantly improve.
There are times when life gets difficult and I cry,
"THIS IS WAY TOO HARD! I CAN'T DO THIS!"
And Heavenly Father smiles on me. Because He knows I can do this. And More.
He knows my potential. He knows I am Great. I am Divine in Nature. A Goddess in training.
I understand that my body needs to be constantly fed a healthy diet. I (unfortunately) can't gobble chocolate chip cookies and pecan pie by the truckload or I will suffer the consequences. Such as buttons popping off my skirts and seams splitting on my jeans. Super sucks when that happens.
My muscles became strong all those years ago because I pushed them. It hurt. It sucked. I push them daily still. Sometimes it still sucks. But I continue grasping for physical perfection.
Spiritual strength is the same. I do my best to avoid yucky poo poo stuff that hurts my spirit. I avoid movies, music, books and people that could potentially hurt my sensitive soul.
In addition, I take in spiritual food. I read scriptures daily. I pray constantly and meditate often. I surround myself with good people and uplifting media. I share the things I am learning with my family. We grow strong together.
So those are my thoughts.
In summation,
If your spiritual triceps are weak and saggy you should totally work on those.
PS My kids think my biceps look fake. Like they belong on somebody else's body. I resent that. I earned these guns fair and square. BLAM! BLAM! You want tickets to my gun show?
