Archive for the The Journey Category

Well, I have almost survived the holidays without gaining weight. But wait! I should have lost weight. Alas, but I ate! Yes, shortly after my last post I became stressed to maximum capacity with holiday preparations and buried my head in a pan of homemade brownies. I’m not proud. But I figure if I’m going to be honest about living a healthy lifestyle, I must also share when I fail to do so.

While we enjoyed fellowship with family, family dysfunction, and turkey, (turkey is an excellent coping mechanism by the way) it is clear that the feasting must come to an end and the exercise regimen must resume.

This morning I climbed out of bed–fresh from a visit to the family farm–and realized it was time to work off some of this blubber. I have a Nordictrack elliptical machine I bought off Craigslist a few years ago that resides in the dark corners of my basement. I use it the most in the winter when it’s too cold to ride my bicycle. And since it was raining this morning, I decided it was time to re-familiarize myself with the machine.

I want to state for the record: the machine is not my friend.

This is not an infomercial. I don’t go down into the bowels of my home with a cheery smile and a skip in my step. I walk down the stairs with the sound of shrieking violins playing in my mind. I imagine Freddy and Jason have become pals and are standing next to the machine while they invite me to come play. And that is why every time I choose to use the elliptical machine (of doom) I procrastinate.

It took me an hour to move furniture and sweep the basement. I hoped cleaning dust and dirt off the floor would help declutter my mind and make using the elliptical less torturous. For context, I hate cleaning only slightly less than using the machine.

My son was watching cartoons but I made him turn them off. Using the machine requires intense concentration and I cannot afford distractions. Even the slightest irritation will cause me to “go off the rails.” Which is why I always read John Owen when I’m on the machine. I focus wholeheartedly on the tasty truth of overcoming sin and temptation so as to somehow avoid the revenge of the machine for at least another week.

Of course half way through my workout my third born son decided to play with the boxer dogs. The next thing I knew there was a volleyball under the track and I was in jeopardy of wobbling, falling, and breaking my hip. I may have shouted a curse word, but since no one recorded and uploaded it to social media, it didn’t really happen. I will admit, however, that my already elevated heartrate broke records previously unsurpassed in the history of Wolfinbarger workouts. Freddy and Jason thought this was hilarious.

Now, I want the dear reader to understand that I don’t look like those women on the Nordictrack commercials. They look cute when they wiggle. I probably resemble Cathy Bates from her appearance in About Schmidt (though I have never watched that film). While I was sweating and trying to breathe, I promised myself that I would never, ever eat brownies again. And while the machine was extracting its pound of flesh, I held on like an action hero clinging to the bottom of a helicopter while it is taking off with his woman inside. Except it looks so much cooler when Chuck Norris does it. Obviously, he never had a C-section.

After the machine was done with its dastardly work, I collapsed into a puddle onto the floor. My son said, “Mom, are you still alive?” I responded by blinking my eyes a few times. I was still unable to speak. Meanwhile my doggies ran over and rolled all over me because they seemed to think it was time to cuddle with the puddle of sweat.

Today I survived the revenge of the elliptical machine. But if anyone sees a headline next week that reads, “Woman Dies After Elliptical Machine Catastrophe”, rest assured they will show a cute smiling picture of me that was taken while I was not using the machine.

“I made a mess of me I wanna get back the rest of me. I’ve made a mess of me I wanna spend the rest of my life alive.”- Switchfoot – Mess of Me 

 Have you ever had an itch you know you shouldn’t scratch because you know it will only itch more? Think…poison ivy. Eczema.  Psoriasis. Chigger bites.  Intense scratching is what you want to do more than anything in the whole wide world but when you do there is no relief. That’s how I feel today. My itch is big—way bigger than chigger bites—but I’m not scratching. And I’m about to lose my mind.

“But Margaret,” you say, “this is what calamine lotion is for. Don’t you have any hydrocortisone cream? Or maybe you should call your doctor and get some steroids. Steroids are amazing for relentless skin afflictions.” And this is where I respond by slapping you across the face and then shrieking, “Give me some ice cream now before my brains explode.”

*Margaret breathes deeply and tries to compose herself but instead dissolves into tears.*

15 minutes later…

Sometimes it feels like there is no relief for killer cravings. They pop up out of nowhere and attack ones sanity. One sips hot tea or water, chews sugar free gum, and basically endures second after minute after hour of relentless torment only to be met with more agonizing want. The hunger for “that thing” gnaws at your resolve like a wiry squirrel chomping at a bird feeder. The mind begins to rationalize and pretty soon you are convinced that consuming the forbidden food is worth breaking every goal you’ve set if only to relieve the itch for a few minutes. But I am here to tell you it is not.

You see, I don’t like squirrels. In fact, I own a squirrel trap. And I’ve become pretty adept at capturing those suckers when they begin to malign my bird feeders. Yes, I know they are living creatures. Yes, I know they get hungry. The thing is; I don’t care. As far as I’m concerned, they all deserve to die. The only good squirrel is a stuffed squirrel. Or squirrel stew. Or a squirrel-skin cap. And this is the part of the blog where I break out my bb gun and pump it a few times. Cause I’m out for blood. Squirrel blood that is.

That is how serious I am about denying ones cravings. And if the bb gun doesn’t do the trick, I’ve got a hatchet, a hammer and a saw.

People used to tell me, “Margaret, you need to treat yourself. Nobody can deny themselves all the time. You’ve done so well. Here, have a piece of cake.” They stopped saying those things to me when I got that crazy look in my eye that seemed to say, “Do you have a death wish, Squirrel?” Because I don’t take kindly to sabotage. Cue the soundtrack to my life every time a commercial for Hershey’s holiday kisses comes on.

So here’s the situation. You’re in full blown craving mode. That itch is red hot and trying to burn your house down and all the weapons you’ve thrown at it have been consumed. You are standing in line at Chick-Fil-A. There are three customers ahead of you in line. The servers can’t wait to have the pleasure of making you fatter. What do you do?

Walk out of the damned door.

Get in your car.

Turn on some Beastie Boys and head bang your heart out.

Cry. Moan. Honk your horn at unsuspecting little old ladies. Scream if you have to. But do not eat the ice cream.

This is war, folks. You don’t win wars by losing battles. Just ask George Washington after all the other companies wussed out at the Delaware River.

Today I went to war with the squirrel. He was gnawing at my innards and I took him out with the shot gun. (the bb gun was too small!) Now, maybe you are thinking that’s a little extreme. Nope. That squirrel was rabid and set on pissing off my pants. Yes, I’m cussing. These is fighting words. I like my pants loose and happy—not tight and vicious. When I was a kid, my dad never cussed except when he got really mad. And I knew when he used the word “pissed off” it was serious. I’m using it today. (Thanks, Dad!)

Today, if you are tempted to scratch that itch, break out your shot gun.

Tell that damned squirrel to piss off.

I know he’s giving you lip. He’s telling you that you aren’t strong enough to abstain any longer. He’s nibbling at your guts and squeaking, “You can’t take me! I got you over a barrel. You NEED it.”

Well I’m here to tell you the truth.

You don’t need it.

You are strong enough to abstain.

You will only feel worse if you indulge.

Eat a grapefruit. (or any kind of food on your approved list)

Cuss and cry out for help.

Call a friend.

And then do the next thing.

Is that strong enough tonic for ya? Well is it, Punk?!

“When we are no longer able to change a situation we are challenged to change ourselves.” Viktor E. Frankl

I was recently contemplating the rich and chocolatey brownies placed strategically outside my cubicle at work. I thought about the melty goodness on my tongue and the sugar euphoria that occurs in the minutes after consumption. I considered immediate gratification and long-term consequences. Then I did the only thing I know how to do in such circumstances. I cried out for help.

I have taken this hill before. So why am I fighting this battle again? Have the horrible habits that defined my life pre-weight loss conspired to annihilate me? Has my brain been befuddled by an overdose of holiday cheer? Am I simply longing for relief from the stress of making good choices day in and day out? Or am I inadvertently aiming at psychological self-sabotage?

I know what part of the problem is. Self-indulgence—a popular trait in American culture—is rarely scorned. We celebrate our ability to copiously indulge. Every television commercial promotes this ideology. The ads that pop up on the internet prompt us to put our money where our mouth is. And that’s just food. What about cars, clothes, shoes, and devices? We are told we need more, faster, and better things to make our lives more meaningful. But do they really?

Still, I could rage against corporate greed but that is only a symptom. The real problem is my heart. What do I love? Food. What do I worship? Dessert. What am I helpless to resist? Gluttony.

For many years I sought pleasure in overindulgence, but the more I ate, the more unhappy I became. I was never satisfied because food may satisfy the stomach but it will never satisfy the heart (though the Lord knows how hard I tried…).

So what do we do when we reach the place where we have denied ourselves nothing we desired and find ourselves spiritually, emotionally and physically bankrupt? How do we proceed when every thought is slavery to that thing we don’t know how to live without? How do we respond when the veil is removed and we see our situation for what it really is?

Dear reader, take heart! There is hope. This moment is a gift. Seize it and find life.

Abstinence is an opportunity

Rod Dreher recently wrote a compelling essay that included a personal story about his time spent practicing celibacy before marriage. He chose this path because of his choice to follow the tenants of his Catholic faith. It was a difficult position for him to take–but important–as he clearly articulates.

“It was so clear to me from the very beginning of our courtship that the three years that I lived chastely, out of obedience, had been a period of profound purification and maturation. I did not know what was happening to me when I was in the middle of it. I just trudged onward. But had I not submitted to the teachings of the Church (grounded in Scripture), I am certain that my heart would not have been ready to receive marriage. I would have remained the same immature man-boy, unable to commit to anything, following his inconstant passions. The chastity I lived under was difficult and even painful, but it was spiritual training that I desperately needed.”

When we deny ourselves that thing we “can’t live without”, we find out who we really are. C. S. Lewis wrote in Mere Christianity, “No man knows how bad he is till he has tried very hard to be good. Only those who try to resist temptation know how strong it is.”

Now I am using the brownie as an example because it is a very real temptation for me towards gluttony. But my reader may not struggle with food. Maybe your vice is something easier to hide; like porn, or greed, or lying. That doesn’t mean they are any less toxic to the soul. Why? Because they are sin. And if you think lies aren’t horrible, tell that to the man who has been convicted of a crime he did not commit.

Why is sin important? Because sin separates us from God and He is the only one who can truly satisfy the longings of our soul.

Now maybe you will read that sentence and consider me a fool. Who is this “god” anyway and why does he want to get in the way of me having fun? He doesn’t have any business bossing me around. I’m living a perfectly fine and moral life. I’m not hurting anybody. Heck, I don’t need him ruining everything. Besides, I’m perfectly comfortable with my pretty little vices. My peculiar peccadillos make me happy. Shut up and leave me alone.

That may be your position today, but some day you may feel differently. When you do, come back and read the rest of this blog. You can bookmark it for reference. For the rest of you, keep reading.

I want the longings of my heart satisfied but I’m awfully stubborn. I’m so hard-headed that for years I didn’t care about my sin hurting God. I wanted what I wanted and if he didn’t like it he could go suck an egg. I let callouses grow around my heart so I could no longer discern what was good and right and true. Until one day I woke up and realized all those things I had been chasing brought me nothing but misery. You see, God hates sin, but He loves me. He let me pursue the lesser pleasures–to my detriment. In His kindness he showed me just how horrible sin really is by letting me have as much of it as I wanted. But when I finally chose Him instead of my sin, then the flood gates of joy really opened up

Now, if I want to remain in close communion with him, I must stop whatever sinful behavior I am tempted to commit. Is it difficult? Absolutely! Is He worth it? Yes, he is.

Are you miserable today? Do you feel trapped? Is there something that you can’t quit doing that brings you nothing but dissatisfaction and misery? Are you ready to admit you are powerless against it and ask for help? Good. He is ready and willing to refine you. All you had to do was ask.

Sometimes I am fighting the same battles I fought yesterday but I know the best news ever proclaimed to mankind; I am never fighting them alone, and with his help I will proclaim victory once again.