Archive for the The Journey Category

I have been reading a pretty good book by Dean Koontz called, “Ashley Bell” in which the main character, Bibi Blair, faces some pretty daunting situations. When she is most afraid she calls herself “a valiant girl” in order to give herself courage. She will say something like, “Valiant girls do not go mad,” and then run off to face her fears. The more I read about her, the more I want to be like her. The problem is, I’m not a fictional character in a book. I’m real. At least I think I’m real. And my problems are pretty real too.

I recently celebrated the completion of my very first 3 minute plank. Now you have to understand that I never thought a 2 minute plank was possible, but I have learned over time that if I ignore my brain and try anyway, I often find that I can accomplish heretofore thought impossible things. So last weekend when I was holding my position and miraculously managed to pass the 2 minute mark, I wondered if I could hold for 15 more seconds. So I tried. And when I made it I wondered if I could hold for 15 more. And I did! And when I wondered if I could make it to 3 minutes, I thought, “I will probably die, but I should try it anyway.” And so I celebrated by posting my accomplishment on facebook, because you know it didn’t really happen if you don’t post it on facebook. And everyone congratulated me. And I was the queen for a day. And it was so totally awesome. Until I woke up the next morning and realized that wasn’t the end of my story. Because for every 3 minute plank, there is a triple scoop ice cream cone hiding around the corner waiting to take me down like the weak chump I really am.

“Bibi needed to gather her courage; the one good thing about doing so was that, given how little courage she still had, she didn’t waste much time in the gathering of it.” –Dean Koontz via Ashley Bell

Sometimes gathering courage feels like trying to build a fire with wet moss. No matter how many times you stick a match into the moss, the result is always the same; a small pfft–and then a little wisp of smoke as the match burns out. At least that how I felt this morning when I was trying for the 3 minute plank again. I realized I was a “little off my feed” but still, 2.15 felt like a failure. Every exercise I tried to do felt like my imitation of a wet noodle pretending to be dry. But I pressed through it because, truthfully, I don’t trust my body. Years ago my body told me “fat is the answer.” In case you were wondering, the question was, “Who are you?” So now I really struggle to listen to my body. I push through the hopeless/helpless feeling like a duck hunter wading through mud. I know there’s a duck out there somewhere, I just have to find it. Then I will shoot that sucker and…well…somehow that analogy breaks down because I like ducks. They are pretty. So never mind. But you get my point. Sometimes I don’t feel good and I push forward anyway because that is what valiant girls do.

So I was at the doctors office last week and the kind, well-intentioned doctor told me to “take it easy” over the weekend. And I said, “What does that mean? It’s supposed to be nice on Saturday and I want to ride my bike.” And she smiled and nodded and said, “I understand. You should do that. Just don’t go up any big hills or anything too strenuous.” And I started laughing like the perfectly ridiculous cartoon character I am and said, “You don’t know me very well, do you?! You may as well tell me to staple my lips to the ceiling. That would be easier than “taking it easy.” Because I have become so accustomed to pushing through “the hard” that it’s really challenging distinguish between valiance and lunacy.

I saw a woman at work today who had lost a fair amount of weight. She has gained it all back. Just like that. I bet one day of resting turned into two and then ten. And I’ll bet she was “listening to her body” while she ate a high calorie meal and promised herself she would make up for it another day. The struggle is real folks! So yeah, when someone tells me to “take it easy” I’ll definitely take the lip-stapling to the ceiling, thank-you-very-much!

“Valiant girls are spunky and resolute.” –Dean Koontz via Ashley Bell

Facing food addiction and depression is tough stuff. And the hardest thing about it is that I can’t trust my body. My brain lies to me. My muscles lie to me. And all of my thoughts are a tangle of “Do this! No do that!” And it is all so confusing sometimes and I really just feel so freaking crazy! Que the deep, cleansing breaths.

I guess my point to all of this is that I continue to put one foot in front of the other. I made it through my workout this morning, even though I wasn’t in tip top form. And that’s okay. I accept that. Because even though I felt kind-of weak and crappy at the time, 2 hours later I felt like a million ducks. And this past weekend, I only did a couple of hills and then I found a back country road and sang an Eagles song. And I’ll bet you will never guess which one.

Have you ever walked through a day of such intense pain that you thought you could not make it? Have you ever felt the tears burning behind your eyes but were unable to shed them because the responsibilities of the day called for composure? Have you ever sat and stared at a wall and wondered how you will continue to move, breathe, or even think? I have learned that people don’t like honesty when it is inconvenient for them. And when someone greets you with a “How are YOU today?” They don’t always actually want to know. Because yesterday I told a few people how I was doing and they got that confused/pinched look that says, “Go away, Son. You bother me,” as perfected by W. C. Fields in years gone by.

Now I don’t want to be cruel, because in all honesty, it’s not fair to unburden my problems on the unsuspecting acquaintance. This is why disciplining my tongue is so important. Our words(especially when filled with pain) can infect and hurt people. I sat next to a woman at a previous place of employment and her words were filled with every conceivable complaint nearly every moment of the day. It was tiresome. Mainly because there was nothing I could do to fix it. My point is this, sometimes, whether we like it or not, our pain is SO big that it just seeps out. And then we stand there in this uncomfortable space of trying to mop up our mess with words like, “It’s not really as bad as I just said.” Or better yet, we slink away and hide under our rock and cry like an embarrassed child.

This morning I read a fantastic blog post from my new friend, Holly, where she talked about God being her hiding place. She described in acute detail the pain of food addiction and her struggle to break free from it. This comes on the tail end of another post by a friend who is going through menopause and the fiery pain she experiences that keeps her awake at night. Lisa Buffaloe described how she gives each wave of heat and ache to God as an offering of worship. That is how she walks through her suffering. And I was humbled and amazed with the practicality of it. How often I have run from my pain instead of facing up to and bravely walking through it. When we choose to live in community with people who use their words to make us stronger, we have the incredible opportunity to not only learn from them, but grow. And God, who is the source of all right reasoning(a quote stolen from Ravi Zacharias) pours out his love in this vast river of beauty and nourishes our hearts. And all we have to do is dip our fingers in the water and lift it to our lips.

But what happens when the pain is too big—even for that?

This morning as I was walking in to work, I hopped up the steps in my purposeful gait to reach the interior of the building as quickly as humanly possible. I walk the same path every day—up the stairs and under the portico at the entrance to my company. It is a mad scramble as I walk among my peers—dozens of them—and race for the revolving doors. This morning I nearly stepped on a piece of mud. I caught myself just before I squished my foot in it, only to realize it wasn’t a blob of clay after all, but rather, an unfortunate tree frog. He blended so well with the sidewalk that I felt it was clearly a miracle that I saw him at all. I supposed him dead and hesitated to touch him. I was fearful that I might get frog guts on my fingers. Also, there’s this part of me that hurts when creatures suffer, and sometimes it is emotionally safer for me to leave them alone. But something(some One) compelled me to look closer and I determined that he was not crushed or dead. I picked him up. He was drier than he should be. And his nose was scraped. The suddenly warm/suddenly cool air and recently manicured bushes (the gardeners had destroyed his froggy habitat) had obviously drawn him out of the bushes. And he found himself stranded in the busiest walking path at my company. I held him for a brief moment and as he warmed, he nestled closer to my palm and I knew that he was alive. And so I carried him into the bushes—into the warm mud(in my nice shoes I might add) and placed him in a moist place in the safety of tall grass. And then I busted my shins racing up to my desk.

And it occurred to me that so often I am just like that unfortunate frog. I am weary and worn out, and I find myself in a dangerous place with no way to remove myself of my own volition. And God, with a heart full of grace, bends down to remove me from my circumstance and put me in a safe place.

And even when he does not, He stands with me. He weeps with me, because He knows I am human and fragile and weak. It is precious to me the way His love endures when mine fails.

Today is such a beautiful day. And not because the weather is warm and the sun is shining. Not because it’s Friday(though I am SO glad it is Friday). But because today I saw a glimpse into the heart of God by way of his vast and mysterious character as displayed through a tiny little creature that was utterly and completely helpless.

“Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. But even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows.”  –Matthew 10:29-31

“His Eye is on the Sparrow and I know he watches me.”  Civilla Martin

“Oh Lord, I am furrowed like the field. Torn open like the dirt. And I know that to be healed that I must be broken first.” – Andrew Peterson

I woke in the night to the terror of monsters who had invaded my dreams. They writhed and tormented me with horrors I will not speak of, and so I climbed from bed and hid in the bathroom. And I held my stomach because it ached. It aches a lot lately, and I’m fighting to find a way to fix it. And I prayed—because that’s what I do. And then I went back to sleep.

So when I crawled from bed this morning to exercise, I remembered the mild ache in my gut and it occurred to me that maybe I should rest. After all, I have learned from overdoing it that if I am not careful, my body only continues its downward spiral in a slow and steady decline. But after drinking a glass of water, I considered that sometimes raising my heart rate chases away the body ghosts—both mental and physical—and so I laced up my walking shoes, grabbed my friend, Tank, and set out to see the world.

This morning I got a good chuckle out of Tank chuffing repeatedly after a school bus blasted by us blowing out thick, black smoke. With each “chuff” I said, “Yep. Stinky bus! I hear ya, Buddy.” And I had to smile when we walked by the yard of the beagle who likes to give Tank(and me) a run for our money. My dog remembers his “friends” and always looks for them at least a block before we reach them. These include German Shepherds, Shih Tzu’s and today, an Alaskan Malamute who was accompanied by two Dachshunds. Curiously, the Malamute stood there looking annoyed while the “weiner dogs” danced and barked around him. I know exactly how that feels because I have two boys, and when they get excited, they are not unlike those yippy creatures.

We finished our walk and I ran into the house to get a shower, and while I was getting ready I heard the most beautiful song. A Mockingbird has taken a shine to a suet feeder I have on the back deck and as I cleaned up, I heard him singing. And his song made me glad in a way chocolate ice cream never could. I never saw him because he flew off too quickly, but my son was eating at the table and confirmed his appearance. And with that song the nightmares that had so clouded my night, and the pain in my belly just sort of diminished somehow.

I have been listening to my Bible while I walk and there is a verse in Romans that keeps jumping out at me.

“Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer.” Romans 12:12

Right now I feel very much in the “tribulation” phase with my health issues. And I find that learning patience is definitely hard work. But persevering through it also gives me hope and that makes me happy. I couldn’t do any of this without prayer.

Living a healthy lifestyle takes dedication and grit. I have found that while there are a thousand reasons to quit, and only a handful that really make me want to persevere, the few are far more important than the thousand. This morning I needed to see the sky. I needed the cool air in my lungs and I needed the friendliness of a dog who loves me even though I’m an odd duck.

Sometimes I see these advertisements that show scantily clad people with zero body fat working out in a fancy gym. The ad usually includes the catch phrase, “Beach Body” in its enticement to buy the product. As in, “Don’t you want a beach body?” Well, I’ll be honest, three children have come out of my body and I’m never going to look like that. Those ads just don’t motivate me at all. You know what does? Nature. Family. People who understand what I’m going through who refuse to give up. People like my friend Holly(at 300 Pounds Down) who also struggles with food addiction. Today her blog really encouraged me. I saw it at just the right time—while I was trying to talk myself out of making a run for ice cream.

I must never lose sight of why I began this journey to learn discipline. I don’t want to live my life like a runaway freight train on a collision course with myself. I want to continue learn how to tame my passions. I certainly haven’t mastered it yet. But I’m getting there. One choice at a time.