Muscles have never been a big part of my life. If I had a dollar bill for every time I’ve been called skinny, my wallet would be fat.

As a teen I’d heard that girls were attracted to physically fit guys. Even King Solomon wrote, “The glory of young men is their strength“ (Proverbs 20:29).

Karate ought to impress the ladies, I thought. So I sent away for a free poster offered in the back of Popular Science magazine. The poster showed several precise locations where you could karate chop a person to inflict the most pain and injury. My brother, Dave, began staying away from my bedroom.

The poster didn’t work. It never tried to fend off my blows. Socking a limp piece of paper wasn’t all that challenging.

Next I ordered a Bullworker. This musclebuilding device claimed that my biceps would soon resemble inflated beach balls.

There must have been hidden leaks in my armpits. No beach balls up my sleeves.

Most recently someone gave me a weight-lifting machine. Its name is deceiving. The machine doesn’t lift any weight; you have to do it all yourself.

I bolted the machine to the wall, grabbed the two bicep ropes and gave a good yank.

Indeed, it was a very good yank, for I pulled the machine right out of the wall and down onto my skinny body.

The pain was great, and had I been a teen, I am sure the show of strength would have impressed many young ladies. As it was, my wife wondered why she’d married someone who couldn’t even tighten a bolt.

Currently I am not involved in any muscle-building venture. Rather, “the Lord . . . is my strength and my song” (Isaiah 12:2).

Not only am I not bulking up; I’m not taking voice lessons either.