Ask most homeowners when they last had the water pump serviced and they can tell you to the month. They know when the roof was last sealed, which breaker trips if the kettle and the iron are on together, and how many bags of cement are left under the house. Ask the same people when they last had their blood pressure checked, and the answer is often a shrug.
It is one of the quiet ironies of family life, especially in communities where a house represents years of sacrifice. We take care of the building with great seriousness. We are much less careful with the body that is doing all the building.
A dwelling with a Resident
Paul uses the language of dwelling to talk about the body more than once. “Do you not know that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit who is in you?” he asks the Corinthians (1 Corinthians 6:19, NKJV). In Romans he goes further: “But if the Spirit of Him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, He who raised Christ from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through His Spirit who dwells in you” (Romans 8:11, NKJV).
That verse is first of all about resurrection: a promise that the God who raised Jesus will one day raise us, body and all. But it also says something about the here and now. The Spirit of God dwells in believers. The body is not a shell we put up with until we get to heaven. It is a house with a Resident, and it matters to Him.
Seen that way, looking after our health is not vanity or self-indulgence. It is closer to good stewardship of a property that has been entrusted to us.
How the house takes the body
Consider a man who is building his family house in stages. He works a full week, then spends Saturday on the site mixing concrete and Sunday afternoon carrying blocks. For years he sleeps five hours a night. He skips the doctor because an appointment means a day’s pay. His chest pains, he tells himself, are just tiredness. The house goes up one room at a time. So, quietly, does his blood pressure.
Or consider a woman paying a mortgage on her own, working a second job on weekends to keep ahead. She is proud, rightly, of never missing a payment. She has not had a full day off in three years. The house is secure. She is exhausted in a way that no amount of sleep on a Sunday afternoon seems to fix.
These are composite pictures, but most of us will recognise someone in them, perhaps in the mirror. The house becomes the priority, and the body pays the bill.
Maintenance, not makeovers
Anyone who owns a house knows the difference between maintenance and a renovation. Renovations are exciting and expensive. Maintenance is boring and cheap, and it is what actually keeps a house standing. You clear the gutters before the rains. You treat the termites before the door frame goes soft. You fix the small leak before it becomes a rotten ceiling.
Our bodies respond to the same logic. Most of what keeps us well is unglamorous: regular check-ups, enough sleep, water, walking, food that is not all fried and salted, time away from screens, and someone to talk to when the mind is heavy. None of it will impress anyone. All of it is maintenance.
It is worth treating health checks the way we treat the house calendar. Many families have a rhythm for the house: storm shutters checked before hurricane season, the tank cleaned once a year, the grilles painted every few years. What if there were a matching rhythm for the people? An annual check-up booked on a birthday. Blood pressure and sugar tested regularly, especially where they run in the family. Eyes and teeth seen to before they become emergencies. A doctor or nurse can advise what is sensible for your age and history.
Rest is part of the building code
One of the oldest pieces of God’s instruction to His people was a day of rest. It was given to a nation of former slaves, people who had known what it was to work without end for someone else’s building projects. The Sabbath was a statement that they were no longer slaves. They could stop.
Many modern homeowners have made themselves slaves again, this time to their own houses. The instinct is understandable, especially when a house represents generations of hope. But a body that is never allowed to rest will eventually force the issue. It is far better to choose rest than to have it imposed by illness.
Practically, that might mean accepting that the upstairs will take an extra year. It might mean paying for help with the heaviest work. It might mean one evening a week when no one talks about the house at all.
What the house is for
A house is meant to shelter the people inside it. If building or paying for it is slowly destroying the health of the very people it is supposed to protect, something has been turned upside down. A modest house with a healthy family in it is a far better inheritance than a finished mansion and a funeral.
The promise of Romans 8:11 is ultimately about life, life given by the Spirit who makes His home in us. Treating our bodies with care is a small way of honouring that Resident, and of making sure we are around to enjoy the house we worked so hard for.
So this week, alongside the list of jobs for the house, consider adding one for yourself. Book the appointment. Go to bed an hour earlier. Take the walk. The first house you ever lived in deserves at least as much attention as the one with your name on the title.
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