Destination Discipline

My child screamed at me with nearly enough velocity to blow me over. He must be related to the Big Bad Wolf.

“I’m sick of this COVID-19 crap! I just want it to be over!”

We were trying to complete a grammar worksheet. I was trying to teach him how to discern between past perfect, present perfect, and future perfect verbs. I was confused by sentence diagraming in grade school and it confuses me still. I don’t know what purpose it serves other than to confuse and madden the average person.

I was also trying to do the job for which I receive compensation. I had finished a conference call with my boss and with a group I take notes for. I still needed to consolidate, edit and send them out to the group but I was impeded by a tiny tyrant; my son.

He thumped up and down the hallway. He stomped in his room. He took turns screeching like a banshee and moaning like Myrtle. He wept. He complained. For three hours. I could do nothing to console him—not even taking a break or doing different school work was effective in de-escalating his frustrated fit.

Have you ever felt more marshmallow than man?

The ramifications of this pestilence rage on. Joblessness. Hiring and wage freezes. Unruly children. Petulant bosses who expect the moon delivered on a silver platter from a less-than-stoic workspace. It’s enough to make a person want to eat. In fact, if I judge reality by the memes on social media, I don’t think any one will fit back into their work clothes when the noxious stench of pandemic blows over. Which may be a good thing for retailers and fad diet hawkers.

So, I ask myself again, do I have what it takes to maintain strict discipline under intense stress? Am I a man or a marshmallow?

What about you? What gets your goat? Are you stress baking? Stress Netflix binging? Stress drinking or chain vaping? Or, are you one of those really obnoxious friends hanging out in their home like, “I’m cool. What pandemic? This is my normal. At least now I can go shopping without the crowds.”

“Character makes up the foundation of who we are.” Dr. Kathy Koch

Re-order your thinking

I decided last week I was not going to fall into the trap of emotional eating. That’s right. I decided and I’m sticking to it. My character depends on the sanity of rebuking my inner impulses. I refuse to bake cookies, eat fatty take-out, or basically abuse my body with impetuous indulgence.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t think about it.

The truth is, I think about food lot. I have even been dreaming about food. Cupcakes. Cake. Chocolate. You name it, I’m eating it (in my dreams). But I’m not eating it in real life. The reason for this is that I am a strong-willed child. That’s right, Mom. That really aggravating trait that made you insane when I was a kid is now my greatest attribute. A mind is a funny thing once it’s made up. I’m learning even a food addict can stick to her guns when the gooey-butter cake starts flying.

But I’m here to tell you that temptation will not stick to your Teflon if you re-order a few things.

Re-order your priorities

“Without knowing our strengths, overcoming our challenges and compensating for weaknesses will be difficult, if not impossible.” Dr. Kathy Koch

I don’t feel particularly strong in my resolve to abstain from emotional eating. In fact, I’m a hairs breadth away from falling headlong into the fondue pot, but my strength does not reside in myself; it comes from my God.

Those who don’t now how mighty God is are really missing out. Let me explain.

I am a marshmallow. I did the jiggly belly dance in the mirror just before I wrote this to remind myself just how squishy I am. That jiggly belly spent years absorbing M&M’s and Taco Bell and growing beyond my wildest expectations. It got so big that when I was pregnant with my third child, someone said, “I can’t even tell you are pregnant.” I was in my 8th month of gestation. I got so good at caving in to temptation that I didn’t even know I was being tempted. I ate too much of the wrong things and never exercised. Therefore, I was severely overweight. I believed the lie that I had no power over my choices.

Then I re-ordered my priorities. I made lifelong discipline of utmost significance. I wanted to learn a new way of life and stick to it forever. Has it been easy? Nope. But it has been worthwhile.

Re-Order what you Love

My love affair with food is over. But the gaping hole it left was untenable. Now, I fill my heart with the love of God instead. That love is so supremely soul satisfying that I have the strength to resist going back to my former flame.

I thought about this today when I was riding my bike against the wind. If you have never done this, I highly recommend it. For the second time in a week I made the decision to exercise in the wind even though I knew it wouldn’t be comfortable. I wanted to see if I had the stamina to resist the un-resistable. I did. This is what got me to thinking about what it actually takes to live a healthy lifestyle. It takes grit. It takes determination. It takes discipline. But I want my dear readers to know that the real reason I continue to live a healthy lifestyle is because I’m a great sinner, saved from hell by a great Savior. Jesus enduring work on the cross enables me to resist sinning (with food) and to do other really hard things.

Like not losing my temper with my temper-tantrum toting kid. Today, I prayed out loud and I remembered with what great difficulty Jesus did not back-hand any Pharisees. Don’t you think he was tempted? Just read some of those heated discussions in the gospels. He resisted temptation so that he might be a faithful help to me in my hour of need. By His grace, I cling to him with love and hope that one day I will not be tempted to sin any longer because I will be with him in Heaven. I obey him because I love him and am loved by Him. That is real grit and strength!

“Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful.” Hebrews 10:23

How about you? Are you a man or are you a marshmallow? If you said the latter, take heart. Jesus died for marshmallows!

I woke up at 4:00am. My heart was racing. The thoughts in my mind percolated like days-old coffee, muddy and dark. I thought of my son and his wife in the hospital trying deliver a baby in the midst of the worst pandemic to hit America in many years. And I thought of Jesus words to his disciples in Matthew 24:17-18, “Let the one who is on the housetop not go down to take what is in his house, and let the one who is in the field not turn back to take his cloak. And alas for women who are pregnant and for those who are nursing infants in those days!” I thought of that verse because people with the virus are at the hospital where my daughter-in-law was in labor, and there was nothing I could do to help them.

In such circumstances, where do I place my hope? How do I muster courage? Where can I find security? I don’t think it’s wrong to ask questions when one faces adversity. And that’s a good thing because I sure have a lot of questions.

Hope?

I turned on the television last night and searched through the channels for something to distract me from the onslaught of coronavirus chaos. I can’t escape it. I went to the grocery store and there were armed policemen standing by the exits and shoppers wearing masks and gloves. This is a horror movie come to life and I don’t like horror movies!

On tv, I flipped past the violence. I saw Vince Gill, singing from the Grand Ole Opry in Nashville—the recent seat of destruction after a deadly tornado. He was playing beautiful music, and then he and Marty Stuart talked about hope.

“Country music has always told the story of the human condition and that story is about how to hope.” – Marty Stuart

Music gives me hope. I’m not alone. Our musicians, singers and songwriters wield a powerful weapon. They slay the darkness with beautiful vibrations of sound. Like a defibrillator, they electrify the dead heart with joy.

I watched a video of Steven Curtis Chapman this morning that was written in the midst of his own heartache after the death of his daughter. The song was like a flickering flame, igniting hope into my soul.

“Until the blue returns to your skies, until the laughter returns to your eyes, I’ll be here crying with you, right here to give you a song to help you go on, until you are strong, ‘till the blue returns to your sky.”

The media hasn’t given me much hope. And between the doomsayers and the ne’er-do-wells, I have really struggled to get to the root cause of my anxiety. I feel restless—and not just because I’m stuck in my house. I want to do something productive to fight this sickness. Instead, I’m eating too much and bickering with the other people who live with me. The songs remind me of the proper response to sickness and death; tears.

The music in the songs connect the lyric with the heart. Sometimes they remind us that we all bleed. We all ache. We all long to see sad things come untrue. Sometimes they remind us to rejoice that we are alive. Sometimes the songs remind us to love and cherish what we have. Songs are important. Songs give us hope.

Courage?

I don’t feel particularly brave, but I’ve had to pretend to be brave for my children. It’s a frightful thing to face disease and death and it takes great courage not to flinch.

Stories from heroes who have overcome such things really do matter.

I read a story the other night of an unlikely hero, “Louisa May Alcott”. The beloved author of “Little Women” and other beautiful fiction wrote another book many have never heard of titled, “Hospital Sketches and Camp and Fireside Stories”. One powerful true story from the book illustrates the need for courage in al circumstances.

Ms. Alcott was a nurse during the Civil War. She cared for Union soldiers in an army hospital in Washington, D.C. One soldier was a West Virginia blacksmith named John.

“I found a lately emptied bed occupied by a large, fair man, with a fine face, and the serenest eyes I ever met. He came in a day or two after the others. One of the earlier comers had often spoken of a friend who had remained behind that those apparently worse wounded than himself might reach a shelter first.”

So, Ms. Alcott befriended John when he eventually arrived at the hospital.

“A most attractive face he had, framed in brown hair and beard, comely featured and full of vigor, as yet unsubdued by pain; thoughtful and often beautifully mild while watching the afflictions of others, as if entirely forgetful of his own. His mouth was grave and firm, with plenty of will and courage in its lines, but a smile could make it as sweet as any woman’s; and his eyes were child’s eyes, looking on fairly in the face with a clear, straightforward glance, which promised well for such as placed their faith in him.”

John had an incurable wound and suffered immensely with no complaint. A doctor described his ailment to the nurse, Miss. Alcott.

“Every breath he draws is like a stab; for the ball pierced the left lung, broke a rib, and did no end of damage here and there; so, the poor lad can find neither forgetfulness nor ease, because he must lie on his wounded back or suffocate. It will be a hard struggle, and a long one, for he possesses great vitality; but even his temperate life can’t save him; I wish it could.”

“You don’t mean he must die, doctor?”

“Bless you, there’s not the slightest hope for him; and you’d better tell him so before long; women have a way of doing such things comfortably, so I leave it to you. He won’t last more than a day or two, at furthest.”

I could have sat down on the spot and cried heartily, if I had not learned the wisdom of bottling up one’s tears for leisure moments. Such an end seemed very hard for such a man, when half a dozen worn out, worthless bodies round him were gathering up the remnants of wasted lives, to linger on for years, perhaps, burdens to others, daily reproaches to homesick spirits, and make the heavy hours pass easier.”

She got to know him better as his hours drew to a close. She held him in her arms and comforted him. When it finally came time to share the awful truth with him, he took it well.

“This is my first battle; do they think it’s going to be my last?”

“I’m afraid they do, John.”

It was the hardest question I had ever been called upon to answer; doubly hard with those clear eyes fixed on mine, forcing a truthful answer by their own truth. He seemed a little startled at first, pondered over the fateful fact a moment, then shook his head, with a glance at the broad chest and muscular limbs stretched out before him:

“I’m not afraid, but it’s difficult to believe all at once. I am so strong it don’t seem possible for such a little wound to kill me.”

John explained to her how he never married because he was the oldest child to a widow and was busy raising a brother and sister, and caring for his mother.

“Shall I write to your mother now?” I asked, thinking that these sudden tidings might change all plans and purposes: but they did not; for the man received the order of the Divine commander to march with the same unquestioning obedience with which the soldier had received that of the human one, doubtless remembering that the first led him to life and the last to death.”

Miss Alcott stayed with him until the end. She did not falter with honesty but gave him the strength to face death even as he gave her the courage to live.

We need not lie to our children about the seriousness of the foul pestilence that stalks our land, nor should we exaggerate it. But whether one or many die in its grip, we must remember that one death is one too many. We must remember the numbers reflect real people and those people are precious to God and to their families.

And so, we must face the future with courage—even if it is borrowed courage. We are not the first to encounter such things nor will we be the last. But we must ask ourselves; what will my legacy be?

Security?

When our sense of security collapses, our world-view shatters. That is what we are experiencing today. The “me first” movement is thrashing and lashing out as the blows fall on its head. It seeks not for the health and well-being of its neighbor or for the betterment of society, and it is a frightful thing. It makes clear that when we place our security in ourselves, it is an awful truth to learn that we are actually weak, frail and helpless.

“Our deepest need for security is met through a personal relationship with God. By anchoring ourselves and our lives to Jesus Christ, we can be confident that our security is rock solid.” – Dr. Kathy Koch

Christians follow a man who claimed to be God. He was either a madman or the Savior of the world. There is no middle option. He said, if we believe he was who he said he was, and if we take up our cross and follow him, we will have eternal life after we die. He never said we would not suffer—that’s what the cross was: suffering. He never said we would not die—as many before us have proved. What he did offer was life—eternal life. He told the thief on the cross next to him, “Today, you will be with me in paradise.” If we place our hope and trust in him, he makes us secure in that hope.

“And because lawlessness will be increased, the love of many will grow cold. But the one who endures to the end will be saved.” Jesus – Matthew 24:12-13

The days ahead will reveal what kind of men and women we really are. We must not stop asking questions of God. We must weep at sad things and with others who weep over their dead. We must pray for our leaders, our friends, and our family. And we must cling to hope with courage, knowing with full security that we are held in the strong hands of a God who stoops low to meet us where we are.

Are you filled with anxiety? Me too. But I will continue to take my fear to the One who bears the weight of the cross for me. And I will keep walking, and carrying my cross. I hope you will too.

“It still remains true that no justification of virtue will enable a man to be virtuous. Without the aid of trained emotions the intellect is powerless against the animal organism.” – C.S. Lewis in The Abolition of Man

I watched the woman pile toilet paper into her cart. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. Her panic was palpable; her face a lake blown by the wind. I wanted to reassure her but in her presence I felt the stir of my own fear. So, I managed the task at hand. I said to myself, “I only need one.” So I bought one.

Social media images of empty shelves are producing gale force winds through hearts in our cities. Our emotional stability is shaken. So, what exactly are we afraid of?

We are afraid of disease. Death. Extended suffering. We are worried about the inconveniences that come with imposed quarantine. We are afraid of running out of food, money or medical insurance. If we are the owner of a small business and have employees, multiply those fears by 20!

I won’t lie. I’m scared too. But I know most of my fear is because the media told me to be afraid. But still, it seems like the world is on fire. Tornadoes in Nashville. Locusts in Africa threating starvation to millions. Pestilence in China, Italy and America. Selfish jerk-heads hoarding pandemic supplies in their garage so they can make a profit off panic. If God does exist, it feels like He’s asleep or something.

So, I shut off the feed. I turn off the television. Then I open my bible and remind myself that God is still in charge.

The prophet Jeremiah reminds me our longsuffering God is present and participating in our predicament.

“Am I a God at hand, declares the Lord, and not a God far away? Can a man hide himself in secret places so that I cannot see him? declares the Lord. Do I not fill heaven and earth? declares the Lord.” Jeremiah 23:23-24

These verses empower me. This is the God I serve. He is powerful. Majestic. Just. Nothing escapes his perception. And right now, He is with me and for me. I have nothing to be afraid of.

But how can I be sure?

Jesus told his disciples,

“And you will hear of wars and rumors of wars. See that you are not alarmed, for this must take place, but the end is not yet. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom, and there will be famines and earthquakes in various places. All these are but the beginning of the birth pains.” – Matthew 24:6-8

While God’s word gives me confidence, I have to admit, I’m still afraid. I’m afraid to run out of food. I’m afraid of lost wages. I’m afraid my auto-immune impaired son will get sick and not recover. I don’t want to suffer. Nobody does. These are very real fears. So what the heck am I supposed to do with them?

This morning I ran away. I took my dogs and fled to the lake. I told God all about my fears and  asked Him to comfort me and give me courage. Then, I decided to trust Him. He’s got my back. (As one of my favorite characters on Blue Bloods likes to say.) I may be marching in a war that is not of my own choosing, but my Captain will never lead me astray. He is with me and for me.

I recently read the story of George Rogers Clark and his superhuman swamp march. In early February 1778, Clark led a troop of 130 men through the freezing plains to attack the fort at Vincennes. British villain, Henry Hamilton the “hair-buyer,” was known for hiring Indians to butcher Americans and deliver the scalps to him during the bloody, Revolutionary War. Clark’s aim was surprise–for no one would suspect an attack in the winter. His small but mighty band of men crossed 200 miles of rain-soaked land on pony and on foot. Starving and freezing, the men followed Clark to an uncertain end. It seemed nigh impossible that they would attack the fort and survive to tell the tale. Clark led them with valor and seemingly superhuman strength.

“During the day’s march, Clark often gave his horse to the hunters and fell in with the men. Sometimes he swung along in silence, his big feet sloshing up and down. But he was mysteriously aware of the army’s spirit. He knew when the men were grim with weariness and when their thoughts went ahead with uncertainty and fear. At those times his ragged voice lifted a song or raised a war whoop, and gradually the other voices took it up until the whole wretched regiment sang and shouted under the desolate sky. At weary stretches of mud he set out on a lumbering run, challenging them all to a footrace. At the edge of swollen creeks he held his rifle high and lunged into the water with a savage war cry. So he kept them going; they took fire, like wet faggots, from his own nerve and will.” —from Walter Havighurst, George Rogers Clark–Soldier in the West

We have all seen the rousing footage of people singing and making music in Italy while in lock down. Can we do the same? Or has fear doused the fire in our hearts? Can we find a way to kindle it again?

The winds are blowing. We must rise to the challenge and manage our emotions. We must steady ourselves with what we know to be true, and we must fight!

Fight with hope.

Fight with joy.

Fight with song!

But most importantly, we must remind ourselves that God is sovereign, omnipotent, and cares for us. We are not forsaken. We are never alone. Dear Reader, trust Him!

He is Worthy!