Archive for the The Journey Category

Today was a beautiful day for many reasons, one of which was not the title of this particular blog post. The sun was shining–always a good thing after many days of storms. It was Wednesday–which means I survived Monday. And, I took a spectacularly cool(read awesome) walk with my good buddy, Tank, to start the day. All things considered, I had many reasons to celebrate (not the least of which was renewed internet service after a prolonged outtage). Happy Wednesday indeed.

So when I saw the news via inter-office email that my company planned to reward hard working associates with FREE ICE CREAM I shuddered. Because really, who can say no to free treats? And ice cream? Good Lord! If you read this blog regularly you will know it is one of my fundamental weaknesses.

This is the point of the blog where ominous music (think Jaws) begins to play as the dark water starts to churn. Because when the words “free” and “ice cream” are used in the same sentence, I am like Superman in the company of kryptonite. I go all wobbly at the knees and the deeply ingrained rationalizations of why I should eat it begin to play in my head.

Maybe you are reading this and have never struggled with food addiction. If not, that’s okay, but at the very least you are probably human and have at some point experienced temptation. Temptation by itself is not a bad thing, and, if we are strong enough to resist it, can make us better human beings. At least that has been my experience. But walking through the valley of the shadow of temptation can be stressful, frustrating and, well, a big old bummer.

Once upon a time I would have begun to make plans to eat as much ice cream as possible when no one was looking. Because when you are noticeably heavy and insecure about your weight, eating in front of thinner people is a real problem. And I will also admit that since I’ve lost the weight it has become even more of an issue to let people see me eat things considered high in calories because for some odd reason, people like to comment on everything I put into my mouth.

For instance, a few months ago I was buying cookies in line at the cafe’ and a “friend” of mine was ringing out at the same time. Most everybody at work has seen my personal transformation, which, I guess, gives them permission to comment on what I eat. She takes one look at my cookies and says, “Tsk, tsk, tsk, Margaret! You shouldn’t eat those. Those are high in calories.” To which I smiled and said nothing in response because it was safer than poking her in the eye. I like my job. I want to keep my job. But that did not stop me from thinking terrible, judgmental thoughts about her(because she was not a thin person). God forgive me.

But back to the ice cream. The Ted Drewes arrived around 1:30pm and everybody flocked to it like bees to honey. Okay. That’s a bad analogy. Bees make honey. Whatever. You know what I mean. And I was right there with them. But I immediately put my ice cream in the refrigerator because that’s my habit now. I won’t eat it in front of anybody(for the most part). I’ll save it for later. Or, better yet, I’ll save it for my husband. Who lays flooring for a living and is perpetually hungry. And skinny(although he prefers the term “wiry).

At the beginning of my journey I would have agonized over that ice cream. I might have obsessed over how many hours of cardio I needed to do to work it off. Or I might have just gobbled it all down and cried later. Because food addiction is a brain thing and my brain was once twisted like pretzels around unhealthy eating habits. I never imagined I would break free of that cycle, but over time I have developed healthy habits that are far more satisfying both physically and emotionally. So when I consider eating the ice cream, I know full well the psychological turmoil it will wreak on my mind and the physical exercise that must accompany it in order for me not to regain weight. And well, the thing is, it’s just not worth it.

Today if you are reading this and thinking you will never make it past week one of your lifestyle change much less week 101, don’t lose heart! Every time you make a healthy choice, you are building something wonderful; a new you. Eventually you will get to a place where making a healthy choice is your first instinct. In fact, you may even lose your cravings for unhealthy things like french fries(which used to be a staple in my diet and now I don’t eat at all or even miss). I never imagined I would live life without Pizza Hut and now it pains me to eat it. Seriously. I know. I am so weird, right?

So as much as I do love ice cream, I just don’t eat much ice cream anymore. And to be honest, I don’t miss it. I make my own at home(sugar free) or I get frozen yogurt from Menchies every so often(because it’s awesome and they have great sugar free options). And you know what’s really cool? I’m happy. And I wasn’t even sad today that I couldn’t eat ice cream. I just brought it home and gave it to my husband, who squealed with delight and did a jiggly dance. Okay, not really, but he did grunt and nod, and that’s pretty much the same thing.

I once heard my favorite orator talk about pleasures. He said something along the lines of all pleasure having a cost. For illicit pleasures, one pays for it AFTER they have partaken in it. For pure pleasures, they pay BEFORE they partake in it. That really resonated with me(Thanks Ravi Zacharias–“The Problem of Pleasure”) So in essence, there is no “free” anything. For me, ice cream is generally an illicit pleasure because it really scrambles my brain. And so I stay away from it. I used to see “free ice cream” and run to it because I thought it would somehow waste if I didn’t eat it and I just couldn’t resist that temptation. But now I know that eating it “wastes” me. It is not, in fact, FREE at all. There is a very high cost for that “free” ice cream. It’s certainly not guilt free, and that’s the only thing that really matters, in my humble opinion. Because one thing I have learned over the past 6 years of walking this path is that I am NEVER going back to a 310 pound body. Never. And the joy I get from exercising and eating right far outweigh 5 minutes of sweetness on my tongue.

For those of you struggling, don’t give up. For those of you who ate ice cream today, don’t eat it tomorrow. Keep striving. Continue to persist in making choices that edify your body. Because you are worth it. You are worth more than being trapped in a body that brings you misery and pain. I know because I have lived it. I haven’t fully “arrived”. Please don’t read this as arrogance. But I do continue to try. Every day is a new opportunity to make right choices. And that gives me the greatest pleasure of all!

I went on a bike ride today. I was tired and I’m not certain it was what I really wanted to do. Sometimes I just don’t feel good and I know that exercise will help. If nothing else, it helps clears the cobwebs from my brain. But today my ride was more motivated by guilt.

The weather was perfect. Not too hot for an August afternoon. And while I did marvel at the beautiful cloud strewn sky as I pedaled out of the city and into the country, in the back of my mind I was paying penance for eating something I maybe shouldn’t have. And there is nothing more joyless than working out from guilt rather than sincere fun.

And maybe that is why as I was riding down a back country road I began to feel a little like Eddie Murphy in The Nutty Professor screaming, “Spandex!” after his magic potion for shrinking his body overnight worked. I felt awkward because spandex is not only tight, but because it wasn’t so long ago I was terrified to wear anything so revealing. Back in the day, I wore only baggy clothes because I felt I could hide my fat rolls in them. They made me feel safe and secure when losing weight was nothing more than a fantasy.

The fear of gaining the weight back has taken a back seat to other health concerns lately, but every so often it rears its ugly head. And while I know my waistline is not the most important byline, it is so easy to slip back into old habits. Especially because I still have “trigger” foods.

Today I attended a luncheon at my church, Riverside Church in Webster Groves, MO. It’s a wonderful place where nobody condemns anybody and people are just generally really nice. They faithfully loved me through a huge physical transformation and I just really feel safe there. But all of that aside, today I made a huge pan of blueberry cornbread and I ate 2 pieces. I suppose this isn’t a big deal to most folks but for me it’s scary. I don’t eat a lot of bread because generally, once I start consuming it, I struggle to stop. Even worse, the feeling that I had committed “carbohydrate sin” was so powerful that when I went to help my son get dessert I actually reached for the donuts while thinking, “While I’m here I may as well eat donuts too!” That’s an awful, old lie I used to believe and give in to many moons ago after I had eaten something I wasn’t supposed to. So as I was reaching for the donuts, I pulled my hand back and called the lie out for what it was. And then I helped my son get his dessert and walked away.

Except I still felt residual guilt for that goofy cornbread.

I was praying about this guilt and giving it back to the Lord when one of my favorite Andrew Peterson songs began to play. “Be Kind to Yourself” is a wonderful mantra for those moments we are punishing ourselves for transgressions we have committed. He sings, “When the voices in your mind are anything but kind, and you’d rather be anyone else… I love you just the way that you are.” And it just grounded me in the wonderful knowledge of the grace that I have received. I am loved just the way that I am. It was a wonderful reminder.

Today I feel victorious because I did not eat the donuts I reached for. I feel victorious because I ate a reasonable dinner(I did not overeat). Today I feel victorious because God once again reminded me that I need to stop punishing myself. Yes, there are consequences to overeating and eating foods that harm my body, but those things are completely separate from the love of my heavenly Father.

“For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” – Romans 8:38-39

Today I am adding to that list… “nor eating too much cornbread” and I am forgiving myself. And I am moving forward.

I went on a bike ride today and remembered that I am loved just the way that I am. If you are reading this and feeling condemned, this is just a gentle reminder that you are loved too.

And I am glad I went on that bike ride rather than sit at home and fester. Because I saw the most amazing field of sunflowers. And the sunflowers reminded me with their upturned faces that being happy is as much a choice as letting go of guilt.

“We’re designed to search for reason in the seemingly senseless events that torpedo our lives, and we want to make sense of them as soon as they happen.” Rachel Wilson

I have lately been walking through life in a haze of pain. Emotional pain. Physical pain. Relational pain. With each step I feel the weight of it, like a shoe that doesn’t fit quit right, it digs into my ankle and leaves a blister. And I have this idea that one day I will wake up and the pain will be gone, and then I will experience this blissful “happy” other people are so readily prone to. The problem is, I live in the real world and waiting for the “happy” is a little like waiting on a flight that keeps being delayed. I’m staring at the tarmac and watching for the big metal machine to coming rolling up to the gate but it never arrives, and frankly, I’m just miffed. Because to be quite honest, I’m sick of these stupid shoes.

My natural tendency is to avoid the pain at all costs. And so I develop little coping mechanisms to get me through the tedium. I eat too many brownies(when no one is looking of course). I watch television(because fictional drama is easier). And I scroll through Facebook, reading political commentary, and secretly judging my friends without analyzing my own flawed opinions. I feel like I’m gliding across a frozen pond in a beautiful pair of white ice skates(because pretty is important, right?). And I know I’m going to have to deal with the cold eventually, because my fingers are frost bitten and black, but right now it’s easier to just ignore the painful truth and stay numb. Because thawing is when the pain really begins.

But thawing is also when the healing begins. And whether I like it or not, pain and healing go hand-in-hand.

This past weekend our little family made a trip to the country with the idea that we would get away from the pain and stress of our relatively ordinary lives. We haven’t had time or money for a vacation and the grown-up responsibilities are stacked up like immovable blocks. Early in the week I begged my husband for a quick camping trip and he said yes. And I was so excited! Until I woke up ill on Saturday morning.

Instead of jumping out of bed and throwing all our gear into the car, I struggled to form cohesive sentences. I knew what needed to be done but I couldn’t make a simple decision. So I wore a path between the kitchen and the bathroom while my husband kept asking me, “Are we going or what?” My little guy was busy bouncing around the house in a frenzy of anticipation and excitement. And I wanted to be excited too, except my tummy hurt and my brain was foggy. And frankly, it just wasn’t fair.

But I could not bear to disappoint my little guy, and so I started putting things into bags and packing a cooler. I knew I’d forget something—I always do—but I found great satisfaction in pulling away from the house with all of the most important things in the car(namely the children AND the dog). My little guy was chattering like a monkey on speed and my husband was losing his temper, so I pulled out a story I had printed up from the internet earlier in the week and calmly read about a little town called Sligo(in SW Missouri), and one of the families who was fortunate enough to live there. And then we were caught up in the tale of Dwilla Lewis Dubouchet and what life in the late 1800’s was really like.

We pulled into the campsite fairly relaxed, but quickly lost our cool with all the tasks that needed to be accomplished in order to put warm food into our bellies. Cooking over a campfire is no small accomplishment, but it is one of the wonderful things that make camping so much darn fun.

If you can get the fire started that is.

And since it was clear that rain had recently doused the area, it took quite a few matches (and a half gallon of lighter fluid) to get the wood going. Meanwhile my teenager grumbled and groused about hornets and heat. And my little guy ran around in circles emitting high-pitched noises between unreasonable demands(I want to go to the river NOW!). So after our bellies were full(we had to eat with our fingers because I forgot the utensils) and we were completely soaked with sweat, I somehow convinced my exhausted husband to accompany us to the river where we could cool off and relax.

Except that my little guy is behaviorally challenged and would not follow instructions. He was being unsafe in the river and after about 45 minutes of patiently directing him to stop trying to drown, I gave up and we went back to our campsite. And the teenager was still grumbling about the heat and having to sleep in a tent. And the little guy was still buzzing around making unreasonable demands, but somehow I found a way to lie down in the back of the truck and stare up into the sky. And that is when I saw it.

The trees over the truck blocked much of the sky, but there in the leaves of the canopy I saw the shape of a cross and I remembered that for all my suffering, there is One who went before me and bore the worst of it. And by his stripes I am healed(Isaiah 53:5).

Life on planet earth is a succession of pain and sorrow. Our bodies are fragile and perishable. People wound us with their actions and words. We suffer mental and physical illness. We anguish and sob over traumas so recklessly inflicted upon our person. But this is not the end of our story. As Rachel Wilson so eloquently writes in the book she co-authored with her husband, Andrew, (The Life We Never Expected), “We rush to explain all the ways in which having special-needs children has, despite appearances, enhanced our lives. We strive daily to make sense of the senseless, so that the pain we’ve experienced will not be in vain. In other words, we write our own happy ending. But we are not the storyteller. We don’t have the power to resolve the twisted plot and bring triumph out of tragedy. Only God does. And his timing is often very different from ours.”

This morning I saw the sun rising through thick fog. It was more like a mirage than a sunrise. The small, pale, orb hovered there on the horizon like an opaque gem, shaking smoky sunbeams at the earth. I stopped my bike and took a picture, but I couldn’t quite capture the eerie light and dull throbbing ache that seemed to resonate through the clammy air around me. Maybe it was just my “hurty” heart and the realization that I may never know a pain-free life this side of Heaven, but in that moment I desperately longed to ask the Storyteller one simple question, “Why all this suffering?”
Today I am thawing. I am facing the frostbite. And it hurts. But it is not the end of the story. I like the way Rachel Wilson writes it, “The biblical drama ends with redemption, as the hero defeats the villain, gets the girl, saves the world, and lives happily ever after.”

If this was not the case, I would truly have a reason to despair. But as it stands, my suffering is temporary and therefore, I have only one real choice: Rejoice!

Sunday morning my family found respite in the Meramec River after about 2 hours of fitful sleep. The spring fed water gurgled in a beautiful blue array around us as we splashed and laughed and frolicked. We planned to spend most of the day there, but 30 minutes into our play, a frightful storm blew in. Amidst the thunder and lightning, we scrambled to the truck, raced back to our campsite, and loaded the last of our belongings as the first raindrops hit the windshield. And it felt rather anticlimactic to drive home against the backdrop of dark storm clouds and feisty wind after a full day of “not relaxing”. But as I sat next to my children, who nibbled on cold hamburgers and carrot sticks, I had to smile. Because even though we did not get the quiet, relaxing weekend we had hoped for, I know that one day I will. And when I think about what that looks like, what it will actually be like to walk on the shore of Heaven’s beautiful rivers with the Storyteller, knowing exactly and fully how the story ends, well, what are a few silly dark storm clouds and frostbitten fingers anyway?