Archive for the The Journey Category

Just when you thought it was safe to eat…

Just when you thought it was harmless to savor a tasty morsel…

Just when you thought the journey to living a healthy lifestyle was smooth and creamy—like whipped avocado…

Whammo! You fall right smack dab into the middle of the Pit of Temptation!

The Pit of Temptation is well camouflaged. The edges are lined with gumdrop hedges and lollipop trees. Cotton candy sheep nibble on coconut grass and chocolate milk cows moo sweet lullabies to unsuspecting passersby. The gingerbread cottage—its roof tiled with candy corn—gives off the aroma of gladness. When walking by, one can’t help but stop and linger. The effervescent soda fountain gurgles with glee—promising a respite from the harsh realities of the Daily Diet Desert.

Suddenly, a tile falls from the roof and straight into our unsuspecting mouths and before we know it we have tumbled headlong over the edge we did not previously notice. We land in the thick molasses river that percolates deep underground and are quickly carried away on the current. At first we are so disoriented that we do not realize the white roots we are grasping at to stop our progress are the bleached bones of the (sugar-addicted) dead who have gone before us. All too soon we arrive at the underground city and are surrounded by gesticulating gerbils with tiny swords. They pull us out and take turns stuffing us with chewy caramels and we are helplessly, hopelessly, humiliated.

The longer we spend in the Daily Diet Desert, the more alluring The Pit of Temptation becomes. I found myself an unwilling resident in that hot and barren wasteland over the winter. How did I get there, you ask? Well, I took a shortcut through work-out burn-out alley and cemented my residency by menu maleficence. One simply cannot eat the same foods and do the same workout day after day for months on end and not eventually experience catastrophe.

So there I was–stuck in the Pit of Temptation (standing in line at the grocery store)–the other evening when I heard Tina Turner sing, “We don’t need another hero”. One of the cashiers at Trader Joe’s began shrieking along with Tina and thereby cemented the tune in my mind for the next several hours. I drove home thinking, “But I do need a hero. I need someone to swoop down and pluck me out of this molasses river. I’m sick and tired of being lured off the path of righteous eating by the sweet songs of the chocolate milk moo cows. How come Hollywood never makes a superhero movie about Sugar-Free Sally and her trusty band of Salutary Sisters?”

Surely Sugar-Free Sally could ride in on her trusty steed, Stevia, and swoop me up. She would thrust her sword through those gesticulating gerbils and put an end to their cavorting caramel caper! Her sisters would then pull out their billowing blowtorches and flambé the gingerbread house until it was a charred ruin—no longer capable of luring unsuspecting innocents. Then, she would stand against the sunset and promise that she will always fight on the side of (fat free) soup, lettuce and whole fruit parfait.

Alas, I have grown weary of being held captive by vexing vermin! So I resolved to find other remedies for my sticky situation. You see, I know it is possible to escape the Pit of Temptation if one is brave and true of heart. Of course one must embrace sugar withdrawals and paddle their trusty life raft—the mighty Will-Power—against the current of popular opinion. One must navigate the Whimpering Waterfall and be willing to climb the treacherous walls of Elliptical Cavern. And once out of the pit, one must erect a barbed wire fence with a sign that reads, “Beware: Cotton Candy Sheep are Carnivorous!”

Once one has escaped from the Pit of Temptation, it is important to forge a new path and take refuge from the Daily Diet Desert in the land of Moderation. There is a quaint little town there called Respite where one can indulge in roasted vegetables, walk along the Babbling Brook of Early Bedtime, and massage away toxic emotions in Calorie-Free Cottage. It is a wonderful place to live and worth every step of the difficult journey.

Today, if you have fallen victim to the Pit of Temptation, take heart! Escape is not impossible, only difficult. The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, and the destination is definitely worth the discipline!

I think everybody’s weird. We should all celebrate our individuality and not be ashamed or embarrassed of it.

Johnny Depp

I was talking to someone the other day that I don’t particularly like. I don’t particularly dislike them either which means they must be a co-worker or someone in the grocery store or the receptionist at the doctor’s office who never smiles. Yes, I am being intentionally vague in order to protect the “innocent”.

I was whispering so as not to trouble passersby with our conversation, but also because we were discussing something unseemly. Suddenly the person I was talking to shushed me.

I said, “I’m already whispering.”

She said, “Yes, but you are a loud whisperer.”

But the problem was, I was so full of beans that even though I lowered the volume of my whisper, the beans insisted on coming out of my hands and arms and eyebrows. As I gesticulated wildly my conversant squinted at me as if to indicate how inappropriate I was. I walked away feeling foolish. Why is it I can’t behave like normal girls? This is a question my mother has been asking since grade school and I finally know the answer. I came from her body! It’s her fault! (but hey, at least I don’t whistle in the grocery story!)

Still, it is difficult being weird. If I’m not crushing societal norms with my loud whispering, I’m blurting out things that shouldn’t be said at all. One of my New Year’s resolutions for 2019 is to be more intentional with my tongue. I want to keep confidences, be kind, and not scream at my children. But every time my 10 year old son gets into the shower he obliterates the last item on that list. No matter how many times I tell him he’s going to start paying the water bill, he doesn’t respond unless I holler like a barred owl during mating season.

And while it might seem easy to be kind to strangers, there’s always some speed demon who has to cut in front of me in traffic only to stop and make a right turn so abruptly I almost crash into him. This makes me realize that I may not be a nice person even though I play one on TV.

My insecurities are only heightened by friends and relations who don’t respond to phone calls or text messages. Are they angry or busy? Are they both? Should I continue to text and leave voicemails or are they purposely avoiding me? At what point does my pursuance constitute stalking? Should I begin pranking them by calling from strange numbers? Or should I just start telling people I won the lottery. I bet everyone would answer the phone when I called then.

More difficult is that I have recently been tasked with keeping a very important secret. Yet everywhere I go I keep telling people the secret. I will be in the process of talking like a normal girl and then it just slips out. So I end up telling the person I’m talking to that they are they only one I’ve told and if they tell anyone I will know it was them which means I will have to kill them. Which is why I’m having nightmares, because I’m terrified I will be forced to commit mass murder in order to maintain my reputation as a trustworthy individual.

So in addition to all of the “mom” guilt and “wife” guilt and “I-skipped-church-because-I-was-legitimately-sick” guilt, I can’t even keep a simple New Year’s resolution, which only gives credence to the theory that I may be a bonafide hypocrite. My pants already know this. Every time we meet in the morning they say, “Hey, Hippo-crit!” so I stick my tongue out at them and pull up my control-top pantyhose. Because it’s fun to pretend I’m a sausage.

Adults like to ask children what they want to be when they grow up. Well, I want to be normal. Or at least I want to drive a Barbie car. I definitely want to have more courage than the cowardly lion, more discernment than a guinea pig and the ability to touch my nose with my tongue. But since none of those things is likely to happen, I can settle for NOT being the schmuck who forgot he was the editor for the Wall Street Journal(and not the National Enquirer!) this week.

I met a woman in the office the other day that I have corresponded with but never met in person. She sized me up as she shook my hand. Then she said, “Margaret, you are not at all as I pictured you in my head. I assumed you would be old and matronly.”

Even when people can’t see me I’m weird. Seriously! It’s not easy being weird.

4:00am. Pain flashes through the neck and scalp and the heart begins to pump like a herd of galloping buffalo; heavy and hard. The heavy, woolen blanket of depression remains, not so much in thought as in tangible manifestation. It has been smothering me for a few weeks now–like a python slowly digesting a meal. I know it is eating me but I refuse to be consumed.

Few will know because I don’t want pity, or comments that do more harm than good. They want to heal but they don’t know how. I don’t know why “I’m sorry you feel that way” feels like a curse. It’s so much easier to throw my shoulders back and use what little energy I have to smile and laugh. I will cry in private. Especially when I accidentally drop a glass and it doesn’t shatter.

Innocence is a Myth

My husband showed me the video. A mailman lay on the ground screaming while a vicious dog tore and tugged at his body like a wolf murdering a helpless calf. An old woman with a broom tried to beat the dog away but it would not let go. A man threw a trash can on the dog but it would not relent. Meanwhile the mailman screamed. It seems an apt notion of everything wrong in the world.

We may not think we need to take time to deal with the horrors of living in this world, but we do. Maybe we think we can ignore the hawk eating the gosling or the child predator beheading the boy who only wanted to look at toys while his parents shopped. We might think it doesn’t affect us, but our innocence has been slaughtered.

It’s good to be sad about sad things

I think depression is a reminder to stop and process the grief.

We rage against the senseless ache of depression because it interferes with daily life. The email must be processed. The meals must be made. The children must be bathed.

So we settle for another distraction. We binge watch the super heroes destroying the villains. We bake a pan of brownies and eat until we are sick. We have so many treacherous coping mechanisms that do nothing to actually heal us.

We are embarrassed to weep because weeping is a sign of weakness.

I push for healing like a machine pressing out parts. Input steel, output structural beam. I build a fortress of solitude and safety so how come it turns into a prison? The windows have bars but I don’t remember building it that way. I decide to make languishing an art because maybe it’s stylish to pout. But even this is meaningless. A chasing after the wind. Because I remember laughter that isn’t forced; the giddiness of a glad heart. Then I’m just angry.

But this is good! Anger is a wonderful beginning because it forces the heart to push the blood. And we all know the blood carries the white blood cells to the wounds so they can be repaired.

Waiting is Beautiful

I resolve to grieve well while I wait. I allow myself to cry. I invite the sadness to stay until it is done. I know now that I just need to really process all the pain so I can truly heal. No more pressing parts through my machine. Maybe hope just needs to go to hospice…and die.

Jesus said, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid. you heard me say to you, I am going away, and I will come to you. If you loved me, you would have rejoiced, because I am going to the Father, for the Father is greater than I. And now I have told you before it takes place, so that when it does take place you may believe. I will no longer talk much with you, for the ruler of this world is coming. He has no claim on me, but I do as the Father has commanded me, so that the world may know that I love the Father.” (John 14:27-31 ESV)

Elisabeth Elliott wrote in A Path Through Suffering, “I know of no answer to give to anyone except the answer given to all the world in the cross. It was there that the great Grain of Wheat died–not that death should be the end of the story, but that it should be the beginning of the story, as it is in all the cycles of nature. The grain dies. The harvest results. The sun must die in the west if it is to rise in the east. The crimson touch must be found even in the fresh shoots of the baby oak–they are destined for death.”

So the seed splits so that new life may grow. And the shoot is lovely.

That is why I love the amaryllis bulbs that I hide in the dark corner of my basement. During the coldest, melancholy months of the year, I pull them out to find the seed has split and a bud shoots forth. The rapturous explosion of color is a reminder that death is the beginning of something glorious. But one would never know that in the fall when one digs the cold, brown bulb out of the dirt to put in a pot.

Right now the months are cold. The sky is dark. The flesh is weak. Sadness is a cloak about which I am inherently swallowed. And while distractions abound, I am not lost in them. Because I think there is something wonderfully hopeful about depression. God is showing me that even when I am sad, the soft touch of new, freshly washed flannel sheets against cold skin is healing. When I am weak, the scent of mulberry candles tickling my nose is a touch of gladness. The little, brown wren flicking his tail in the early afternoon sun sings, “Don’t lose heart!” And the bright blue sky shining like a gem–the most overt prism in existence–is a promise that one day the Son will avenge all our sadness in a burst of glorious light with the heavenly host of angels behind him. And the prince of this world will no longer rule–not even in hell.

Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me,
 Bless Thy little lamb tonight,
 Through the darkness be Thou  near me,
 Keep me safe 'til morning light. (Mary Duncan)