Strong for the Right Reasons: Disciplining the Body Without Dethroning God
Disciplining the Body Without Dethroning God
It's Wednesday, around 3:00 PM, and I find myself quietly reflecting on what I've accomplished today. I woke up feeling less than my best, so I decided to extend myself some grace and move my client to tomorrow morning. Wanting to be proactive about my health, I tried a new supplement, taking it on an empty stomach in hopes it might help. After about an hour, I sat beneath the red-light therapy lamp, hoping for a gentle boost to my energy and some relief from brain fog and ongoing inflammation. Thirty minutes after the supplement, I made myself a decaf coffee blended with protein powder—an easy way to meet my protein goal for the day without much fuss.
Coffee in hand, I opened my Bible. My reading wandered, touching on a few Psalms—especially those where David pours out praise—then moving to Colossians chapter 2. I’ll admit, my focus wasn’t sharp. After my somewhat scattered devotional, I wrapped myself up in an infrared light therapy blanket and listened to scripture on the Dwell app for about 25 minutes. It was peaceful, a way to let the words sink in even as my mind drifted. This was not a perfect morning. I should have prayed first, but I was too scattered, but before I started beating up myself over an imperfect schedule, I decided to just remind myself, just in time that I am not only sick but also a forgiven sinner.
Wanting to move gently, I opted for a steady workout—nothing intense, just thirty minutes of warming up my body and building strength and good form. While doing squats and lunges, I tried to listen to the first two chapters of Kings. My mind wandered; I ended up replaying them but still couldn’t quite grasp the storyline. Afterward, I took a hot shower, enjoyed a protein-rich breakfast, and had some tea. That seemed like a good start before settling down to write—until my friend called.
She’s in the midst of grief, having lost someone close and now facing the responsibilities of organizing a funeral. We spoke, I listened, and made plans to spend time together tomorrow. I hoped to be supportive, but after our call, the mental list of things to do quickly returned. At noon, I remembered to join a walking chat with my community of workout women through an app. I put on my shoes, headed outside, and walked for an hour, listening to advice for our upcoming 30-day challenge: progress over perfection, building muscle, tracking food, completing three workouts a week, and walking daily. Hundreds of women joined, asking questions and sending emoji hearts. The encouragement was palpable, even if it was a little overwhelming.
But why take on this 30-day challenge to gain muscle? It's a question I've been thinking about more than I care to admit. I tell myself it’s about carrying my cross with strength and perseverance—trying to honor God even as I manage my illness. Maybe I want to be the kind of Christian who continues to serve despite hardship. Yet, I have to confess, sometimes my motives are more complicated than that.
We all want to be seen as strong, especially when we feel like we represent something larger than ourselves. I want to reflect Christ well, but sometimes it slips into wanting to be admired for overcoming challenges, for not giving in. Occasionally, my desire to carry my cross becomes an idol. I’ve met believers who talk about their illness so often that it’s hard to know whether to offer compassion or simply marvel at their endurance. I know I can fall into that pattern, too. There’s a part of me that wants to be recognized for not giving up, for persevering. I want to be the overcomer, not someone who just gives in to illness and waits for things to get better. I would hate that version of myself...
It might sound uncomfortable to admit, but I promised myself I’d face every idol in my life honestly. Anything can become an idol. We have already covered how medicine and even natural medicine could become an idol, but this is not the end of idols... because as i said, everything can turn into one, even the cross we carry...
Sometimes I carry my cross for motives that aren’t entirely pure—I want to be seen as resilient. I want my family to notice that I still help with the grandkids, teach at the Christian academy, volunteer in the church nursery, and organize my mother-in-law’s garage—not necessarily out of love, but to prove I’m not defeated by illness. When I look closer and examine my heart, it’s hard to miss the pride behind it. I want to be an example, an inspiration to other believers, especially those who struggle with illness. But instead of being inspired by me, they should be moved to praise the Lord, because He is the one who sustains me. This shouldn't be just lip service—I could still act proudly and say, “Oh, it’s not me, but God, all glory to Him,” while knowing I’ve given people enough reason to admire me and my strength…
Of course, this isn’t every time. I’m sharing my ugliest moments with you because I know I am forgiven, and we are called to confess to one another. (ref)
There are better motivations, too. Since I’m not relying solely on medication to slow down the damage in my joints, I try every natural remedy—supplements, diet, and more. I want to strengthen my body, not so I can boast about enduring pain, but so I don’t end up with a disability before my time. I want to contribute and not just be another source of worry. Sometimes, yes, pride motivates me, and maybe that’s why illness has been part of my journey—to teach humility. But more often, I exercise simply because my body needs strength.
I’m not willing to let illness define me, but I’m learning to navigate it, to carry my cross without feeling like a perpetual victim. I want enough strength to help with others' burdens, and that only happens if I’m strong—in body, mind, and spirit. “Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.” (Galatians 6:2, ESV) “Therefore lift your drooping hands and strengthen your weak knees.” (Hebrews 12:12, ESV)
This morning, I asked my husband if he could make a biblical case for working out. His response was simple: “Jesus was fit. He ate well and could walk from Egypt to Jerusalem. Most of us can’t even walk to the grocery store.” He makes a fair point. Jesus didn’t eat Himself into obesity, which, admittedly, I’ve done before. I’ve since changed my habits—food is no longer a comfort idol, but a tool to help me serve. “So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God.” (1 Corinthians 10:31) “I discipline my body and keep it under control, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified.” (1 Corinthians 9:27)
And to be honest, yes, vanity plays a role. I want to look good and feel confident. Maybe I hope my husband finds me more attractive. But I also remember Peter’s advice—that beauty comes from within, not outward appearances. “Your beauty should not come from outward adornment... Rather, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight.” (1 Peter 3:3-4) Still, when I eat well and work out, I feel gentler, more at peace, more self-controlled. Discipline over my body seems to lead to discipline in spirit. Is that biblical, scientific? I’m not sure. But in practice, I always feel more balanced and wiser when I’m consistent with exercise. The discipline spills over. “For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control.” (2 Timothy 1:7) “Physical training is of some value, but godliness has value for all things, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come.” (1 Timothy 4:8)
To keep myself balanced, I try to pray first. If I plan a thirty-minute workout, I aim to spend thirty minutes in prayer as well. If I invest in my physical health, I want to invest just as much in my spiritual well-being. That’s my approach to maintaining balance. But on most days, that balance is off. It’s so much easier to focus on physical activity. Why? I think it’s because I can see and feel the consequences of not working out far more than I notice the effects of not praying. The pain from neglecting prayer usually takes longer to become bothersome—unlike the frustration of seeing extra fat on my stomach, feeling stiff joints, or not being able to play with my grandkids. That’s why I should be even more careful to pray more and prioritize it over my workouts. Except, I don’t have a group of women around the world cheering me on to pray... Maybe that’s what I should create—a community of women encouraging each other to pray. And here I am, once again, easily distracted and preoccupied with my newest idea... something that could become either a blessing or just another idol.
Anything and everything can become an idol. Healthy food, if misused, can lead to disease. Obsessive dieting can result in unhealthy patterns. Pursuing athletic goals can endanger lives, while inactivity can be just as harmful. Statistics suggest that over 111,000 deaths each year in the US could be prevented by just ten more minutes of movement daily. Whether we’re active or sedentary, either extreme can become an idol if it takes the wrong place in our hearts.
Even the prayer community could easily go astray. I can imagine women recording their prayers just to receive thumbs up, similar to the encouragement I get for my workouts—“You’re awesome!”; “You crashed it!” If we’re not careful, this community could turn into a place where women feel like super Christians or super prayer warriors, outdoing each other. It might begin as genuine encouragement, but without honest self-examination and a focus on glorifying God and doing His will, we could end up no different than Israel gathering around the golden calf.
This honesty might not sit well with everyone, but it matters to me. Anything can take God’s place in my life if I let it.
Why is the 30-day muscle challenge really important to me? Why did i join this community of women who are trying to build stronger body, most to preserve their health or return to it for the sake of their families.
This connects directly to what I shared at the beginning of this journey about carrying your cross—both physically and spiritually. It’s not just a metaphor; it’s about daily discipline, following Christ, and facing struggles with faith in God. For me, this challenge is a way to build resilience and discipline so I can serve others better and honor God by caring for the body He gave me, always remembering that the true purpose isn’t self-centeredness. It’s about being prepared for whatever calling He sets before me, not allowing weakness or fatigue to hold me back. I want to be strong in all the ways that matter. I want to be self-disciplined. Just as I don’t always see the immediate consequences of neglecting prayer the way I notice the effects of skipping workouts, I realize that by making both prayer and exercise a priority, I gain greater control—not over my illness or the outcome of my efforts, but over how I choose to use my free will. The question becomes: what will I use it for?
Disciplining my body helps me discipline my mind and my heart. Why is that important?
Because, in a deeper sense, it reminds me that comfort is never the goal. I have to embrace the pain of breaking down my muscles to make them stronger, just as I’ve had to accept the discomfort of my illness for it to shape me more into the likeness of Christ. There is no place for seeking constant comfort in the Christian life. Yes, we have peace and rest in Christ, but this world is full of trouble, and always chasing comfort is both immature and, in some ways, unfaithful.
I could have made this chapter so much shorter by simply quoting Bible verses and saying that I work out because I am responsible for maintaining the temple of the Lord. Just as I address all the errors and repairs needed, I can also strengthen its foundation. However, that approach would not give us the opportunity to see how we could be the most diligent temple managers—and yet still become full-blown idolaters.
Everything puts us in that dangerous zone of worshiping the created instead of our Creator.
Every time I look in the mirror to check if my muscles are more defined, if I look stronger, I feel either pride for seeing the desired progress or resentment if I can’t see it. If I’m not aware of these reactions and simply respond to them emotionally, my flesh will take over and produce its fruit. However, if I treat this ability to work out as a blessing and remain humble and grateful, the perspective changes.
Should we continue and describe another way of how we can turn everything and everything into an idol, or can you see that even you can throne yourself and become your own God?
In a deeper sense, this journey reminds me that comfort is not the goal. Strength comes through embracing discomfort—whether it's the physical pain of building muscle or the challenges of living with illness. Growth requires stepping out of ease, much like Jesus warned that “in this world you will have trouble,” but promised peace in Him (John 16:33). The Christian life calls us to pursue maturity, not constant comfort.
I could have condensed this chapter to a few Bible verses about caring for the temple of the Lord—“Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit?” (1 Corinthians 6:19)—but that would miss the opportunity to examine how even our diligence can become idolatrous if our motives are misplaced. Our actions, no matter how well-intentioned, can shift our focus from the Creator to the created.
Every time I check the mirror for progress, I risk pride or disappointment. If I respond emotionally, my flesh takes over. But when I view the privilege of exercise as a blessing and remain humble and grateful instead of seeking affirmation, my perspective aligns with God’s will. “Whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God” (1 Corinthians 10:31).
Should we continue to explore more ways everything can become an idol, or is it clear that even we can place ourselves on the throne, becoming our own god? This tendency to center everything around ourselves emerges in ordinary moments—like preparing dinner for my husband, snacking mindlessly, or focusing on my own comfort. Even small choices can subtly shift our focus to ourselves if we're not vigilant.
After dinner, I washed the dishes and noticed my feet were sore. Thankfully, I had a muscle scraping tool and, after a soak and massage, felt some relief. These routines shape my day, but they can easily become self-centered if I don’t check my motives.
The day isn’t over. I still need to log my meals to maintain balance before meeting my church elders for dinner. The process of caring for myself, staying mindful, and checking my motivations is ongoing. Am I truly caring for God’s temple, or am I just obsessed with myself? Am I trading one obsession for another—slipping into idolatry? If I’m not careful, it’s possible. Even good practices can become idols if they take precedence over God.
So, how do we avoid falling into idolatry?
Stay aware that anything—medicine, health routines, even acts of service—can become an idol if we let them take God’s place in our hearts (Ezekiel 14:3).
Regularly examine our hearts and motives, confessing them to the Lord and to others: “Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts” (Psalm 139:23-24); “Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other” (James 5:16).
Approach everything with gratitude, rejoicing in trials: “Consider it pure joy… whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance” (James 1:2-3); “Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus” (1 Thessalonians 5:18).
Are you willing to examine your motivations? What idols might be hidden in your daily routines? How can you redirect your focus to glorify God in all things?