I have learned an important lesson.
I am not the bionic woman. My husband and I have been challenged to live healthier, so exercise has become an important part of our life. Normally, I go to the gym, but a couple of weeks ago, I was unable to make it. My husband mentioned I could work out at his school's gym where he teaches.
After accepting, I realized that we have two different styles of exercising. I run a little, lift weights, and do whatever I feel in the mood to do. My husband writes how many sets he will do on a dry erase board, creates work-out routines, and does circuits.
In the first two minutes, I had rebelled against his forcing me to put my work-out plan on a board. I sounded like one of the early women in America fighting for the right to vote. I require freedom to make my own choices (of exercise equipment)! My husband rolled his eyes and continued. He pulled this really tall plywood box down and told me we could do box jumps. I have never done a box jump.
As I looked at the box that came up to my knees, my instincts told me to decline. I should have listened to these instincts, but sadly I did not. Instead, I remembered a Facebook post of a young woman I know who was at physical therapy recovering from leg surgery. She did box jumps with little effort. If she could do it, I could do it, right? Wrong! She was 17 years old, and I am not. She was an athlete, and I am only an athlete in my head. I bravely walked up to the box before my husband could say anything. I proceeded to jump and landed in the middle of the box. The goal is to land on top of the box. My shin scraped down the rough edge where the plywood sides joined.
I literally left blood, sweat, and tears in that work-out. I did what anyone would have done as I looked at the torn skin and blood on my leg. I yelled at my husband.
Why did you want me to jump on something too high for me? He said that he had laid it down and was going to show me how to jump on it properly, but I didn't wait for him. I limped through my exercise routine in pain and learned a lesson.
How many times do we get the feeling that we should wait on God instead of plunging ahead with our own plans? We grow impatient. We don't want anyone to tell us what to do. We want our freedom, so instead of waiting for God to guide us, we jump. In our haste, things don't work as we had hoped. We get hurt, angry, and broken. Then we blame God.
Why did you let this happen? And He answers as my husband did.
I was going to show you what to do, but you wouldn't wait for me. The new scar on my leg reminds me that it is much safer if I take the time to listen and wait.
Have a great week high-heeled warriors!
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