Destination Discipline

“Turn around bright eyes…but every now and then I fall apart!” – Bonnie Tyler

Did you ever have one of those days that turned into one of those weeks that turned into one of those months? Did you ever wake up one morning and say, “Enough!” only to experience the distinct feeling of Déjà vu? After about a month of these kinds of days, I’m feeling more than a little put out. All my coping mechanisms have been exhausted. I’ve eaten and exercised and prayed and screamed at my children and kicked my husband in his sleep and I don’t feel any better. So today, for the sake of my sanity, I’m opening my can of sarcasm and letting all the worms go free! And you, dear reader, are invited along for the journey.

Life is not like a box of chocolates – it’s like poo.

We pulled up to Tae Kwon Do practice last night and nobody was there. I take that back. There was a young guy in his white uniform standing there with his hand up saying, “Go home, class has been cancelled.” I was agitated because I had been looking forward to listening to The Ambassadors of Harmony practice their songs (they practice in the same facility as my son practices Tae Kwon Do and let folks listen for fun). They have been singing this song about Pirate Harmonies (part of their Christmas program line-up) and I enjoy it immensely. No practice meant no pirate harmonies. No scallywags, only, “Argh’s!” So as I was driving my teenage son home I suggested we stop by the library and get a book. Books make me feel better when I’m unhappy. But he refused to go into the library with me because he was self-conscious about his uniform. So I had to walk into the library by myself. In the cold. With no coat. Where the librarian reminded me that I have a $9.54 late fee.

Teenagers are stupid

Listen, I know what it feels like to be a teenager. I used to be one many moons ago. And I specifically remember my mother giving me a hard time about the poof on top of my head that I spent considerable time curling and hair-spraying in order to fit in with the “in” crowd. Only to have HER tell me I looked like a peacock. Now, I knew back then that she was a moron so that was okay. And there was nothing she was ever going to say to me that would convince me otherwise. As evidenced by her strict adherence to distasteful rules like putting ones laundry away the day it was washed, or picking up ones room, or not torturing ones siblings. She didn’t seem to understand that the whole reason siblings were born was to be the rump-squishing receptacle for my maniacal pinchers, which is why my sister cannot climb a flight of stairs today with someone behind her due to serious psychological childhood trauma.

Parental failure is inevitable

Rather than respond kindly to my son’s insecurities and encourage him appropriately, I devolved into juvenile behavior and began goading him. My poor, disappointed 16 year old was then put on the receiving end of the most juvenile of all adult behavior—manipulation therapy. Truth be told, I was only picking on him because I was in a bad mood and decided he should be too. If you have never done this to your child, well, you are a far better parent than I am. It’s shameful and wicked and I repented profusely this morning while pleading with him to forgive me. He gave me the grunt of acknowledgement so I know that he at least heard me, but it didn’t really make me feel any better.

Self-torture isn’t nearly all it’s cracked up to be

This morning I found myself on the elliptical machine of doom, panting and sweating and really regretting that late night bowl of butter-laden popcorn, because once again, I’ve gained 5 pounds. It’s not my fault of course, but rather stress, lack of sleep, and afternoon unhealthy snack breaks. All of these gremlins have conspired to fatten me, much the stern consternation of my pants. And since the pants hold the power of the universe in their sharp, zippered teeth, and have a way of making one’s life an absolute living hell, I resolved to appease them with 70 minutes of leg swishing, feet numbing, butt-busting activity that will ensure I won’t be able to walk at all tomorrow.

My children will be in therapy forever

After my workout and a litany of prayers, I resolved to be a better person and have a good day. And yet, not 30 minutes after begging my teenager to forgive me, I nearly ruptured my vocal chords hollering at my youngest child because he wouldn’t stop messing with the dog when I needed him to take his blood sugar. And then, because I was frustrated, I ran outside, slipped on ice that had formed overnight in the carport from the tipped-over bucket containing the real-live-Christmas tree my husband insisted on buying even though I told him it’s a terrible waste of money. I mean, we could get a used tree at any thrift shop for half the price and not have pine needles poisoning our nostrils, but I digress.

Now maybe at this point in the story you might be wondering why I didn’t just give up and go back to bed. I mean, obviously I am failing in every single area of my life and therefore the best decision of the day would be to crawl back into bed, pull the covers over my head, and protect the unsuspecting masses from the little black rain cloud over my head. The problem is, Friday is the busiest day of the work week and I have serious, grown-up stuff to do so I can make enough money to pay the mortgage. I can’t go around flopping in bed and pretending to be sick no matter how screwy my brain nor how sincere my psychosis. Nope! Time to pull up the big-girl britches and push through, Baby!

“Don’t be the straw that breaks the camel’s back, be the straw that feeds the camel.” – Randall Goodgame

So when I arrived at work and saw the blue screen of death on my boss’s computer, my eye twitched just a little bit. And when he asked me to try and reboot it, but it only blinked and crashed again, that was it. Game over. And it was only 8:00am.

So I decided that rather than take my aggression out on my co-workers, I would get coffee. I really know better than to drink coffee, after all, it provokes my anxiety. Still, I was really feeling crabby and I knew coffee would help. Of course I was interrupted 6 times and by the time I got to drink it, it was luke warm and mealy. But hey, it was still caffeine, and so, down the hatch!

And that is when I discovered that crabby + coffee = feisty!

Why are you looking at me like that?

Sometimes life is disappointing. It’s completing repetitive tasks that make us crazy, being nice to meanies, and working long, arduous hours that make us question why we ever wanted to grow up in the first place. We find ourselves dragging our buns across the finish line at 5:00 or even 6:00pm, only to run errands, make dinner and muster just enough strength to climb into bed and fall asleep just so we can wake up the next day and do it all over again. We say things we don’t mean, scream at the people we love and eat too many cookies, only to anger our pants, and end up torturing ourselves on glorified hamster wheels. Or is it only me?

I ran into a friend of mine at work this afternoon and she shared her own story of the little black rain cloud that could, only hers involved viruses and vomit. And I have to say, it’s awfully nice to know I’m really not the only one.

Sometimes our only recourse against the days, weeks and months of drudgery is comedy. Laughter is surely a simple solace for the suffering soul.

I combed through each blade of grass, searching for the small gold ring with a blue sapphire. I was 17 years old and terrified I had lost it forever. My senior class ring was a recent gift from my parents and I hadn’t even graduated yet. Somehow it had slipped off my finger while I was walking in the backyard and I held little hope of ever finding it. I crawled around on my hands and knees with tears dripping down my chin. How could this happen? Why did it fall off my finger? How would my mother react? What would I do if I never found it?

My youngest son recently turned 9 years old. He is a different kind of little boy, not like others his age, and he asked for a metal detector for his birthday. Ever the dutiful mother, I got on Amazon and found the cheapest—but most likely to actually detect metal objects—metal detector on the site and ordered it. When the big day came, he opened it and spent a good many hours scouring the yard with it. He had visions of finding buried treasure. My husband said he’d be lucky to find some bottle caps and old, rusty nails. As it turns out, searching for hidden treasure is a lot harder than one realizes. It takes time and patience and perseverance, virtues many of us do not possess in great abundance.

I have been walking through a terrible grief these past weeks. This grief has caused me to feel in my heart a terrible ache and longing, for what—at first—I wasn’t exactly sure. In the beginning, it was the terrible trauma of watching my good friend slowly die. I thought maybe his was a temporary illness, or at the very least, the simple aging of a tired body. As time passed it became clear that it was not a temporary illness and my friend would most likely not make it. I began to pray that God would let him not suffer any longer and then I waited for Him to respond by letting my friend die.

I sat with him on our last day together and urged him on. “Don’t stay here for me,” I said. “I will be okay without you.” I read to him Psalm 23 and I sang a song about flying to Jesus. I imagined him thus; flying to the One who created us and shedding—once and for all—this ephemeral body. He leaned against me and I felt his weariness. That was the last time I saw him alive.

I would like to say something flowery about him, like he had reached that perfect state of existence that some creatures do and become in the end so utterly beautiful, or that all of those things that used to annoy me or weary me about him fell away like a husk, and all that remained was a glimpse of a perfected soul as it left our broken world. But the truth is, I only felt his absence the way one experiences a black hole. And as the day’s pass, the loss grows only deeper and blacker than I could ever have imagined. And whether I like it or not, the truth is, the loss of my friend has wrecked me.
Suddenly I feel like I did when I was 17 years old and I lost my treasured ring. Here I am on my hands and knees peeling back blades of grass and begging God to help me find it. Instead I have found only black earth and gnats. My back aches and my legs are itchy. There are mosquitoes. And the sun is beating down on my neck. And I am thirsty. If you are reading this and have never experienced the loss of a loved one, maybe you think I am just full of hot air. Just wait. Your time will come.

In the process of trying to run away from this pain I have discovered a deep doubt in my heart that I did not know existed. I have heretofore been unable to verbalize this doubt in so much as heart wounds can ever really be explained or even understood. I think the best way to illuminate my feelings on the subject would be to start with the idea that God is not fair. It is not fair that I have to go on living while my friend is dead because the pain of missing him is so intense. At the very root of that feeling is the idea that God is not present, that He is hands off, or that He is uncaring. And underneath that layer is the idea that God is not good, because if he was good he would not allow me to suffer so. I suppose I am rudimentary, but I feel that if there is not a purpose for the pain, why must I experience it? It would be like beating a horse for no other reason than it was breathing.

I remember the day so many years ago when I gave up on ever finding that ring. I limped into the house sobbing, aware that I would never, ever find it. That is a little how I have felt about God for the past few weeks. Not that He lost me, but that I lost Him. Somewhere on the subconscious level, my pain and this deep doubt caused me to walk away from relationship with him. I have been unable—or maybe the better word is unwilling—to face Him. This pain has been so big and so unbearable that I just couldn’t trust Him anymore. It pains me to write that, but it is true.

I remember at 17 sitting in the house and looking out across the lawn. I knew that ring was out there somewhere. And I knew it wasn’t going to find itself. And I knew my mother would be devastated if I told her I lost it because I had it only a few days. I knew it was impossible to find, but I also knew I would never again be satisfied if I didn’t try. And so I went back out there and tried again. And again. And again.

That is what I did this morning. I tried to find God again. In my feeble, faltering way, I started sobbingly, stumbling toward him. The reason for this is simple, to live without him—having experienced the absolute joy and peace of His presence—is agony. The absence of Him is worse than the absence of my friend. To go on living without the One I love most of all, is an unbearable idea, one I am not willing to face. So even if I have to spend hours and days on my hands and knees peeling back individual blades of grass until I find Him, I will.

And the truth is, I’ll never forget the moment I found that ring. One minute my search was hopeless; the next minute I saw the sun sparkling off the blue gem. It’s the same way with God. He is not really so difficult to find after all.

Maybe you are reading this today and find that you have walked away from relationship with God because of loss or pain. Maybe on the surface you even think you are okay with God, but you silently question His motives or methods. Sometimes hurts expose the deep questions we have, but we are too scared of the possible answers and so we never ask them. We cower and cry, and throw out pleading prayers we know will never be answered because, after all, God isn’t really good because how could someone good allow us to feel so bad?

Today I opened a door I had previously closed and looked at the wound left by the passing of my dear friend. I considered how foul it was becoming, and how toxic it had the ability to become. Instead of closing the door and trying to ignore it again, I decided to invite God to have a look-see. Then I asked him to sit with me and hold me. Then I asked him would he please heal it.

Tonight I have peace because I know that He can, and I know that He will. That is treasure worth searching for, and I didn’t even need a metal detector to find it.

I stared into the bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough. Each creamy wave lapped the edge of the bowl as I stirred. The brown sugar and butter were smooth and the Mexican vanilla added that rich smell that makes the dough truly delightful to eat. I considered the taste—how the dough melts on the tongue, how many times I’ve consumed it over the years—so much so that at one time I had to make a double batch just so there would be a few cookies left at the end of the project. I set the bowl down and considered once again, what if I chucked this whole healthy lifestyle stuff and just started eating again?

We live in a culture where we are constantly encouraged to indulge. Indulge our appetites, aesthetic inclinations and especially our emotions. We can most certainly have what we want–when we want it. And why not? We have no boundaries. We are told we must explore our deepest desires. We must get in touch with our inner selves in order to determine who we are and where we want to go in life. But is looking inside of ourselves the best way? Is indulging every single appetite every single time actually good for us? I have learned from personal experience that indulgence has a price. As I stared down into the cookie dough last weekend I asked myself the question many people neglect when faced with temptation, “Should I?”

“Should I” and “Could I” are two different questions. “Should I?” ponders the consequences. “Could I?” merely questions physical capability. I spent many years proving that I could indulge. The problem is my culture gives me conflicting messages. I wasn’t beautiful unless I was thin, but I wasn’t happy unless I was satisfied with the tastiest food. The steady stream of propaganda specifically crafted for creatures like me was irresistible. C.S. Lewis said, “A man with an obsession is a man who has very little sales-resistance.” No one understands this better than the entertainment industry and they are always reinforcing that we are the captains of our souls and should therefore pursue our deepest longings no matter what the cost.

Cover Girl?

A friend lamented to me recently that an eye infection would prevent her from wearing makeup for at least a week. I thought about the time I got poison ivy on my face and shuddered. “A whole week without makeup? Oh, the humanity!” I have many friends who will not go outside their homes without their “faces” on. In fact, cosmetics have become such a standard of beauty that women and girls are routinely shamed by friends and classmates for not applying them properly. Maybelline and Loreal have thriving businesses targeted at our vanity obsession and most women admit they feel naked without it. Now I’m not shucking makeup—I wear it nearly every day. What I’m poking at is more around our utter dependence on beauty.

Why do we care so much about our appearance? I’m not talking about basic grooming. I like my shower, thank-you-very-much. I’m talking about the extremes we pursue to be beautiful. I was eating lunch with a friend at a restaurant a few years ago when two middle-aged women walked in. Their faces looked like Claymation gone horribly awry. They wore chic tops with cropped pants. High-end purses dangled from their wrists. Their sunglasses were obligatorily perched in professionally tousled hair. But their faces! Why had they done that to their faces?

“Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world—the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride of life—is not from the Father but is from the world. And the world is passing away along with its desires, but whoever does the will of God abides forever.” 1 John 2:15-17

Emotions unleashed

Harvey Weinstein is the most recent example of abuse of power gone awry. We’ve seen the likes of Bill Cosby, Bill Clinton, Bill O’Reilly and several others not named Bill stretched across the headlines recently as prime examples of perversion. We rightly call “fowl” when humans harm other humans for their own gratification. The backlash against Mr. Weinstein has been nothing short of spectacular with women all over the world coming forward to acknowledge the prevalence and problem of sexual harassment. One man online recently opined that if so many women have been harassed or assaulted, what does that say about the men in our culture?

We rightly call it wrong when people give vent to culturally unacceptable vices but what about when those vices are emotional in nature. We assume our feelings don’t generally harm anyone but what happens when they do? We know that drinking too much alcohol or doing drugs is bad for our bodies, but what about anger? What about fear? What about (romantic) love?

There is a dangerous idea floating around our media that “falling in love” is the single highest state of emotional contentment. We are encouraged to find that state of emotional bliss and ardently pursue it. We see this evidenced in our heroines; Bridget Jones, Bella from Twilight, and Allie in The Notebook. And we begin to believe that love is a feeling, and once the feeling fades, we are free to pursue other opportunities regardless of the impact on our families—and I would even suggest—our communities.

Men understand the great need of women to be loved in this “exhilarating” way and use it to their advantage. Robert Palmer immortalized this idea in the song, “Addicted to Love”. One track mind indeed. I was recently talking to a co-worker about her experience with men and I asked if she had ever met a man who cared for and protected her. Her response was telling. She said no. Not her father, uncle, brother, ex-husband, or son. If she was telling the truth, and I believe she was, that is a startling statement about the male mind in today’s society. When did men stop putting the needs of women before their own?

Women are obsessed with being “in love”. Men are obsessed with sex. Both obsessions point inward. This inward focus is disappointing at best and horrific at its worst. People have been seeking to understand and know and oblige themselves so intently and for so long that they have lost touch with what it means to care for other human beings. Real love sacrifices. It costs something. And I would like to suggest that it exists outside us.

Why?

Our vices say a great deal about us. They remind us we are all consumers. We consume food, energy, air, knowledge, and even other people. We are perpetually “hungry” for something. Some hungers are normal and necessary, but others cause harm. I would like to suggest that when we pursue our desires and seek to satisfy our endless hungers by looking inside ourselves we are actually involved in a form of self-worship. We consume what we worship, and if we have no frame of reference for goodness outside personal preference, we become monsters.

In an old episode of the original Star Trek, Captain Kirk and his friends are captured by a being who claims to be the Greek god, Apollo. He transports them to his planet and entreats them to worship him. When they refuse, he focusses his attention on a female crew member, Carolyn, probably because she is female and ostensibly weak. He uses every charm in his toolbox to seduce her and he eventually succeeds. She falls for him. In fact, the only reason the crew escapes is because of her loyalty to her captain and the rest of the crew. She chose duty and honor over emotion.

Why do we call heroes courageous? Because they save other people at a cost to themselves. Why do we call villains evil? Because they are self-focused. They want power at the expense of others. Heroes save lives. Villains take them. Villains are vain and look in the mirror a lot. Heroes are selfless and point to others as better than themselves.

We don’t often look at ourselves through this lens. Life is busy. We have jobs to do, children to transport, television to watch. Of course I like to think of myself as a hero until my child throws a fit in the grocery store and I lose my temper, grab his arm and yank him around while whispering gruffly, “Shut up you little brat!” Why? Because I don’t want people staring at us. Why? Because I’m embarrassed. Why? Because I want everyone to think I’m a perfect mom with a perfect child. Why? Because I’m proud.

Excising the Root

When I lived in Ferguson I had a tenacious weed in my back yard. It was a vine and the stem was stronger than twine. Every time I cut the vine, it sprouted again. One day I got really ticked off and decided to dig it out. What I found shocked me. There was a tuber, as big as a potato about 2 feet under the ground. It was hideous to look at, pale brown with a fleshy center and covered with ugly nodules. My entire back hill was covered with that vine and I spent years trying to get rid of it for good. I never succeeded. Every time I thought I had it under control, it would come back. Pride is like that.

Pride is the most basic form of self-worship. It puts me and my needs above everyone else. It drives me to curse my husband when he doesn’t fulfill my romantic notions, it drives me to adorn my body with perfumes, makeup and clothes that make me “beautiful”, and it drives me to eat cookie dough in vast quantities. Pride is the root of every evil inclination in my nature and I have come to the realization that I can never excise it completely.

But God can.

Oh, darn it. Margaret’s talking about God again. That pesky God! Why is He always butting in on my good time? And I was just about to eat an entire pizza. I was just about to watch a romantic comedy! I was just about to go off on my co-worker for clicking her pen repeatedly and loudly. Good grief!
Now don’t misunderstand—I’m not condemning the casual enjoyment of movies, food or romantic love. All of those things are good. But when we worship them, they become a real problem.

You Shall Have No Other Gods Before Me

Many people who have not understood the bible—maybe because they haven’t read it or because they only read pieces of it out of context—believe God is an overbearing ogre who makes unreasonable demands. Obviously we can never meet those demands and so we are stuck in this terrible dilemma. We can either try really hard to be good and earn his favor—and thereby gain a toehold into Heaven—or we can reject him entirely and go to hell (or we can pretend there is no hell but that’s not even remotely scriptural). Han Solo was fully prepared to go there or he wouldn’t have told Princess Leia he would see her there if he didn’t survive trying to save Luke from the Wampa. (Sorry—my inner geek got out!)

The very first sin was based in pride. Eve thought she knew better than God. She wanted to eat the fruit and Satan tricked her into believing she knew better than her creator. Pride is first and foremost our belief that we can be our own god. We are autonomous. We call the shots. We don’t need no stinkin’ help. We got this! Except we don’t. And deep down we all know that. We don’t got this.

God knew that when he gave Moses the Ten Commandments. The very first thing God said was to love Him more than anything else. Everything else stems from that love. Jesus reinforced that message when he came to earth and was made manifest. He said to love God and to love our neighbors as ourselves. That’s all God really wants. He wants us to love him and acknowledge that we can’t live life without him. We have, in fact, turned our backs on him, because we are prideful. Incredibly He gives us the choice: life with Him forever in Heaven or eternal death (hell).

The End of Overeating

Now that I’ve alienated all those folks who just wanted to figure out how to stop eating chocolate chip cookie dough, I can say what I wanted to say in the beginning. Pride is the greatest temptation (though cookie dough may be a close second). Amazingly, God loves us in spite of our pride. He knows pride is terrible because it destroys us. It robs us of joy. It assaults the innocent. It corrodes hope. And so he gently encourages us to let go of our vices and cling to Him instead. He wants to save us. He knows our hearts are hungry for Him and we just don’t know it. The pleasure we take in our vices point us to the true hunger in our hearts for the only true, satisfying love we will ever experience; the love of our creator. He made us to love him and when we don’t, we get wonky (for lack of a better, more theological word).

Pride is really challenging to spot in ourselves at times and we may have to dig long and deep to find it. We see the fruit, but the root eludes us. I believe the only place the root can be truly destroyed is when we surrender our will to God and ask Him to save us. That’s where I started in May of 2010. I knew I had an eating problem and I was desperate to fix my morbidly obese body. I started simple: I wanted to stop eating candy. God whispered to me that I needed to learn discipline. I asked for His help and then He walked with me, and patiently taught me how to say no to the foods that were slowly killing me.

Newsflash! Sometimes saying no to ourselves is loving and good!

Today if you are parched and depleted, if you have finally realized the vice you cling to is a liar and is destroying you, let go of your pride. Start by acknowledging that you are completely powerless to save yourself. Then seek someone outside yourself who can. Start with Jesus and you will never lack for anything.

A long time ago Jesus met a woman at a well and told her about living water. Today if you are thirsty, come, drink and live!

Jesus said to her, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again. The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” – John 4:13-14