Please welcome today’s guest writer, Lydia DeJonge. Lydia is a 2016 Calvin College graduate. She works as a dentist in Chicago and lives with her husband, David (a 2010 Calvin College graduate). Her number one hobby is trying new things, most recently labneh and aerial yoga (importantly, not at the same time).

I have never been athletic. As my lacrosse-playing brother liked to point out, I didn’t “get any of those genes for running or jumping or catching or throwing or dancing or moving…” In general, I have been okay with my eleven-minute miles, girl push-ups, and inability to touch my toes. However, I had an exercise revelation, and I found God in the midst of sweat.

A friend (well, my physical therapist who is also my friend) told me I need to get stronger. And more flexible. And get better posture. She suggested I try an all-in-one fitness regime and attend a Barre class. I informed her that I don’t drink alcohol, thank you very much. She then explained to me that Barre is a mix of Pilates, yoga, ballet with fancy “plyometric stretches” and “isometric holds.” Sounded great to me, so I signed up for the easiest class.

It was not easy. It was not the elegant ballet and child’s pose mixture I was imagining. In fact, it was extremely difficult. Now, I know not everyone is going to sign up for a class in their area, but if you want to play along at home folks, here’s what you can do: (1) find a table or chair that you can hold on to, (2) go up on your tippy toes, (3) touch your heels together while on your highest part of your toes, and (4) go about three inches down into a squat and then slowly come up and slowly go down again. Easy, right? Try doing that for three minutes straight and tell me your legs don’t give out on you.

It was exhausting, but I still signed up to take a weekly class. I returned each week to a new batch of bodyweight exercises that sound oh-so-easy but in practice made my arms, legs, and “seat” (a nice word for butt) fatigue. Why do people keep coming to this? I thought as I gazed at a wall with signatures indicating that people had taken 100, 250, 500, 1000 or even 2500 Barre classes.

Somewhere around my fifth class, I got the appeal. My legs shook, but my mind was stronger than my seat muscles, lifting a donkey kick for the fiftieth time. If I could hold the plank for the full ninety seconds, despite shaking, I reached a milestone.

But something more happened. I felt God. As my mind connected to my muscles, and I was about to give up, he surrounded me. I was at my weakest physical nadir, and God was there. Somewhere over the loud pump-up music I felt him call to me as I reached physical exhaustion.

I have known God in many moments such as at my wedding, while reading his word, sometimes in the sunlight, but never in such a sweaty way. As I tried to lift my leg up just one inch above the bar, I sensed that God was smiling at me. As I attempted to do my tenth minute of abs, teeth clenched, shirt soaked with sweat, the only thing that came to mind was confessing sins to my Lord.

What an odd place to find God, but then again, is there an odd place to find God? If our God is in the world, He is everywhere, covering every square inch and calling to us. I think God doesn’t mind that I am sweaty when I worship him.

*and no, I did not mean the sweetest way possible. That would be through chocolate caramel cupcakes.

Lydia DeJonge