Archive for the The Journey Category

I dusted off my elliptical machine last night and plugged it in. I haven’t used it in over 9 months because of our move and because it has been so nice outside that I preferred to raise my heart-rate under the sky instead of under my roof. But last night I finally felt ready to conquer that beast after so much time apart. I was full of energy and sure I could just hop on and run to my heart’s content. 5 minutes after ascent I remembered why I hate that sucker; it’s freakin’ hard!

As I ran I thought about my son at Marine boot camp in MCRD-San Diego. I wondered what obstacles he was currently facing and if he was having success in overcoming them. I considered his platoon and the other boys(men in the making). How are they faring? Are they tired, weary, frustrated, drained? Or are they exulting in the training they are receiving and the transformation they are undergoing? Pain is a part of any transformation a human being undergoes. Whether it be mental, physical or spiritual, as a general rule, people avoid pain. But if we are wise enough to be trained by it, we have the ability to grow through it. So when I saw my son’s picture this morning on facebook…taken by a visiting parent on base, I thought how much older and wiser he looks already. I was so proud I thought my heart would burst. I cannot wait to see and hold him again.

I fondly refer to my elliptical machine as the “elliptical of doom” because it pushes me past what I physically feel like I can do. Doom by definition means: very bad events or situations that cannot be avoided; death or ruin. And that about sums it up. Every time I use it, I feel like I’m going to die. and then I don’t. I get stronger. I love that terrible, horrible, no good rotten machine! Most of the time I plan only one minute into the future while using it because I honestly can’t face 60 whole minutes at a time. It’s simply too overwhelming. But I’ll be honest, sometimes I can’t make it as long as I want to. My body and my mind cave in and I limp off as wobbly as a newborn calf.

So when I woke up this morning and felt better than I had in many moons, I realized that ride on the elliptical last night reinforced how good it really is for my body. Pushing myself past what I think I can do does something fantastic for my brain chemistry(when I don’t die using it).

The stars were shining very bright this morning when I let the dogs out at 5:00am and candidly, they were too bright and beautiful for me to waste them. So I threw on some cool weather clothes, grabbed Tank’s harness and leash(Tank is my boxer dog) and we ran out the door. Sometimes the sky and fresh air are too irresistible, too delicious, too wonderful to deny and I have to fling myself into them. We walked fast, but not hard. And Tank bounced like the happy doggie he is, lunging at squirrels and barking at other dogs. We climbed a few hills and praised God for the beautiful morning. And we just enjoyed the sky because we could.

But because life is full of surprises, we found that things do not always go as planned. The Yorkies(rodent sized dogs) that were left unsupervised in their yard were not as peaceable as we were. They barked relentlessly as we approached. They were perched in their front yard like little gargoyles under a giant oak tree. I wasn’t worried about them. After all, Tank likes to eat squirrels and Yorkies aren’t much bigger than one of those. So when they descended upon us, even though Tank is 5 times their size, and the little gremlins attacked like the idiots they are, we were startled to say the least. I suppose if I had been in a harsher frame of mind I would have done more than shout, “Bad dogs!” as they snarled and nipped at us. I suppose I would’ve punted them like a football or swung them by the tail. But all I could think was that Tank could hold his own and so we kept walking. Bless his little doggie heart, he didn’t even fight back. He just stared back at them as if it had all been a strange psychedelic dream.

But as frustrating as that was, I was completely unprepared for what I saw next. I heard them before I saw them—the angry voices of young people shouting. And when I saw them lunging at one another and cursing as if they were much older than 13 or 14 years old, I couldn’t control my tongue. “Good morning!” I shouted above their cries. I did it more to warn them of my approach than anything. “How are you guys this morning?” But the two lovely girls—who I have encountered many times before on my walks—were too engrossed in their anger to respond. As one screamed ugly names at the other, I raised my voice over the din, “That’s not very nice!” I said. “It’s Friday. Be kind!” The roar of the bus as it pulled up did not overpower their snotty retorts and I was immediately transported back to my middle school experience where the cruelty of other girls was my daily dose of torment. Was I foolish to interject my voice into their quarrel? I promise my motives were pure. I hoped to interrupt the squabble and shine light into their darkness, much like those stars that drew me out into the morning. Somehow I doubt very much I was successful but it didn’t hurt to try, right? Still, what had begun as a lovely Fall morning had slowly devolved into a very bad dream.

But isn’t that how life is? We wake up happy only to encounter great darkness? We win an award only to realize it’s broken. We buy a new car and the engine craps out the first day(that was a lot of fun by the way). It’s as if we have this expectation of happiness, as if we are singing “Row, Row, Row your boat gently down the stream” and then we are surprised when a giant log smashes into us and suddenly we’re neck deep in the water and realize our life jacket has sunk with the ship.

Earlier this week I heard several of my co-workers grumbling about various issues at work. One of the ladies seemed to be having a particularly rough day and when I asked her how it was going and got a sarcastic response (“I’m fine!”) I said the first thing on the tip of my tongue, “Well, the day has only just begun. Think about it, you have at least 8 more hours to make it great!”

It’s funny how she laughed then. “You’re right.” She said. “I like your attitude.”

So I suppose I could have let that black cloud of dogs and fighting teenagers fowl up my good mood but I decided not to. Tank and I skipped through the rest of our walk just as happy as we were before and we thanked God for our splendid mood, good health, and the beautiful Fall sky. I don’t always have the capacity for an attitude of gratitude, but heck, practice makes perfect right? And today was an excellent day to be grateful for feeling good after many days of feeling pretty rotten.

Every day we have a choice, we can complain about all the things that are going wrong in our lives or be simply be grateful for all the things that aren’t. Maybe this sounds a little Pollyanna-ish to you, but i think it makes life sweeter.

Today I am grateful for my elliptical machine. I am grateful for the stranger who captured an image of my son at boot-camp and shared it. I am grateful for a gorgeous morning where the stars were sparkling and the air was cool but not cold. But most of all I’m grateful for God because I believe He’s the one who made it all possible.

I find as I encounter pain that I have a tendency to want to blurt it out at the most inopportune moments. It seems that I wear my emotions on my face and so it is readily apparent exactly how I feel the moment I feel it. This is wonderful when I’m happy and floating along like a ladybug on a leaf. I just follow the babbling brook and fan my wings in the breeze. But when the storms come, I lose my rosy glow. I don’t know exactly what I look like when I’m grimacing, but when people approach me and say, “Margaret, are you okay?” And I respond, “Sure. I’m fine. And they say, “Are you sure?” And then my face doesn’t something I can’t control as I try to determine if they are in earnest or just merely nosey. Because the truth is, I want to tell people that I’m hurting but most people in the workplace aren’t really interested in sharing my life. They just want to do their job and go home, not listen to some overly emotional chick blubber on and on about her (not-that-important)problems. So I tuck it in. I hide behind my gray cubicle walls, stare at my glow-box and silently sob.

There I go with the melodramatics again. As if my tiny aches and pains even measure on the Richter scale of agonies. I only mention all of this to say that I have been trying to learn discipline in the area of self-pity. It is a very challenging thing for me to step outside of myself and be cheerful even when I am feeling bad. I very much want to be able to share my suffering with a close friend, give my pain to my God and move on. But so often I get stuck in this rut of feeling sorry for myself. And honestly, it’s such a waste of time and energy.

And it’s not just that nobody likes a whiner and I’m trying to win a popularity contest by controlling myself. I really want to focus on more important things. But sometimes the pain screams so loudly that I just kind-of fold up inside and get stuck in a loop of “woe is me.” This is what happened to me last week as I encountered a physical ailment to which there is no immediate remedy. Try as I wanted to suck it up and move forward, my mind refused to cooperate. I prayed and cried in equal measure, but when the pain ceased to abate I crawled onto a plate of pizza and sighed.

I sometimes wonder if I will ever “grow up.” Will I ever develop a thick skin? Will I arrive at a level of maturity that scoffs at this type of weakness? Will I hold my head high and lower my nose to those whose emotional volatility rivals a cantankerous squirrel? Unfortunately, the harsh reality is that pain is part of the human condition. It is a force that cannot fully be reckoned with. Be it emotional or physical pain, I don’t believe any human alive is immune. So when I am hurting and longing to be a stronger person, I remember that I can learn to hide my pain, but I can never make it go away completely. And God forbid I ever pretend to be above the sorrows of my neighbors. Because I know what it is to be a hurting neighbor and to be scoffed at as if I were a tantruming child.

I made a decision this past weekend to move through the pain instead of wallowing in it. I pulled out my gardening gloves and my hoe and began attacking the stony ground outside of my house. You see, we purchased a home earlier this year that was in a dire state of disrepair. While we have completed much of the interior renovations, the yard is–frankly–a disaster. Once a upon a time an owner decided he or she did not like grass and hauled in many tons of rock and spread it liberally. I have made it the ambition of my life to rid my yard of every ugly brown rock I come into contact with. For the most part, it is back-breaking, thankless work. My yard looks, for the most part, like a construction site that has been ravaged by rabid moles.

While I was working, (grumbling to myself) I spotted one of my neighbors. She is one of the most delightful people I know and I instantly put my trowel down and invited her inside. Once there her tears began to flow as she related her sorrows one ache at a time. We sat that way for a long time. Her asking me what she should do, and I–feeling inept and foolish when I said–“I don’t know.” So I prayed and cried with her. And I wished I had a magic lamp to rub so that I could summon a genie capable of removing her trials.

When she had carried her heavy heart home and I had resumed my labor of love, I cried out to God. “Where are you?! Why won’t you help her? Why won’t you help me? Why must we endure such pain, such grief? What purpose does it have and why isn’t there an easy solution?” I found myself in such a state of frustration that I was flinging rocks willy-nilly and wetting the dirt with my own salty tears. And I want to be honest here, I found myself very, very angry with God for not stepping in and solving our problems at that very instant. So I quit talking to him and I ate some ice cream instead. Because ice cream fixes everything, right? That’s why my pants are so tight again.

The next day I found myself at church. Our worship team was being ravaged by a rogue microphone and they were struggling to lead a congregation of eager singers who couldn’t hear the proper melodies. My friend David played the guitar like a pro and the guest singer sang like an angel. But they were no match for the wiring or the feedback loop or the amplifier that was somehow amplifying all of the wrong things. The young man playing the violin was earnest in his work but I heard not a single note. To be honest, all I could feel was my own tears splattering against the tops of my hands as we sang the words to one of my favorite songs.

Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.
They will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not be faint.
And like a flight upon an eagles’s wings,
He will give the weary strength.

So lift your eyes up to the sky
To the one who hears you when you cry.

It was one of the best mornings of worship I have encountered in recent memory, regardless of the snafus. And I remembered that regardless of the circumstances, God is present. And he heard not only my moaning and groaning, but the fears and joys and loves and hopes of everyone else in the congregation.

C.S. Lewis wrote in The Problem of Pain, “The human spirit will not even begin to try to surrender self-will as long as all seems to be well with it.” As I read that I remember that I have learned some of the most valuable lessons of my life through pain. I learned to let go of people I couldn’t make love me. I learned that possessions have little value and take up entirely too much physical and mental space. I learned that facing and fighting my passions freed me from immense anguish and enabled me to live in a space of gratitude and grace. So as much as I want to bemoan my current circumstances(pain), I know that self-pity is an unforgiving quick-sand. It’s so easy to fall into and so hard to crawl out of. And that is why I must trust my God. He is real. He loves me. And He is intimately involved in my story, even when it doesn’t feel that way.

And that is why I must keep disciplining my mind. I must remember the promise he made, “I will never leave you or forsake you.” And I must walk forward even when my steps are faltering. His grace will always be enough. And it is certainly sweeter than ice cream.

“The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it?” Jeremiah 17:9

I’ve heard it said that our hearts are created to worship. (If you are reading this and do not believe in God or in an all-powerful creator, just bear with me. I promise I’m not trying to convince you of anything. I’m just relating my experience on my particular path).

Worship verb (ADMIRE)
› [T] to ​feel a lot of ​love and ​admiration for someone or something:

So when I say I worship at the altar of cookies, I mean that cookies complete me. Much like Jerry Maguire said to Dorothy Boyd in the movie that bears his name, “You complete me.” Cookies, especially chocolate crackle cookies—which are kind of like a brownie but baked like a cookie) warm a cold spot in my heart. Before I began my journey to learn discipline, I used to bake a double batch of said cookies, make a large plate of them and then sit and indulge. I would eat them slowly, savoring each bite as it dissolved in my mouth. I think it’s fair to say I didn’t just worship cookies, I was obsessed with cookies. To this day I cannot pass by a plate of cookies without pausing and considering the risk, “Can I eat just one?” The answer is no—decidedly no. (which is why I no longer bake cookies at Christmas, but I digress)

I think all of us have something we are addicted to; a vice of sorts. For some people it’s cookies, for others it’s news. My youngest son (age 7) loves the little green twisty ties one uses at the grocery store to tie a produce bag together. For some reason they are completely irresistible to him and therefore my house looks like it has been invaded by little green twisty tie men. I have “coached” him many a time about swiping those pliable pieces, but I admit it’s mostly for selfish reasons. I am tired of cleaning them out of my cupboards, out from under the couch and from out of my dresser. I’ll never understand why he places them strategically so they will fall out and “get” me. Do I have nightmares about little green twisty tie men? Of course not. But they are annoying.

I am extremely sensitive to sugar and was addicted to the white stuff for years before I took strides to rid it from my life. Still, sugar is that dastardly devil that likes to sneak up and nip me in the rear. Or as Sheryl Crow, would say, “You’re my favorite mistake.” Ridding myself of sugar left a massive void in my life. All of my thought processes and behaviors were centered around it so that when I quit “cold turkey” I had to make new habits to take its place. Anyone who has ever tried to quit a habit they deemed unwholesome can empathize. When you quit you have to find something to take its place. If you have never had a bad habit, you are weird and should stop reading this blog. These are not the droids you’re looking for.

Now listen, I’m not saying sugar is inherently evil (at least not in this blog post) but I will say my heart still tends to be utterly consumed by it. When I want it, watch out! Nothing can stop me. Well, almost nothing. Some people are addicted to love. Some people are addicted to heroin. Some people dress up as furry animals and go to rave parties. It reminds me of a song by one of my favorite singers (Jadon Lavik), “We’re all searching for truth, for that one thing we can hold on to.” I would like to postulate that all of us have a hole in our hearts and we are desperately trying to fill it.

My youngest son recently revealed to me his great desire to possess a lot of money. He reasoned, “I want to have a wife one day and if I want kids I need to have a lot of money.” My little guy has been laser focused on this ambition as evidenced by the deficit in his brother’s piggy bank. I have tried to explain that money will never fill the holes in his heart, but he just gives me a blank stare. But this was never more in evidence than this weekend when I encountered a salesman at Sam’s Club. This gentleman wanted to sell me DirecTV. I no longer purchase cable services since my conversion to Roku and antennae television but we had a nice conversation about why I choose not to purchase satellite TV. He was so cordial and kind and easily earned my respect. At the end of my shopping trip I felt led to bless him. I walked over to where he was selling and tried to give him a few dollars for dinner. He blatantly refused. “I don’t want your money.” I persisted and so did he. We ended at a sort of impasse where I said, “God told me to bless you, so this money is not from me, it’s from the Lord.” God forgive me if I was manipulating the situation—I honestly meant to do something nice for that young man. So I slapped the money down on his table and walked away. Two seconds later I looked down and my son was skipping in delight with the money in his hands. Horrified, I asked him, “Did you take the money I just gave that man?!” He shrugged and said, “He said he didn’t want it.” Much to his chagrin, I made him march over and put it back. I was mortified. But greed will do that. It will steal the blessing quicker than you can say stolen.

When our hearts are consumed with lust for that thing—whatever it is—it just takes over. It defies the senses. I have found that the more I indulge in that lust(be it food, pride, or selfish ambition) the more I want it. There is a nicotine patch for smokers who want to quit and AA for alcoholics, but even those things never really fix the problem; the great big gaping hole in our hearts. We just keep cycling through life looking for our next fix until we at last realize with horror that there is no fix and we are desperately broken.

Maybe you are reading this today and don’t consider yourself broken. I understand. You are probably not at the same place in your journey as I am and I kindly ask you to extend grace to me. The truth is, I find myself irrevocably broken, and that is why I follow Jesus.

I have found that while I will always struggle with my addiction to food(and many other things) I have an addiction that never leaves me wanting. The thing is, I don’t generally call it an addiction. It’s more like a relationship…a love relationship. He has helped me break free from the chains of food and sugar and so many other potentially deadly vices.

Today if you are struggling, if you have lost hope that you can ever break free, He will help you if you earnestly ask Him. Jesus once said, “Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks it will be opened.” I believe what he said because I have personally experienced it. The heart wants what the heart wants. My heart wants Jesus.