Archive for the The Journey Category

“Whatever weakens your reason, impairs the tenderness of your conscience, obscures your sense of God, takes off your relish for spiritual things, whatever increases the authority of the body over the mind, that thing is sin to you, however innocent it may seem in itself.” – Susanna Wesley

I packed my bag a few years ago and headed out on a journey. I armed myself with a few books on sugar addiction and the hope that I could tame my passion to overeat. I wasn’t really sure where I was going, though I had a vague idea. I hoped to land somewhere between the corner of Lose Weight and Look Sexy by way of Discipline Street. I hit a few potholes via cookie dough and White Castle, but overall, I found the journey worthwhile. The praise of people is a good motivator. It’s nice to have cheerleaders.

But once I reached my goal weight in 2011, I found that I wasn’t quite where I needed to be. I still craved food more than I wanted to. I climbed the hill of regain and fell into the valley of depression. I took some wrong turns via Pride street. I started chasing ghosts via Career Avenue and found myself spinning in circles because—though I didn’t realize it—my compass was still pointing in the wrong direction.
My prayers were still mostly for me and all the pleasures life had to offer. I had new clothes and a smaller girth but the knowledge that I never wanted to go back to the beginning and start over was not enough to stop the binge eating and exercise bulimia tendencies. I probably don’t talk enough about the destructive mental behaviors that can accompany major body re-shaping, but needless to say they are just as toxic as the physical behaviors that got me into my obesity situation in the first place.

Somewhere between the valley of depression and the cliff of severe food allergies I came to realize how very little control I actually had over my body. Some days I felt fine. Other days my thoughts delved into self-harm. I prayed. I read my Bible. I waited. There was no magic supplement or wand to cure me. It seemed the only option I really had in life was to learn how to suffer well. I learned not to complain so much. I found joy in listening to others and offering encouragement from the comfort I had received from God via the Word. I found the still waters King David spoke of in Psalm 23 and felt the joy of a restored soul. But the physical and mental pains are still frequent bedfellows.

Recently I started to climb a familiar and rather rocky path. Compulsive behaviors are not curable that I’m aware of. Be it overeating or over-exercising, I’m a master at obsession/compulsion. And while I have a lot of tips and tricks around how to keep my weight off, not all of them are healthy. Pain and fatigue have a way of sucking one into a the quicksand of relief via dessert. But I refuse to remain in that cesspool and promptly put the brownies down and crawled out.

So there I was trying really hard not to sprain my ankle on the boulder of despair as I contemplated(fantasized about) a trip to my favorite ice cream haunt. It occurred to me once again that I could go and binge eat and then work it off later. Sure, my body is tired and worn out but as long as my calories in equal the calories out and as long as nobody notices(but me) I’m in the clear, right?

I considered the comfy habits and how they soothe me (its called habitualization). Then I rationalized that I could push my body into madness later in order to keep my summer clothes happy. But when I analyze those unhealthy behaviors and really consider how awful and enslaved they made me feel, I cringe. I don’t want to walk that path. And I definitely don’t want to feel like I’m shackled to food and/or exercise to be “healthy” when in reality I’m tearing my body and my mind to pieces in the process.

The thing is, I have come to understand that my life has a purpose. I have a destination and a destiny. Binge eating and exercise are only symptoms(and sin) that distract me from that purpose.

On this journey to learn discipline I have often stepped onto the edge of that treacherous cliff called Desire with the weights of diet and exercise around my ankles, but instead of looking down and deciding how hard my fall would be this time and how long it would take to recover, I looked out over the horizon. There in the distance I saw with great clarity the hope set before me. I saw the God who loves and forgives every fall and who will heal my broken bones every time I break them, but who longs to see me fulfill what He created me for….flying.

And that is when I noticed something I hadn’t before. I saw these shriveled little wings on my back. I never saw them before because I was always so busy looking down at my ankles and the rocks in the path. I decided to try and wiggle them a bit and found them respond. Whoa! I’m not sure they would sustain a long flight, but I wondered what would happen if I practiced. If God created me to fly, shouldn’t I be about the business of learning how to do that?

I’ve been crippled for so long by the idea that I had to hike the whole way, stumbling and falling and then taking time to recover that I never even considered flying and taking short cuts over the most treacherous places.

What specific event caused me to notice the wings, you ask? It’s this, I realized the journey is not really about me at all. I’ve been looking at me for so long that I missed the most beautiful view of all, Jesus. Now maybe you are thinking that I write about Jesus a lot so I must have this whole Christianity thing figured out. As if! The truth is, I do love Jesus and he is wonderful at cleaning me up and dusting me off and loving away my heartaches, but he’s also just really beautiful all by Himself. He’s not dependent on me at all but He has invited me to walk and maybe even fly with Him. But I’ve been holding onto some pretty heavy things that didn’t allow me to fully live out the purpose for which He has created me. I’ve been clinging to my identity as a food addicted person a little too closely. I’ve been exercising so much I almost forgot exercise can be something other than drudgery. I’ve been so rigid about what I put into my mouth that I sometimes forget I need to nourish my brain. And yes, I will always have foods that make me ill, but my whole world doesn’t have to revolve around them. I’ve been scuttling about in the dirt and shuffling rocks and not even realizing I had real live wings!
I don’t diet and exercise to stay thinnish. I live a healthy lifestyle so I can bring glory to my King. He has important work for me to do that requires flying and that is a wonderful and exciting thing to learn about oneself.

So now it’s time to take a deep breath…
I take the keys and unlock the shackle on my left foot of obsessive compulsive eating and then unlock the shackle of over-exercising on my right. I dust off my shame and guilt(those have been forgiven!) and I step closer to the edge. I feel the breeze. I look down and realize the rocks can’t hurt me if I use my wings. So I flex, I inhale, I smile and I leap…

and for a split second I think maybe my fall will be epic, but then I feel the updraft and suddenly I’m soaring!

“Let us also lay aside every weight and sin which clings so closely…” Hebrews 12

The author and perfector of my faith is showing me just how very much He loves me. I am certainly not without cuts and bruises but I have to admit the view from up here is simply stunning.

Running with endurance…

Soaring on eagles wings…

These come from not despising the discipline of the Lord.

Tears? Yes. Pain? And then some. Hope that can never be diminished? Hallelujah!

It’s easy to take things like working vehicles for granted. We hop in the car, press on the gas and zoom, zoom! Until one day the zoom sounds more like an oom, and then an oof, until there is no noise at all other than our tears as we consider the repair bill.

I have an older vehicle and so I’ve felt my fair share of auto trouble recently. I won a “no expense paid trip” into car-lessness via a bad power train over the holidays and more recently felt the pinch of grinding brakes. But I have been particularly proud of my shiny new Michelin tires(which weren’t cheap!). They make me feel safe. And safe is important when you’re a mom transporting children and other precious family members.

So on the way home from church today when I heard a loud pop, I looked in the rearview mirror to see if we’d hit a rock. Nope. Nothing. All clear. Until the thumping and roaring started and I promptly pulled over to the side of the road feeling less than confident about the Michelin Man.

In the grand scheme of things, a flat tire is pretty insignificant. Of all the things that have happened to me over the years, this experience was one of the least traumatic, but I was no less thankful for Mitch and Nick who stopped to help free of charge thanks to my tax dollars at work via MODOT. That’s the Missouri Department of Transportation for all not living in my lovely state.

And as I stood there watching them I realized that there is something so stunningly beautiful about grace. When one is standing on the side of the road 20 miles from home and completely helpless, it’s nice to be greeted by a friendly face with a car jack and tools.

My little ones weren’t so sure, however. They had never been through that kind of experience before. My littlest guy clung to me as we waited (before the nice men showed up). I held him and reassured him that all would be well, but he wanted proof. How was he to know everything was going to be okay? We were stranded! But experience has taught me that people whose cars crap out on the highway usually don’t stay there for long. And it was only a few minutes later when the MODOT fellows pulled up with their kindly neon yellow safety gear. I smiled. How like God to send someone so quickly.

Why is it we are so quick to question our circumstances when our Father has us well in arms? Sometimes we just have to wait a few minutes. Funny how I don’t question Him when help comes so quickly!

Trust is learned over time I suppose. We fall and find that love is not the fluffy pillow we wanted but rather the strong arms fending off the hungry wolves. We hear them snarling and focus too hard on their fangs without paying the least bit of attention to the might of him who would thrash them like Hercules. Our Father is so much more than we give Him credit for.

Today I am thankful for flat tires and strong arms. I am grateful for nail scarred hands and sins I will never have to atone for. My heart is full and happy! And I am so glad to be learning the quiet, plodding way via deliverance from less than ideal circumstances. Because there is something so wonderfully delightful about the unexpected ways God lovingly chooses to reveal his grace.

I have been very angry in recent weeks. Anger is the fruit of pain, and lately there has been no shortage of it. I will not bore the reader with my physical symptoms. I don’t write to whine. Needless to say there has been less sleep, more seclusion, and many questions—not the least of which is, why? What purpose could this pain possibly have?

I have found the things that normally comfort me dry and flavorless. Reading has not stemmed the pain. Prayer has not eased the pain. Music has not soothed the pain. And when pain is at its peak, sometimes we will do anything to stop it.

Last week I made a decision to eat in the hopes that I would find an inkling of relief. But the stomach will never be satisfied–nor will the soul–with the transient things in this world, because meaning is not found in nutrients. But as I consider my anger and the actions it provokes in me, I am learning that meaning will not be found in intense emotional outbursts (temper tantrums) either.

You may have noticed my last post mentioned Job from that old book, The Bible. But this blog is not an exposition on the man nor his friends. My search is always for me, for if I am to be utterly candid, I am the center of my world just as you are the center of yours. For no one can feel what I feel nor experience my experiences but myself, just as you cannot for even one moment lend me your tears.

Still, Job asks questions of God that are important.

“Have you eyes of flesh? Do you see as man sees?” Job 10:4

“Why did you bring me out from the womb?” Job 11:18

“Why do you hide your face and count me as your enemy?” Job 13:24

Job is nothing if not direct. He doesn’t ask casual question and he even goes so far as to demand answers. Circumstantially, I have little in common with Job, but at times I still ask the same questions.

Now maybe you are reading this and thinking, “Wow, Margaret! Heavy stuff! You’re bringing me down.” To which I respond, we are all down. Some of us are only further along in recognizing our true state.

I sat next to my grandmother’s bedside a few weeks ago. I had received a call that she was possibly near death after a massive heart-attack. I visited her for what felt like maybe the last time. She was in serious physical pain and unable to eat. My grandfather sat in a chair nearby and we conversed on several topics, not the least of which was the Bible I was holding in my hands. Because when things go bad in my life I carry it with me. Even if I don’t have the strength to read it, I hold it.

I read a passage to my grandfather that he inquired about and we discussed it. And then my grandmother, tired and weak, asked me a question, “Do you read your Bible often?”

“Every day.” I said.

And it’s true. But I didn’t tell her about all the days I read it and it doesn’t take away the pain. I didn’t tell her about the times (like that moment) when the Bible did not stop my sorrow. Or fear. Or anger. In hindsight, I must have appeared pious and holy, as if I never get angry with the author of my faith because my circumstances are not to my liking. Intense pain does this: it causes us to ask hard questions. That is why finding the correct answers is so darned important.

Because even though I believe the Bible is true, even though I believe there is a God who created hippo’s, crocodiles and human beings, I frequently doubt his goodness. The thing is, I sincerely want to believe that all things work together for good, but sometimes I can’t because I incorrectly associate my pain with the goodness of God, as if He is somehow dependent on how I feel about Him at any given moment. Pain does this too–it robs us of memories of the good times. I say that because in recent days I have forgotten what it felt like to feel okay.

And maybe that is why God’s answer to Job really ticks me off.

“Who has a claim against me that I must pay? Everything under heaven belongs to me.” (Job 41:11)

Sometimes I wish the God of the holy scriptures read more like the genie who is rubbed out of the bottle, “You’re wish is my command!”

I sometimes meet others who also feel this doubt in the midst of pain. They too quietly wonder where God is and why He lets their agonies continue. When I looked into the face of my grandmother—-one of the truly good people I know—-and watched her labored breath and pain-stricken face, I ached. Anesthetics, yes. Permanent healing? No. Because there is no cure for death. Somewhere in the tension of broken bodies, broken hearts, and resounding “no’s” I get a little stuck.

But I am learning something really important about discipline in this area: pain is not the end of the story.

If pain was the end of the story, Jesus never would have risen from the dead.

For that matter, the creator of the universe wouldn’t have left the throne room of Heaven and put on human(pain-filled) flesh. All of Job’s questions were answered in the response of the King of Heaven to our pain. He was called a Man of Sorrows. The Bible tells us He created the Universe. (Hebrews 1:1) But He too experienced hunger, sadness, loneliness, and grief. He attended weddings and funerals. And His drastic response to the problem of pain was to give the one thing that could save us all, his life.

So when I stand with my fists balled and stamp my feet at him, he gets it. And he lets me rage.

When I am angry enough to eat myself into a stupor…

When I am angry enough to run down to the motorcycle dealership and hop on a new bike so I can roar down the highway while cursing…

When I am angry enough to scream at my boys for bad grades and misbehavior and thoughtless shenanigans…

When I am angry enough to leave my husband and find a mate who doesn’t annoy me…

When I am angry enough to scream at the top of my lungs because I am sick to death of pain and suffering…

God is strong enough to handle my anger and loves me enough to listen and respond in love.

So when I have cried all the tears I can, and shouted all my anger out into the night, I find that He is still there… loving me and patiently waiting to take me into His arms and comfort me with His words.

In the stillness of that love, as I consider him being flogged…
As I consider the nails in his hands and feet…
As I consider the cross and each agonizing breath…
I stop raging, and I weep.

Jesus is nothing if not the God of hope. And hope defeats rage every time because hope defeats pain.

Amy Grant wrote a beautiful song that talks about this moment called, “After the Fire”. She says, “After the fire is over, after the ashes cool, after the smoke has blown away, I will be here for you.” And He will. Praise God, He always will! Because my anger is not the end of the story. He is. And the hope of Him gives me immense peace.