So this might be heaven, telling the dental hygienist that you don't floss every day, telling the chiropractor that you don't do the three pages of stretches every day or the neck roll every other day, telling the dietitian that you don't start every day with warm lemon water and take a pro-biotic and a fish oil pill, telling your doctor that you don't get vigorous exercise every day...
...the day is so full of ways I should be taking care of my physical body for optimal health that I fear I'm going to live quite long in this joyless state of concerned maintenance. Ever step or non-step, ever fork of food or skipped meal, every moment seated or walking -- they all come with a price tag of pride or guilt. There is no agnostic eating or moving these days; it's all quite religious in one form or another.
It is hard to be still and know that He is God, to rest in his presence, to meditate on His word, when my FitBit keeps sending me cheerful reminders on my wrist that it's time to move again if I want to hit my step goal for the day.
In the middle of reading my Bible I find myself stretching my leg so I don't remain motionless too long, or getting up for a glass of water because I haven't had enough today.
Our physical bodies matter. This isn't about Gnosticism, or some way of pretending that I can do what I want with my body and it has no effect on the spirit, that the sins of the body are acceptable in the service of my emotional needs. When I read Colossians 1:22 and see that Jesus' physical body mattered, I have to acknowledge that mine does, too.
But no, I don't do all those things daily, and I wish to not fall into bed weary, tabulating all of the health failures I stacked up during the day.