Archive for the The Journey Category

I find beauty in a great many things. The ever-changing canvas of the sky, for example, mystifies me. One moment, a deep and abiding blue, the next, a tidal wave of clouds on the horizon, and the next moment the blue is gone—eclipsed by billowing shades of gray. One would think the sun had been swallowed up. But no, it peers out through crevices and creates shafts of light, as if to say, “the blue was not enough and so I called in the clouds in order to paint a prettier portrait.” And all of this experienced on a drive home from some errand I was not fond of.

The tasks involved in living a healthy lifestyle can feel like those errands. Salad for lunch. Again. Elliptical machine of Doom. Again. Walking around the block. Again. Celery instead of donuts. Again. It’s enough to make one chuck in the towel and land in the White Castle drive-thru. Because the sweet reward one grasps between greasy fingers satisfies an itch. The chocolate shake meets a need. The fries and perfectly-dolloped-ketchup bring to fruition a ritual that elicits a certain sense of soul-satisfying comfort. What you crave, indeed!

But I would propose that such rituals are hollow. The food-addicted person experiences the temporary pleasure in the immediacy of that moment, but each indulgence becomes a weight that brings the body low. And not only the body…. For each stomach-expanding experience pierces the soul. The food-addicted person lives to eat but often dies with each bite.

And so we hold fast with one fist to the foods that are killing us while grasping for an inoculation to the waist-expanding epidemic for which we feel there is no cure. We drown and we die. And hope is extinguished with each savory bite. Unless…

…we let go of what is killing us and cling fast to what is good.

I had been “good” for many months when I encountered the cake at work. Beautifully frosted and mostly uneaten, it felt wasteful to leave it there. Alone. Dejected. Forlorn. At least that is how I perceived it. My thoughts had turned traitorous.

“You can eat just one piece. You have worked so hard. Indulge. Go ahead. You deserve it.”

And so I settled in with a piece. But when that piece was gone, and no one was looking, I went back for another. And then another. And then my thoughts, on fire with sugar-laden euphoria, grabbed a box and began stuffing it full of left-over cake to take home. Four hours later, and sick as a sugar-overdosed human being can be, I found myself searching the aisles of Walgreen’s (in despair) for a bottle of ipecac to purge the poison from my body. (Thank God I did not find it). I just felt so helpless.

So how does one let go of that self-destructive behavior yet find a semblance of peace?

We must disseminate the lies from truth, and then forcibly live the truth.

This is not easy. The psychological issues surrounding addiction are buried deep within that squiggly gray mass that resides atop our obstinate bodies. Probing that sponge is like wading into the ocean of our issues. We stick a toe in and immediately withdraw. The water is ice cold! But I would posit that unless we persist, we perish. Unless we confront the why behind our addiction and start slicing off the heads of that beast as it rears and snaps, we will forever be under its power. We may find success for a moment—we may even reach our “goal”—but we will invariably collapse beneath the weight of the chains that bind us. And so…

If we are to rid ourselves of the addiction that is killing us, we must replace it with something else. The heart was not created to be a void. For many, this is the rub to reducing girth. I remember when vegetables and fruit were abhorrent. Lean meats provoked a gag reflex. But I knew the only way to live a healthy lifestyle was to stop consuming foods and pursuing habits that harmed my body—no matter what.

Developing healthy habits was very challenging, but I approached it with the attitude that the change would be permanent. Then I went on an adventure to re-learn how to eat. This is not unlike learning to ride a bike(I’m slow so it took me a REALLY long time to learn). Now, I don’t drink soda, and guess what? I don’t miss it. I do not consume fried foods and I do not miss them. French fries no longer have dominion over me, but there was a time not too long ago that a meal was not a meal unless it contained fries and soda. I spent decades in that dungeon. And I’ll be candid, I would rather cut off my own tongue than go back to that God-forsaken place.

Portia De Rossi describes her struggle with anorexia in the book, “Unbearable Lightness”. Her desire to fit a specific standard of beauty drove her to madness and nearly killed her. Karen Carpenter was not so lucky, and we lost a beautiful voice. Why do we fall in love with the lies? Why do we twist ourselves into pretzels to conform to the ever-shifting perceptions of beauty in our culture?

The lies have power because we are hungry for beauty, and so how we assimilate beauty into our lives is important.

Dean Koontz wrote book called, “A Big Little Life: A Memoir of a Joyful Dog Named Trixie”. In it, he describes life before, during, and after his friend. Everything that Trixie was, was beautiful. Her presence forever changed the Koontz’s lives.

“In each little life, we can see great truth and beauty, and in each little life we glimpse the way of all things in the universe. If we allow ourselves to be enchanted by the beauty of the ordinary, we begin to see that all things are extraordinary.” – Dean Koontz – A Big Little Life

Trixie brought such meaning and joy to the Koontz’s that the loss of her was unbearable. You see, once one has experienced real beauty, a false substitute will not do.

Addiction is ugly. Addiction is a cycle of lies. So in order to find our way out of the ugliness we must wage war with lies by way of beautiful truth.

Truth is beautiful because it sets us free.

Ask the pardoned convict who was wrongfully incarcerated. Or the addict who comes to understand his triggers. I like the way John Owen describes it in “The Nature of Indwelling Sin”, “For a man to find his sickness, and danger thereon from its effects, is another thing than to hear a discourse about a disease from its causes.” It’s one thing to sit in a classroom and learn about cancer, it’s a completely different experience to be diagnosed with it.

Beauty is the help we all secretly long for.

If you are a frequent reader of this blog, you might notice that many of the pictures I share are of nature. I am deeply inspired by the beauty in the world around me. We use our eyes to behold and absorb beauty. The intricacies of a cocoon, woven by a caterpillar that emerges as a butterfly is enough to fill the senses with wonder. But these types of beauty are not usually found by the casual eye. We must pay attention to our surroundings. We must seek them out. ANd when we do find them, they are marvelous. We simply have to train our eyes to find them.

The lie says, “Diets are miserable. I will have to eat food I don’t love.”

The truth says, “I don’t know how to make or even purchase tasty, healthful food.”

The lie says, “Salad is boring, vegetables are gross, and lean meats disgust me.”

The truth says, “I can try new salads, vegetables and meats until I find what I like.”

The lie says, “The perfectly-shaped body will make me happy.”

The truth says, “There is no such thing as a perfect body”.

Beauty is never boring.

The truth is beautiful because it is tangible. The truth is our only hope of ever breaking free from addictive behaviors. Once we are brave enough to expose the lies we believe—the lies we tell ourselves and others—and embrace the beautiful truth, the sooner we can begin to experience lasting change.

“Little Darling, it’s been a long cold lonely winter.” – The Beatles

I was in grade school when my class went on a field trip to The Magic House in Kirkwood, Missouri. Back then it was merely a large house that had been converted into a scientific romper room of sorts. One could learn by looking at squiggly kaleidoscopes on the wall whether or not one was color blind. There was also a large globe that, when touched, facilitated a current of static electricity to course through ones fingers and out through ones hair(which would stand on end). There was even a maze one had to wander through at the beginning of the journey in order to gain entrance. Basically, it was every child’s dream field trip and I remember enjoying it immensely.

My 8 year old son recently had the opportunity to visit The Magic House with his second grade class. He was very excited. When he arrived home after a full day my husband asked him, “Did you go in the Touch tunnel?” And suddenly I remembered that all of my memories about The Magic House were not happy.

When I was little, the Touch Tunnel was a maze that was completely devoid of light. One was given the opportunity to wander through it (sans shoes) using only ones sense of touch. In hindsight, I wish someone had warned the little girl who was terrified of the dark exactly how dark it would be. But when one is not aware of the danger, one generally enters casually the path they realize later they never, ever should have taken. The Touch Tunnel was one such path. They may as well have called it, “The Tunnel of Terror.”

It didn’t take me long to realize how dark pitch blackness actually is. It felt like the darkness had weight and was pressing in on all sides. Darkness is disorienting. It is cold. It is uncaring. It swallows, buries, and confounds the senses until all sense of light is utterly eliminated—even the hope of light. It was not until a friend heard my cries, grabbed my arm and walked me out of the darkness that I began to feel better.

I have recently been learning how to walk in the darkness of depression without caving in to despair. It is a very lonely experience in that no human being has the power to lift the darkness. The only way out is to walk through it. It is another milestone in my journey to learn discipline in all areas of my life. This milestone is ugly, heavy, and has very sharp edges.

When one is in the midst of a depressed episode, all sense of right thinking evaporates like water on hot pavement. All good and happy thoughts are swallowed in that darkness and the tendency toward unhappy thoughts is almost effortless. Therefore, learning to banish the unhappy thoughts and focus on true and good things requires great concentration and focus—both of which are challenging when the brain is not functioning properly. The depressed brain is nothing if not a malfunctioning organ. And when the brain is short circuiting, the rest of the body doesn’t work right either.

…which is probably why I also found myself in the dermatologist’s office with a badly inflamed case of eczema. I had run out of my soothing steroid cream and was seeking a new prescription. Eczema is like poison ivy that never goes away. If you have never experienced a similar skin consider, consider yourself blessed, but I digress!

When I walked into that office I was overwhelmed with the sense of hopelessness in the faces around me. Skin afflictions abounded. The mostly elderly people sitting in the chairs wore faces marred and downcast. One gentleman in particular looked especially miserable and so I decided to strike up a conversation with him in the hopes that lifting his spirits might lift mine as well. I have learned over the years that my suffering is lessened when I give the gift of joy and hope to others.

It didn’t take him long to share with me that he suffers with a mood disorder. He then shared that he is a retired psychiatrist. He said, “Margaret, did you know that research has been conducted that proves medications geared toward helping those affected with mood disorders help only 30% of the people who take them?”

I was shocked by his statement and told him so. I responded, “So does this mean that I can stop feeling guilty for not taking medication as many of my friends have indicated I should do?”

He nodded. “30% is basically equivalent to a placebo effect.”

So I then described to him my approach to depression, “I like to celebrate the good days.” And then I asked him, “Do you ever have good days?”

He said, “You know what? I do. In fact, today is a good day.” And then he smiled.

His smile made me smile, and somehow the heaviness in that room didn’t feel so awfully heavy anymore.

I have been working very hard to banish the unhappy thoughts that clobber me. They come out of nowhere and I must deal with them. If I do not kill the first one, it’s like bacteria that multiplies, spreads, and infects my whole body. The most potent antiseptic to these thoughts are to focus on words that I know to be right and true. For this reason I listen to my audio Bible when I exercise in the morning, even when my brain is afflicted and I find it difficult to process what I am hearing. I listen to the words of the One who loves me and whose love I know to be a conquering power over the deepest and darkest depression. And this is how I fight:

“Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.”  The Letter of Paul to the Ephesians 6:13-17

Learning to trust God in periods of depression is a discipline. It is the discipline of saying, “I believe You are who You say you are, and that your promises hold true even when I don’t feel your presence. My recent periods of darkness have left me feeling lonely, sad, and at times abandoned. It is in those moments that I begin to feel the tide of terror swelling—just as I felt in the Touch Tunnel. But even in those moments I have found that Jesus is faithful.

Yesterday I rose with the bleary-eyed shame of a cookie hangover. I didn’t have the strength to get out of bed, much less put on my workout clothes and go outside. So I did it anyway. If I waited until I felt like working out it would rarely get done. So I jogged and I walked, and I climbed hills and I cried because I didn’t feel well and because I was ashamed that I didn’t control my eating the night before. I was ashamed that I couldn’t stop binging on foods that seem to make my depression worse. And I felt the guilt fester and ooze and overwhelm me with hopelessness.

But on the dirt path I walked in the park, there in the pre-morning light, I heard a wonderful truth. It was a verse I had memorized many years before and it shone like a heavenly light deep into the darkness of my afflicted brain. The Great Healer said to me, “For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation for all people.” (Titus 2:11) And I felt his kindness overwhelm me and salve my heart with peace. I felt Jesus shame and guilt as he bore my sin on the cross, and I was impressed again with the great truth that He knew I didn’t have the capacity to do what is right and so he did it for me. The gospel message is simply this, we are sinners—broken and helpless—and he loved us so much that he paid the price to set us free.

I don’t really understand what happened in that moment yesterday, but as I was driving to work, I realized my depression was gone. It was as if a light switch had been flipped and I simply felt really, really good.

Last night I danced in my yard with my favorite boxer dog, Tank. Today I am celebrating another good day with lots of smiles, jokes and laughter.

And I am fully cognizant that depression will find me again. And so I choose to celebrate this good day and any others that choose to follow.

Years ago my friend Kitty took my hand in the Touch Tunnel and led me into the light. She didn’t eliminate the darkness, she only walked with me through it. But the touch of her hand reassured me. In sensing her presence I knew I was not alone. Today if you are walking in darkness, take heart. You are not abandoned. Sometimes we must feel around in the darkness and find the hands of those people who are just as terrified as we are. We must wrap our fingers in theirs and find our way along the dark path. But we must never, ever stop trusting and hoping that we will find our way through. And most importantly, we must remember to keep the promises of Jesus close to our hearts and wait. He is faithful who promised. 

Have you ever take a wrong turn? Maybe you were 5 minutes late and your hunch that the next street was the right street backfired and landed you in an alley with some shady looking characters. By shady I mean varmints—a ragged feline atop a rotten fence hisses a warning, and a half-starved dog with hollow eyes half barks/half growls from its chain in a bedraggled front yard. As you try to back out, you hear a crack, and with horror recognize the outline of a giant tree limb as it crashes to the ground behind the car. You are trapped! So you reach for your cell phone only to realize there’s no cell signal and suddenly your wrong turn has evolved into a very serious situation. On top of that, a hulking figure opens the door of a dilapidated house and peers out at you. What do you do?

Food addiction is a lot like that. One minute you are coasting along, driving the speed limit, obeying the rules that keep you safe, when suddenly a road sign pops up with some tantalizing message and your thoughts run askew. You may not even realize it’s happening until you are well on your way to planning how best to get your fingers on a Big Mac. You fight the urge. After all, you have managed to maintain your sobriety for a few months. But even that thought is deceptive. After all, you “deserve a break today”. You’ve been so good. What’s one Big Mac in the grand scheme of things? And a diet Coke? That almost makes it calorie free. And right after you say “I’d like fries with that!” you are in the parking lot scarfing down that special sauce laden patty and promising yourself it’s the last time. You’ll repent tomorrow. Until tomorrow becomes last week, or last month, and the path to hope is blocked by the giant tree limb of despair. Because the Big Mac wrappers may be safely hidden in the trash can no one looks in, but your pants don’t lie. And no, the drier did not shrink them again.

Food addicts always live in the tension of relapse. It’s not an “if”; it’s a “when”. We avoid our trigger foods to the best of our ability but inevitably the moment arrives when the flood gates of desire break down the dam of resolve and precipitously, we find that we are drowning.

I read a misleading book some years back titled, “The Disease of More.” Eleanor R. (who chooses to remain anonymous) details her journeys through alcohol and food addiction with the help of Emmit Fox and Overeaters Anonymous. By the end of the book she is cured. Initially the book was very helpful to me because her struggles made my own journey less lonely. But at the end, when she revealed that she had “arrived” at a place of full recovery, never to transgress with food again, I felt hopeless. I wondered, will I ever “arrive?” Is that even humanly possible? And I seriously wanted to call Kirstie Alley and ask her how she felt about that.

My heart is always restless, but more so when I am suffering. My body is restless too. I am constantly seeking for ways to cope in this world amidst the agonies it inflicts. Therefore, I sometimes take a wrong turn and end up in an ally with a tree limb blocking me in.

Now maybe you are reading this and thinking, “I don’t know what you are talking about. My life is fabulous. Good job. Perfect husband. 2.5 children, and everything is looking up.” Well let me tell you, “it” is coming. One day you are going to find out life is not “peachy.” One day you are going to take a bite and spit out a mouth full of worms.

It was in that condition I found myself on Sunday evening after a long weekend of weeping. I consumed one chocolate chip cookie. And then another. And that was after the giant bowl of popcorn and the ice cream cones. I had one thought while I was doing it, “I don’t care anymore.” And in the moments when I don’t care anymore, I slip on the lie that food will comfort me and fall further into the pit of despair. Then the tree limb isn’t just blocking me in, it has fallen on my chest and is crushing me.

On Monday morning when I woke up I had to ask myself a very hard question; do I really want to stay in the dark alley of food addiction? This is an important question because for many years the answer was yes. Sometimes we become a little too comfortable in our alley and with the tree that is crushing us. We make a habit of buzzing around inside like a fly in a jar.

“Woe is me!” we buzz.

“It’s not fair!” we buzz.

“God made me this way!” we buzz.

We distract ourselves with the scary cat and the barking dog because we don’t want to face our fears and our feelings. But what kind of life is that?

Tom Hansen illustrated this so beautifully in his book, “American Junkie” about his recovery from heroin addiction. He lay in a hospital bed sobbing because he had been numbing his emotional pain with heroin for so long that when he started to feel again, he was completely overwhelmed. With help from a counselor, he had to learn how to manage all those big feelings without drugs. So do I. And I need help too. My emotional pangs are big and scary. And I am sorely tempted to keep numbing them with food, but every time I do so I simply reinforce the bars of my cage. That is why it is so important for me to face the truth.

Food has never given me hope.

Food has never given me a future I can be proud of.

Food is a faithless lover that robs me of all my joy and peace.

Therefore to choose food is to choose a great lie. And to choose a lie over the truth is to deceive myself. Yes, my body requires food, but cookies, ice cream and popcorn will never feed my hungry soul.

And so I must make difficult choices. Buzzing won’t move that tree limb, but maybe I’ll get somewhere if I roll up my sleeves and begin chopping off smaller branches.

Which is how I found myself on a bicycle and in layers of athletic wear early on Monday morning. It wasn’t easy and I’ll admit I found myself sobbing as I climbed hills and considered the heavy grief I was carrying in my heart. For goodness sakes, we can’t all look like a Nike commercial! But in the middle of facing and dealing with my pain, I remembered that I am not on this journey alone. And what greater comfort is there in life than to know that regardless of how I feel, I never walk(or ride) alone. And thus I remembered one of the promises He gives, “Those who sow in tears shall reap with shouts of joy!” – Psalm 126:5

“I am sad and my sadness matters.” That’s what I said to the hulking figure poking his head out of the dilapidated house in the alley I found myself trapped in. And do you know what happened next? He leaned out from the shadows and said, “Would you like my help with that tree?”

I learned once again that facing my fears is important because usually fear is just the knee-jerk reaction to pain. Once we begin to address the pain, we start to notice what is causing the wound. And with the wound diagnosed we can finally ask the great Healer to heal it.

At least that’s what the Guy told me while we were moving the tree limb. Because even in the darkest alleys of life, Jesus is there. Even when we are too weak or broken or depressed to invite him into our stories, sometimes he will poke his head out anyway. Sometimes we just need to be brave enough to strike up a conversation.