The Bible does not explicitly mention weight loss or obesity. However, several places in Scripture discuss the importance of our health (3 John 1:2) and taking care of our bodies. Since our bodies are the temple of the Holy Spirit (1 Cor. 6: 19-20), we should keep our bodies as healthy as possible. Many people fight the “battle of the bulge,” hence the obsession in our culture to lose weight.
Over thirty years ago, when I cleaned out my parents’ house, one of the items I appropriated from them was an old-fashioned bathroom scale. I don’t know how old the scale was, as it had been in my childhood home as far back as I can remember. Nevertheless, although it looked a little beat up, it still worked well enough, and since we didn’t have a scale, I brought it home and put it in our bathroom. My husband soon developed a love/hate relationship with the thing.
Every morning, he would stand on it, then repeatedly jump up and down and vary his stance, trying to get the dial to change. He swore it did, though I never saw evidence of this. Finally, I had enough and bought him a new digital scale for one year for Christmas, thinking this would stop that little annoying ritual. Nope. He merely developed a new ritual. First, he weighs himself. Then he strips down to his birthday suit and repeats the process. Then he repeats this step a few times.
“Are you trying to get a second opinion?” I finally asked him this morning after the third weigh-in.
“I’m just seeing how much I weigh without my gym shorts,” he replied testily.
“Oh, I’d say just subtract a good ten pounds for the shorts,” I offered helpfully. Still, I didn’t understand the necessity of repeatedly weighing himself in the buff. But if it makes him happy, so be it. He could have worse habits.
Now I generally don’t weigh myself all that often. So, I was unpleasantly surprised when I hopped on the scale recently to discover I had gained six pounds. To make matters worse, at my doctor’s office, the scale said I had gained twelve pounds! (They didn’t even subtract ten pounds for my clothes.) This is aggravating enough in and of itself, but for the past six months, my husband and I have been making a concentrated effort to get healthier. To that end, we drag ourselves out of our warm bed while it is still dark outside and walk a brisk two miles each morning—even when it’s thirty degrees outside. At least each morning that we’re working. On my days off, there’s no way. A day off is a day off, after all. But the last thing I expected after this disciplined torture was to find I had GAINED WEIGHT. Yeah, yeah, I know. Muscle weighs more than fat, or so they say—whoever THEY are. It sounds good, and that’s what I keep telling myself. Still, it’s a bit discouraging, and I’m tempted to give up exercising so I can lose the weight again. Not only that, but my thighs are still as flabby as ever.
My father-in-law was one of those men who was built like a beanpole and ate like a horse. He forever complained to anyone within earshot that he couldn’t gain weight. I don’t know how many times we told him that nobody sympathized with him, so be quiet already before someone smacked him. I know that as we age, we tend to become our parents. But somehow, I doubt my husband will ever take after his father in weighty issues.
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