Archive for the The Journey Category

Obesity is a curse. Ask anyone who’s ever been overweight. Not only is it uncomfortable, the social stigma is paralyzing. For those who have sensitive hearts, like me, obesity can feel like a death sentence. I remember climbing into the airplane as one of the last passengers to board only to realize there were no aisle seats left. Everyone on the plane glared at me, “Don’t sit here!” while leaning heavily over the center seats. I chose a one in the front row as the occupants to my left and right exhaled. “I’m sorry,” I said, and I really was sorry. Those poor people. They would have to spend the next 3 hours cuddling with the fat lady. I tucked my arms over my belly and tried not to breathe. I was shocked when a few minutes into the flight the woman next to me said, “Relax honey. It’s okay.” She gave me permission to let my arms down and touch her. It was all I could do not to cry.

The next time you look at an obese person, take note of your thoughts. Do you judge them? I promise you, nothing you think is half as bad as what they are experiencing. I was recently at Sam’s and spied an obese cashier. My heart hurt just looking at him, but not half as bad as his back, knees and feet must have felt. Imagine how painful it would be to stand for 6 to 8 hours with 400+ pounds of fat sucking you into the earth.

So it was that I found myself at Dale’s Music this past week while my son took guitar lessons. I ran into a the friend of a friend, what you would call a casual acquaintance. Fate keeps drawing us together because I have seen her numerous times over the years through an odd sort of timing. The last time I saw her she had lost 60 pounds and was rocking leopard print and spandex. This time she was hiding under the same kind of sweatshirt I wore for years. We “heavy set” women seem to want to spare the casual observer by hiding our extra weight–as if baggy clothes actually make our fat invisible.

I was checking my son’s blood sugar(he’s a juvenile diabetic) when she sighed and said, “I’m so sorry he has diabetes. I was just at the doctor and my A1C was through the roof!” She confirmed her type 2 status and my heart sank. A1C is the 3 month blood test they do for diabetics to measure how well they are maintaining their blood sugar levels. She then immediately jumped to the weight issue. “I was doing so well,” she said. But it got away from me and I gained it all back. My doctor says the weight is killing me and I’m currently under consideration for weight loss surgery.”

I wish I knew her well enough to try and hug away her pain. The fear that comes from serious health complications is unbearable. Even worse, the guilt from believing it’s all your fault is pure torture.

“A man without self-control is like a city broken into and left without walls.” –Proverbs 25:28

I recently found that verse, typed it up and hung it over my kitchen sink. I thought maybe if I put a good reminder in front of my face, it would help keep me from overeating. My friend at Dale’s said to me, “You are doing so great!” And I had to tell her the truth. I’m not doing great. I’ve gained some weight back and I’m fighting like crazy not to gain it all back. Every day is a struggle. And truthfully, weight loss surgery is like putting a band aid on a gaping wound. Just ask Al Roker!

I like to exercise. I like the freedom that comes with wearing clothes from the normal size section. But I promise you, I love to eat more. My world is a constant teeter totter of “if I eat that I must work out this much to keep the calories in balance.” It’s frustrating, exhausting, heart breaking and, I promise you, not at all easy.

But I don’t think my struggle to stay healthy is any different than the struggles of my friends. We all have something we are fighting against, be it cancer, a sick child or a horrible boss. Our lives are a series of trade-offs. We are all cursed in one shape or another. Through circumstances beyond our control we wage war in a world that is seriously broken. We live in, love through and grieve our fallen state. We celebrate the graces and mysteries we encounter every day and cling to hope that someday, somehow our lives will improve.

Tonight I stood at the grocery store(all my important moments seem to center around food) and the woman in front of me smiled and complimented me on my column in The Ferguson Times. She told me, “And, you look great!” I was a little tired, distracted and fretful over something I’ve already forgotten. The thing is, I have encountered her numerous times on trails in Ferguson and she always inspires me because she is well into her grandma years and she’s still running. In fact, she’s usually passing me! Her kindness brought a smile to my face and my heart. The cruelest thing I ever felt as an obese person was the belief that people held me in contempt because of my size. So it is not lost on me that people look on me with hope. They assume if I lost the weight and can keep it off, I have somehow solved the unsolvable puzzle. The truth of the matter is this, good health is a combination of luck, determination, healthy habits and grit. Yes, I do feel cursed with an insatiable appetite, but I refuse to be defined or condemned by it. But more important than all of my struggle is the love I experience at the hands of my friends and family. Love salves pain. Kindness binds up all wounds. If hopelessness is the worst thing I experienced as an obese person, love was certainly the most healing sensation of all. We should never let ourselves be defined by our size. Every person on this planet is deeply flawed in some way. Some flaws are just more visible than others.

Today if you are overweight, you are not less of a person because of that one fact. Sure it’s reasonable to take stock of your situation and experience the desire to improve it. (I promise you it is not impossible, only difficult.) But never, under any circumstances give up hope. I have lost the weight twice. Every day is a struggle. Right now I’m wearing a size larger than I wore last year at this time. But my waistline is not who I am inside. I am Margaret. And no matter what size I am, I am beautiful. Whoever you are reading this right now…you are beautiful too.

If you had asked me a few years ago if I liked crunches I would have said, “Absolutely! Nestle Crunch bars are fantastic!” I never considered exercising on a regular basis, much less once a week. A simple walk through the grocery store was enough to make my back and knees ache. Why would I want to torture myself by intentionally causing my body to sweat? I took comfort in my recliner and the bags of chocolate that kept me company. Except that the comfort those things offered was false and my misery was as real as the rolls of fat under my chinny-chin-chin.

This morning I rolled out my yoga mat and crunched my way through several sets of abdominal exercises. The more difficult the crunches became, the more determined I felt to do just one more. The entire time I was thinking about what a co-worker said a few days ago. David said, “Working out only feels great when the workout is over.” I’ll admit I do feel like that sometimes, but most of the time, I love my daily exercise regimen. Not that anyone will ever appreciate my abs. They are, after all, hidden beneath a doughy layer of fat and skin, but I sure feel strong when I’m using them.

Our culture is entirely too obsessed with body image, largely forgetting that who we are on the outside is not indicative of who we really are at heart. We make snap judgments about people because their thighs look more like lumpy carrots and less like string beans. It makes me sad. I don’t care how beautiful Gerard Butler is, or how many romantic leads he’s played in the movies. What I really want to know is, is he a nice person in real life? I know he worked out like a maniac to get in shape for his role in 300. It was an amazing accomplishment. But I’m going to say something radical… Changing the body is easy compared to changing ones heart.

Now we all know how difficult it is to lose weight. It is not a comfortable process. One must deny themselves consistently over a long period of time if they want to see their body change its shape. It means abstaining from high caloric foods, a practice even I am not overly fond of. Seriously, who doesn’t love pizza? But if you think losing weight is hard, think about what it means to change your heart.

Tonight I had an interesting conversation with one of my neighbors. I recently read an article about her in the Post Dispatch, detailing her time spent protesting outside of the Ferguson Police department. She is exercising her fundamental right to free speech and I have to admire her tenacity even though I don’t agree with her position. The current situation in Ferguson is very divisive and I honestly struggle to understand how our bewildered city will ever overcome the perception the world now has of us. But I still choose not to be defined by my zip code even if that means stepping outside of my comfort zone. Just like making a lifestyle change meant giving up eating foods that were bad for my body, loving my neighbor, who does not think like I do, means giving up hateful thoughts that contribute to a hardened heart.

The thing is, I really like Angelique. Her son played soccer with my son and they were also in marching band and jazz band together. She is conscientious and hard working. She cares very much about our community and she loves her son and daughter, just as much as I love my children. It would be very easy to write her off and pass judgement on her for standing on the corner with a sign day after day except that I know her. And the truth is, I really like her. I have been struggling with my feelings about her, and others like her, for some time now. It is so easy to surround myself with people who think and feel the way I do and never enter into the life story of someone different than myself. I am really struggling with this idea that loving my neighbor, even those who do not think the way that I do, is what real love looks like in practical terms. I’ve come to realize yet again that love is not a feeling, it’s a choice. I choose to not hate my neighbor just because they think or act differently than I do. I choose to ask questions about their lives and their points of view, even when it’s uncomfortable. I do this because in so doing, I form a relationship that not only enriches my life but theirs as well. Honestly, it’s not unlike a 310 pound woman trying to walk around the block. Each step may be hard and steep and sweaty, but with the goal before me of making my community a better place to live, I need to keep taking step after difficult step if I want to see lasting improvement.

Yes, the business of getting our bodies into shape is uncomfortable. We have to take it one step at a time if we want to see lasting results. It’s the same way with loving our neighbors, especially the ones we don’t particularly like or agree with. One of the first steps we can take is not to pre-judge. Ask sincere questions and listen. Learn about their history. I bet you’ll find that regardless of what it looks like on the surface, you may actually have something in common. After that first step, why don’t you try another? And then another? Maybe that’s the real key to building a strong community that will stand the test of time. All I know is this, nurturing hard feelings against those who think differently than I do may feel good for a while, but eventually I have to come to terms with the fact that it’s a falsehood. Just like a bag full of chocolate….it sure goes down easy, but it sure is a pain in the belly when the pants no longer fit.

Life is a series of extremes. Depending on the season we are in, we are either too busy or bored. I remember those not-so-blissful high school days where I felt isolated, lonely and did not make good use of the quantity of time on my hands. I remember the angst I felt as I longed for someone to acknowledge my existence. My only comfort seemed to be a book and a bag full of chocolate. I formed patterns of unhealthy behavior in my youth, that will follow me to the grave.

I am currently in a cycle of life that affords me little time for leisure. I rush from activity to activity. Even when I am still, my brain reels through reams of information as I try to sort out what my next plan of action is. My work is never done.

I consider it inevitable that I will eventually arrive at a place in life where time stretches before me like a desert, harsh and barren. If I am lucky, my body will age and deteriorate. I will have the benefit of watching my children grow up, marry, bear children and enter the chaos I now deal with on a daily basis. They will probably be too busy to call or visit and I will sit in my easy chair and long for the days when they cried for me to kiss their wounds. Because I am aware of these things, I count every moment I am able to move with them as precious. I also consider the time I have with my children to be among some of the most important moments of my life. I want to teach them all the things I have learned the hard way and prevent them from making the same mistakes. Unfortunately, they rarely listen.

My sons have recently been engaged in activities that best resemble the antics of Larry, Moe and Curly. They oscillate between anger, mischief, fun and eye doinking in turn. I am often frustrated by their lack of respect for each other and my sensitive ears. I long to wrap them up in my arms and hug away all that animosity for each other. How I wish I could give them new hearts for each other! But alas, I am left with only my own regrets to share as instruction on how NOT to treat their brothers.

We reached a fevered pitch last week when, left to their own devices, they turned on each other with malicious intent. A simple lecture from their overwhelmed mother wasn’t cutting it, so I sat them all down on the couch and tearfully explained that the damage they were inflicting on each other would last for a lifetime. I told them how much I regret fighting with my own brother and sister(tormenting them is a better word) and how the wounds from those battles have resulted in scars we all carry with us to this day. I told them we have a very limited amount of time to live together and learn to care for each other. Then I made them listen to a Bible story about two brothers. One brother’s unbridled anger gave way to murder and the one left standing lived out his years in exile because of it. My 17-year-old rolled his eyes incessantly and my 6-year-old couldn’t control his maniacle laughter(You would just have to meet him to understand) and was sent to his room. I feel like I try so hard to be a good mom but they rarely respond the way I want them to. I sat in my chair and sighed. Parenting young children is not often very rewarding for me. I see their fierce wills and stubborn hearts and I know they got those traits from me. While I understand life in extreme intimacy tends to fray nerves and bring out the very worst in all of us, I keep trying to teach them to practice tangible love. Tangible love means not pounding one’s brother because he broke your Lego ship.

Self-control is such a byword in modern society but I believe it is a staple of civilized life. Indulging too heartily in our appetites, whether they be anger, lust, food, gossip, etc. does not make our communities or families stronger. People that never learn to reign in their emotions and caustic behaviors can pass on that cycle of abuse to the next generation. I am trying to learn, and by example, teach my children that when they get upset they should stop, take a deep breath, and count to ten. Make every action or word intentional. Treat other people as if they are precious, because they are.

It’s easy to let fear or anger blind us to the points of view of others. We don’t take the time to stop and consider how our words or actions affect someone else much less what their thoughts or feelings are. Sometimes asking simple questions can breech a communication gap when indulging in emotional outbursts only exacerbates the problem. This takes discipline that can only be learned with diligent practice. We have an abundance of time, but we often use it poorly because we take it for granted.

Human relationships are hard. I think that’s why most people like to keep pets. We don’t have to work so hard for them to love us. But that doesn’t mean we should give up trying to make our human relationships better. No matter what season of life we are in, we should strive to improve our lives and relationships. My dad once told me he didn’t want me to have a life filled with regrets. Regret is inevitable, but we can purposefully strive to avoid it.

This morning I chose to skip my workout. I went to the grocery store and picked up necessities for my family. This was a great sacrifice for me. But upon my return, my 17-year-old told me he loved me. I hugged my 13-year-old son and told him I loved him and was proud of him. I gave my 6-year-old son hugs and kisses and tickled his ribs. I made an intentional decision to treat those moments with my children as if they were my last. I fail miserably at this most of the time, but I am purposefully trying to be the best mom I can be. I can’t change their hearts, but I can love the dickens out of them trying.

As I think about it, maybe the best gift I can ever give to my family is time; time to hear their hurts, time to hug or cuddle, time to teach love instead of hatred. Precious are the moments we share with those we love. We should never take them for granted. Remember that the next time you are rushing from one task to the next and find yourself irritable and short-tempered. A day will come when you no longer have the luxury of time.