The other day I went to the doctor for a routine physical. This was no big deal. Just a normal checkup, a little poking and prodding, and I’m on my way.
But then the nurse weighed me. (So I guess no big deal in the first oh MINUTE of my physical).
I weigh 140lbs.
Um that’s not what my driver’s license says.
(And before anyone gets offended, I have no opinions about this weight in particular at ALL. It’s not skinny, it’s not fat. It’s just a number; it’s simply more than I myself am accustomed to weighing…probably the heaviest I have been since high school).
I was actually surprised. This is pretty typical weight for my age and heighth, but that means I have gained about 15 lbs. in the last 2-3 years. I don’t normally weigh myself because honestly, if I feel good and am healthy, I don’t care what my weight is. Right? Right.
I remember in grade school when the nurses came in to weigh us and check us for lice (which now that I think about it, is an odd combination of things to check for). Seriously, this was a BIG DEAL. I always dreaded it. Everyone would go around asking how much each other weighed. Around the sixth grade, my best friend Julie and I were dangerously close, if not over, 100 lbs. This completely mortified us. And I kid you not, we told people it was just because we were big boned. We were more than confident this would keep them from thinking we were fat.
If you saw me and Julie now, you would think was outlandish. But when you are the tallest people (not tallest GIRLS, tallest PEOPLE) in your whole grade, you kind of get an ogre-complex.
So when the nurse said 140, I was crestfallen. What had I done wrong? Why had I gained weight? WHY HADN’T I NOTICED?! *sob*
But as I’ve been thinking today, it’s funny I got hung up on those numbers. 140. Because the rest of my physical was wonderful. I am totally healthy in all areas. I get exercise, I sleep well, I eat just fine, I don’t really have any family history of any health problems. That’s pretty good. That’s REALLY good. That’s something to praise God for every day.
But I got all hung up on 140. How silly.
It’s just really telling of how we often lose sight of what’s really important. I am guilty of this, as I often go about gauging the success of my life using all the wrong forms of measurement. I compare myself to other people. I look at what I don’t have instead of what I am infinitely blessed with. I look at my accomplishments instead of my experiences and blessings.I want what I don’t have instead of loving what I do have. I look at the outward appearance of my life and don’t consider the inside.
Have I grown as an adult over the past few years? Yes. Have I experienced love and beauty and new things? Yes. Have I taken steps of faith? Yes. Have I had perfect summer evenings and long lazy dinners and holiday celebrations with my friends and family? YES.
So what if I haven’t reached all of my goals yet. That doesn’t mean I can’t still be thankful. I’m 25 (almost 26). I have lots of time.
And who cares about 140? I don’t. Not anymore.
So pass me that cookie dough.