Archive for the The Journey Category

People fascinate me. Just when I think I’m the oddest duck in the room, I meet a man in line at the grocery store who describes to me the portrait he just finished painting of Elvis welcoming the aliens who are dressed like him and gesturing in classic Elvis fashion. And then it occurred to me that maybe he thought I was odd for commenting on the irony of magazine placement; one of which depicted a stack of cookies(a food magazine) and the other a picture of a woman with six pack abs(a health magazine). My question to him was, “What kind of culture tells us to indulge our every craving while at the same time exhorting us to have “beautiful” bodies?” To which he replied with his fascination of science fiction. Upon further reflection I see how our conversation was actually addressing the same topic: our culture of fantasy.

Escapism feels like a human birthright. I know when stress or pain or boredom strikes me, my natural tendency is to pick up a book or the TV remote and “zone out.” It placates me for a while(usually until I fall asleep). And then I wake up and begin the next day with its trouble and joy and terror, only to find some other excuse to escape again. Last night, after a long day at work and a fairly serious appointment with a new endocrinologist, I decided that rather than indulge in fiction, I would watch the Republican National Debate on Youtube. We no longer have cable(to save money) but we have a Roku and so I can watch pretty much anything my heart desires any time I want to watch it. I watched it with the same level of interest that I watched the President of the United States give his State of the Union address. I want to be informed. I want to make conscious decisions when I vote. I do not generally think of those types of programs as escapism, at least not usually. So I did laugh when Gov. Chris Christie quipped about “watching story time with President Obama” in reference to the State of the Union address. I find it ironic that one politician would accuse another politician of producing fiction when I thought that was pretty at the top of their key responsibility statement.

Why do I say that? Well, I had a conversation with a co-worker recently who was trying to convince me of the capability of one candidate over the others. He told me that candidate would most likely be the next Republican presidential nominee “because he says what the people want to hear.” I’m not quick with a smart aleck retort, but if I was I would have said, “The diet industry makes billions of dollars telling people what they want to hear all the time. That doesn’t make what they say true.”

“Ten thousand people shouting the same thing make it false, even if it happens to be true.” Soren Kierkegaard.

A question I frequently ask people in conversation is, “How do I know when someone is telling the truth or telling a lie?” I can’t see their heart. I can’t always know their motives. And then there is always point of view and perspective. For that matter, how do I know I’m telling the exact truth as I write this. I’ll bet the man in line at the grocery store thinks something entirely different of our conversation. His “truth” and my “truth” are probably completely different species of animals(or aliens). So when I consider politicians and their campaign promises, I am truly perplexed as to what I should believe. Which is why I usually form an opinion based on the content of their character. If you listen to someone long enough and watch how they behave, you can at least form a fairly accurate opinion, at least until they do something out of character, at which point I have to start all over again.

As I consider my responsibility in regards to voting for the next president of the United States of America, I very much want to contribute to the election of someone who closes mirrors my value system. But in the age of fantasy, where so much of what I see on television is fiction–even the words used by the people I am supposed to vote for, how do I know which one is the right one? It feels so impossible. I feel like I am drowning in a sea of illusion as I search for the one truth thing that will save me from the cacophony of nonsense. To be fair, I feel this way not only about our political system, but about health and fitness, the people I work with and religion in general. I tend towards the cynical when I feel like someone is trying to profit from my opinion, hence my disdain for prosperity doctrine.

So this morning I went searching for truth. I just want something tangible–something solid–something real. I want to remember who I am and what I believe. I want someone who isn’t trying to sell me something or earn my vote. I want someone who won’t profit from my opinion or reject me when my words don’t fit with their world view. I don’t want the illusion that our next president will keep me safe or solve my financial woes. I don’t want the lie that losing weight will make me happy. I don’t want the fantasy that eating ice cream will solve my emotional problems. I want the screeching hoard to stop until I can only hear the One voice that speaks comfort to my soul; Jesus.

I opened up my bible to the book of Luke and began to read the eye witness testimony of someone who walked with Jesus. I read the words Jesus said while he was alive, and the comfort he offered to the tired, worn and weary. I am not the first person who has cried out to him for help, nor will I be the last. But I am grateful He makes sense of my senselessness. He makes light shine in my darkness. He is my one true hope.

“After this he went out and saw a tax collector named Levi, sitting at the tax booth. And he said to him, “Follow me.” And leaving everything, he rose and followed him. And Levi made him a great feast in his house, and there was a large company of tax collectors and others reclining at the table with them. and the Pharisees and their scribes grumbled at his disciples, saying, “Why do you eat and drink with tax collectors and sinners?” And Jesus answered them, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I have not come to call the righteous but sinners to repentance.” -Luke 5:27-32

If you are new to my blog you may see that I have a little problem with food. I like to eat. A lot. My daily struggle with addiction threatens to drown me. Jesus is my only sanity. He shines light into the fantasies I hear and the fantasies I create for myself. I’m sick and He is my great physician. Some people might think I’m just as nuts as I thought the guy in line at the grocery store was. And that’s okay. We are all entitled to our opinions. To any and all skeptics I say this, He’s real to me. And that’s all that really matters.

Sometimes life is irreparably dreary. I fall into a pattern of mundane that feels like a belly flop into quicksand. It looks something like this:

Go to work–do boring tasks–come home and make dinner–go to sleep. Throw in a little refereeing of misbehaved children for good measure, a larger-than-necessary dose of chocolate(or ice cream) for my nerves, and that’s my life in a nutshell.

On Saturday I get a break to do fun things like laundry and cleaning(Okay, I don’t actually clean, but thinking about cleaning definitely causes stress and has contributed to the pinched nerve in my neck). On Sunday I go to church and attempt to rest. That usually looks like making muffins and bread for my family for the week. If I am lucky, I sit down and watch the birds fight over sunflower seeds and laugh at the piggy squirrels. I’ll admit, I’m easily amused.

However, my case of dreariness is particularly troubling this year. January has hit me like a ton of bricks. I struggle to climb out of bed. I fight for every positive thought. I lay in bed in the morning and grieve getting up. I want the cycle to stop, but the dryer is stuck and I just keep rolling around and it feels like all the fibers in my being are shrieking and shrinking.

This past weekend found me fighting like mad to break out of this tenacious cycle. I was very excited because my family planned to get together on Saturday for our delayed Christmas celebration. This big deal event was moved because our beloved grandmother had been recuperating after a breaking her leg while drop kicking another soccer player for giving her the stink-eye after a particularly bold play that produced the winning goal(this sounds much better than she fell, but I digress). I knew a snow storm was coming, but it wasn’t predicted to hit until late in the afternoon. And since it was a balmy 42 degrees outside, I layered up, pulled out my trusty Jamis(a snazzy blue and white hybrid bicycle), and prepared to find some adventure. I had a few misgivings when I saw it had begun to sprinkle but I refused to be deterred. I had enough layers to keep me warm and my new Andrew Peterson lp, The Burning Edge of Dawn, as my soundtrack. I zoomed down the first hill(okay I actually inched down with the brakes clenched because the road was slick and I was terrified) and then began the slow ascent up the next. I was hopeful that I would find a bald eagle or a blue heron or some other fantastic creature, and I was happy to break out of my gloomy rut. I was also excited to burn off the calories I was going to eat later by way of my Aunt Mickey’s famous Peanut Butter Pie.

About a third of the way through my ride, I noticed the rain was growing steadily harder. Still, I pressed on because that is what adventurous people do. I figured it would take a while for the cold liquid to work its way through the warm layers of my active wear and so I felt that as long as I kept moving, I would be okay. About half way through my ride I began to feel icy puddles in the bottom of my shoes. That’s when I knew was I in trouble. And then the freezing rain began to needle my face. That made me downright crabby. So much for my peaceful adventure. I went from warm and toasty to cold and soggy faster than you can say misery. So it was more than a little ironic as I pedaled and groaned and listened to the song, “The Rain Keeps Falling” as I splashed through puddle after muddy puddle.

I contemplated calling my husband to come and rescue me, but that meant stopping and stopping meant giving up and I was decidedly not done with my adventure. And right around that time I had the most incredible thought, “I am riding my bike in the freezing rain. I have totally lost my mind.”

I made it home just in time for the rain to transition to (hamster sized) snow flakes. I stood there sopping wet, my fingers numb, my toes like cold sausage links, and my heart filled with awe as the snow swirled around my head. I would have danced but I could barely move I was so cold. So I lugged my big old body up the stairs and slid into a hot bath and sighed. I had earned every bite of the two pieces of pie I planned to eat later that afternoon. So I closed my eyes and dreamed about chocolate graham cracker crust and melty peanut butter filling and just smiled and smiled. No more mundane. No more misery. Only bliss!

And then I got a text message, “Christmas is cancelled. The roads are just too bad.”

And I swear the walls just dissolved around me and I felt the cold in my bones. The lyrics to Andrew Peterson’s song echoed around the chambers of my hollow heart.

“I tried to be brave but I hid in the dark. I sat in that cave and I prayed for a spark to light up all the pain that remained in my heart and the rain kept falling.”

Sometimes that’s exactly how it feels. No matter how hard I try, all of my attempts at an epic adventure get rained out and then I don’t get pie(or a hug from my feisty grandma).

I sat at my kitchen table and sipped my hot tea and watched the piggy squirrels. And it didn’t make me happy. And my children were buzzing around the house like hornets–stinging each other with their words and wrassling like misplaced WWE wrestlers and I might have shouted at them to shut up. I don’t remember.

I’ve said it before, but its worth repeating, our response to adversity matters. Festering over disappointment is not productive, nor does it remove the disappointment. So I made a conscious decision to stop my fester because it wasn’t doing me or anybody else any good. I bundled up my rambunctious children, pulled out the sleds, and watched them slosh in the snow and mud for an hour. And honestly, it was wonderful watching my beautiful, healthy little boys frolicking like new born deer, kicking and scrambling and flying down the hill in the back yard only to crash into the hole I dug while trying to rid my yard of all the rocks. And the only reason I made them come inside was because they used up all the snow and the sled wasn’t working in the mud, and they were soaked and caked and needed to be hosed down. The funny thing is, by that time, I wasn’t worried about laundry or baths or muddy footprints in the house, I just had this peaceful feeling that was born out of gratitude for the stinky little lovelies that brighten my home with their laughter and cries for hot chocolate.

“My daughter and I put the seeds in the dirt, and every day now we’ve been watching the earth. For a sign that this death will give way to a birth and the rain keeps falling.

Down on the soil where the sorrow is laid, and the secret of life is igniting the grave and I’m dying to live but I’m learning to wait and the rain is falling.”

This morning I didn’t want to get out of bed. I stared at the alarm clock and grieved. I considered the tasks before me and all of the challenges I didn’t want to face. And then I pulled one foot out from under the covers, placed it on the floor, and followed it with the other. Because sometimes courage is as simple as putting one foot in front of the other. It’s pressing forward when we don’t feel like it and searching for joy in unexpected places. It’s choosing to live when we feel like we are dying inside and choosing to hope when disappointment rains all over our best laid plans. Today wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t awful either. To be honest, I did find joy. And I plan on finding it tomorrow too–one footstep at a time.

Well, the holidays are over, but my love affair with food is not. I ate fudge. I ate cookies. I ate candy I didn’t even like just because it was there. I’m not proud. But here we are in 2016 and I’m in the “tight pants” fix again. And I suppose I could get comfortable—you know, buy new pants and settle in with a tub of ice cream—but I’ll level with you, I’d rather jump in a thorn bush and rinse off in the ocean. I’d rather eat snails, or wash and wax my car, or wait in line at Six Flags on opening day. So I will let you be the beneficiary of my feisty wake-up call wherein I wax eloquent and remind myself how “easy” it is to fit back into my skinny jeans. Because I am not one to squeeze into my skinny jeans and then walk around in public waiting for them to burst—or even worse—inflicting my physical agony on the poor unfortunate souls who are doomed to be subjected to the denim-stretched-to-the-max-over-bulging-thighs spectacle that really is so completely unnecessary.

Stop Being Polite

So I’ve noticed that all the other people who were hogtied and walloped by sweets over Christmas brought all of their excess candy and cookies to work. Everywhere I turn there is a half-eaten gift bag full of chocolate covered pretzels or cheap gift store candy just waiting for the unsuspecting passerby. It’s not really appetizing, but it lies in wait, ready for that poor soul who resolved not to eat any more left-over crap, but their 2 o’clock meeting ran long and they really need a 3 o’clock pick-me-up if they’re to survive the rest of the day. And who doesn’t want fried potato chips or gummy whatchamacallit’s? Eat up sucker!

Well I say to heck with that! Stop being so polite. Throw that garbage in the garbage pail where it belongs. Grab it like a basketball and dunk that puppy. Or better yet, pull out the trashcan and do a full arm sweep across the treat laden file cabinet, just like you’ve always seen done in the movies. I promise it will be fun. But first, you must perfect the mischievous witch cackle that follows. I promise, your co-workers will adore you for it.

Go on a Scavenger Hunt/strong>

I have a friend at work who is struggling with depression. She suggested we get out of the office for our lunch break and “get some sunshine”. But it’s 25 degrees outside. Her remedy to this conundrum was to run errands at Sam’s Club. So there we were in Sam’s Club with an empty cart and a whole store at our disposal. And all I could think was, this is GREAT! So we walked around the store and picked out miscellaneous items we needed and a few we didn’t. We discussed all the healthy options available in the produce section. We oohed and ahhed at the merchandise that had been strategically placed for all the other disenfranchised shoppers who—let’s admit it—are in full blown shopping withdrawal. And we talked and laughed and then went back to the office, having left all of our troubles back at Sam’s Club. It was fantastic. We didn’t eat French fries or pizza. We didn’t suffer through the obligatory post-holiday lunch salad that was sure to put us off our feed(we did that yesterday). We just went and enjoyed ourselves with an impromptu scavenger hunt. I found dog food. She found a bath mat. I got my husband a special treat: bananas. It was the best fun I’ve had all week and it’s only Tuesday.

Jump, Jive and Wail

I woke up this morning with a full-on pout. By that I mean I had resolved to quit my job, start shopping at the food pantry(my husband said I’ll have to do this if I quit my job) and huddle under the covers with my best rabbit, and a tub of fudge. Let’s be real, life is hard sometimes. That’s why I have pets. Anyway, I really didn’t feel like working out. I mean, I can’t ride my bike(which really makes me bitter) and I can’t roller-skate. And I wasn’t in the mood to put on four layers of clothes to go walk outside in the arctic temperatures. I was in the middle of a psychic duel with my elliptical machine when it occurred to me that I would never win while lying in bed. So I gulped down some water, squeezed into my active wear, and gave that bully a walloping it won’t soon forget. And five minutes later I realized it had won but I kept exercising anyway. There was jumping. There was definitely jiving. And I swear, I only wailed once. Still, I felt great after the workout because increased blood flow makes my brain happy, and burning excess calories gives me a feeling of immense personal gratification.

Now tomorrow I will shake things up a bit and get more creative, but today, I win. Margaret: 1. Elliptical: .5. (You have to give it at least some credit for creaking and groaning under my increased girth)

Vegetable not Vegetate

This is the point in the blog where I switch gears and use my Julia Child voice to espouse the virtues of increased consumption of vegetables versus simple carbohydrates like cookies. Today I use cauliflower as my example of choice because it is kind of like the chicken of the vegetable world. By that, I mean it is versatile. My sister loves cauliflower and is adventurous with it. She makes a special side dish called Mock-aroni & Cheese, which is just like Macaroni and Cheese only made with cauliflower. It’s delish! And if you feel dinner isn’t dinner without white potatoes, remember, cauliflower is kind-of like potatoes. I mean, it’s white. And it grows in the ground. And seriously, it’s like the perfect comfort food without the guilt. If cauliflower is not your thing, then how about broccoli? Or green beans? Or fresh steamed carrots? Seriously, cut your protein portion in half, double the portion of a veggies you like to eat, and feed 75% of your carb portion to your pooch(because you love your pooch).

Stop Stressing – Stress is for Sissies

So you’ve gained a few pounds. Do not fester and boil about it. I mean, seriously, if you worry constantly about if you will ever fit into your skinny jeans again, you won’t have time for more important life stress like worrying about your children or grandchildren, and whether or not that electronic gadget they got for Christmas might become attached to their extremities by extended overuse. Besides, stress inhibits your body from burning excess calories. I say save your stress and take deep breaths instead. If you’re like me, you can stand at your desk (because your pants are too tight to sit) and meditate on how you are going to be happy that you are not eating gummy whatchamacallits. You can also meditate on the cool new exercise routine you are going to try tomorrow and the scavenger hunt you will have at the grocery store later while looking for the cool new veggie you are going to try.

See, reducing your girth is all rather simple when you think about it. And fun. Let’s not forget fun.