Destination Discipline

“The expense of spirit in a waste of shame

Is lust in action; and till action, lust

Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame,

Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;

Enjoy’d no sooner but despised straight;

Past reason hunted; and no sooner had,

Past reason hated, as a swallow’d bait,

On purpose laid to make the taker mad:

Mad in pursuit, and in possession so;

Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme;

A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe;

Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream.

All this the world well knows; yet none knows well

To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.”

– William Shakespeare – Sonnet 129

I remember the good old days. I remember when my annoying co-worker was an adult. I remember when the smell of coffee invigorated me with a sense of shared corporate misery. I remember life outside the smudged windows of domestic prison. Back when life was normal. Before virus was a “four-letter” word.

Temptation haunted the halls of my heart long before the government told me to “shelter in place”, but never has it felt so virulent. I’m a girl with baking infatuation and too much nervous energy to burn. So, I stand at the kitchen sink with visions of snickerdoodles running through my head, an itch I can’t scratch, and one big question on my mind, “to bake or not to bake?” Yes, that really is the question.

Never underestimate the depraved nature of the human heart. Evil desires drive men to madness. And while cookie-canoodling may not constitute as one of the greater evils in human history, it does illustrate how pernicious old habits can be. Social media has flared my predilection to propagate cookies as many people I know are experiencing a new phenomenon; quarantine stress baking. They manifest their behavior via savory photographs and then crack jokes about not fitting into their clothes when they are cleared to leave the house. Ha. Ha. Ha. It’s so funny, I forgot to laugh.

Suddenly I’m daydreaming about my favorite peanut butter cookies and how chewy they are. The combination of crisp and chewy combine in such a way that my legs start to feel gooey and my salivary glands activate. So, I decide to make cookies. Because my boys love cookies and I never bake them anymore. Cookies make them happy. I will be popular. They might even give me a new nickname, “Fun Cookie Mom” instead of “Cruel Vegetable Mom”. And who doesn’t want to be a fun cookie mom?

But then I come to my senses and remember that I have a serious food addiction that is basically uncontrollable when I consume sugar. No, I do not have enough will-power. Yes, I will eat them all. Sorry, Satan. I call your bluff. NO COOKIES.

But then I wake up and tomorrow is today and I’m standing at the kitchen sink again, only this time it’s Chocolate crackle cookies. What is wrong with me? What a cookie conundrum!

I can’t escape my kitchen. It’s where I work. It’s (currently) where I sit 13 hours of every day. And I am surrounded by mechanisms of torture the average man would never recognize as such: a Sunbeam mixer, white and brown sugar, a one liter bottle of Mexican vanilla, and an extra-large bag of flour. It’s only a matter of time before I am possessed by the ghost of the Cookie Monster. Friends, I am weak and afraid!

How does one fight temptation when it feels so impossible to resist? I feel like my head is in a vice and the only way to escape is to act like a turkey….and gobble!

Have you ever felt this way? Did you obsess until you acquiesced? Were you gripped by mental fabrication until you resorted to real-life proliferation? Did you visualize until you tangibly realized?

Exhausting, isn’t it? But I have good news, Dear Reader. There is hope! There is a cure! Don’t believe me? Keep reading.

John Owen examines temptation and the human heart in his great work, “Overcoming Sin and Temptation.” This is not a light read, but for anyone serious about finding success in fighting sin, it is important. He writes,

“To know that a man has such an enemy, to deal with it, to take notice of it, to consider it as an enemy indeed, and one that is to be destroyed by all means possible, is required hereunto. As I said before, the contest is vigorous and hazardous—it is about the things of eternity.”

When I read these words, I imagine myself with a sword. I am slashing and slaying dragons. I am stabbing goblins like Aragorn from The Lord of the Rings stories. I am performing a round house kick like Chuck Norris. That is how I deal with temptation. But all of this work begins with my thoughts. That is where the real battles are won and lost. But we cannot fight what we refuse to acknowledge and we cannot win a war if we refuse to fight a single battle.

Many times, we capitulate without fighting at all. We think, “I want brownies.” So, we eat a pan of brownies. Then we think, “Maybe I shouldn’t have done that” when our pants begin to pinch, but often, (as in my case, and for many years) we ignore our conscience and do it anyway. After a while, we start to believe the lie that we have no power over our impulses and choices. The habit becomes ingrained to the point of horrific addiction. And hope becomes a seeming impossibility.

Addiction leads to death

When William Shakespeare wrote Sonnet 129, I think he knew a great deal about addiction and death. The shame of being held captive hurls the addict back to the numbing arms he or she is enthralled with, thus making it difficult to break free. He said “none knows well to shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.” But I would like to suggest that breaking free from addiction and thriving in spite of temptation is possible.

Life after Death

There is nothing more impossible than life sprouting from death. Resurrection is by nature a miracle. Maybe that is why I love spring. Every time a flower grows out of a seemingly dead bulb or from the branch of a presumably “dead” tree, I am filled with wonder. I look at my yard and see a lifeless, brown branch on Monday, but on Wednesday there is a golden flower. I can’t do this work. Nature manifests wonders beyond my understanding. We see the rhythm of resurrection all the time, but the mysteries surrounding it remain. How does the tree hibernate and then sprout fresh? How do the frogs not suffocate in the mud in the winter? How do they know the perfect time to emerge? How do those pesky morel mushrooms know exactly when to pop up and so befuddle the masses? Life is constantly flourishing from seemingly dead branches but we don’t notice because we forget our sense of wonder.

The human soul is no different than the tree or tulip; capable of sprouting life from death. Of course, we are only capable of this through the death and resurrection of Jesus. Paul writes this so eloquently.

“For when you were slaves of sin, you were free in regard to righteousness. But what fruit were you getting at that time from the things of which you are now ashamed? For the end of those things is death. But now that you have been set free from sin and have become slaves of God, the fruit you get leads to sanctification and its end, eternal life. For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.” – Romans 6:20-23

Temptation can feel like torture, but we can experience victory over it through the help Jesus offers by his blood shed on the cross. This resurrection power is real and available for those who cry out for it in earnest. This is my battle cry when the cookie-craving-from-hell erupts in my mind. “Jesus, Save me! Jesus, help me! Jesus, I don’t want to fall back into that pit. That pit is death and I love you more!”

Today, if you are stuck in your house or apartment (like most of the world at this point) and temptation has given way to addiction and death, cry out to Jesus. He will help you.

When the torturous thoughts of your addiction array themselves for war, pull out your weapon; the bible. Hurl words of truth at your enemy and slash, stab, and slay the dragon. You may have to do this every day, but Jesus never says “Hey, I’m too busy. Good luck with that.”

My weapon of choice lately is Psalm 18. (I am memorizing in whole but will share in part).

“This God—his way is perfect; the word of the Lord proves true; he is a shield for all those who take refuge in him. For you equipped me with strength for the battle; you made those who rise against me sink under me.” – Psalm 18:30 & 39

Go forth and conquer!

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.