Destination Discipline

“We’re designed to search for reason in the seemingly senseless events that torpedo our lives, and we want to make sense of them as soon as they happen.” Rachel Wilson

I have lately been walking through life in a haze of pain. Emotional pain. Physical pain. Relational pain. With each step I feel the weight of it, like a shoe that doesn’t fit quit right, it digs into my ankle and leaves a blister. And I have this idea that one day I will wake up and the pain will be gone, and then I will experience this blissful “happy” other people are so readily prone to. The problem is, I live in the real world and waiting for the “happy” is a little like waiting on a flight that keeps being delayed. I’m staring at the tarmac and watching for the big metal machine to coming rolling up to the gate but it never arrives, and frankly, I’m just miffed. Because to be quite honest, I’m sick of these stupid shoes.

My natural tendency is to avoid the pain at all costs. And so I develop little coping mechanisms to get me through the tedium. I eat too many brownies(when no one is looking of course). I watch television(because fictional drama is easier). And I scroll through Facebook, reading political commentary, and secretly judging my friends without analyzing my own flawed opinions. I feel like I’m gliding across a frozen pond in a beautiful pair of white ice skates(because pretty is important, right?). And I know I’m going to have to deal with the cold eventually, because my fingers are frost bitten and black, but right now it’s easier to just ignore the painful truth and stay numb. Because thawing is when the pain really begins.

But thawing is also when the healing begins. And whether I like it or not, pain and healing go hand-in-hand.

This past weekend our little family made a trip to the country with the idea that we would get away from the pain and stress of our relatively ordinary lives. We haven’t had time or money for a vacation and the grown-up responsibilities are stacked up like immovable blocks. Early in the week I begged my husband for a quick camping trip and he said yes. And I was so excited! Until I woke up ill on Saturday morning.

Instead of jumping out of bed and throwing all our gear into the car, I struggled to form cohesive sentences. I knew what needed to be done but I couldn’t make a simple decision. So I wore a path between the kitchen and the bathroom while my husband kept asking me, “Are we going or what?” My little guy was busy bouncing around the house in a frenzy of anticipation and excitement. And I wanted to be excited too, except my tummy hurt and my brain was foggy. And frankly, it just wasn’t fair.

But I could not bear to disappoint my little guy, and so I started putting things into bags and packing a cooler. I knew I’d forget something—I always do—but I found great satisfaction in pulling away from the house with all of the most important things in the car(namely the children AND the dog). My little guy was chattering like a monkey on speed and my husband was losing his temper, so I pulled out a story I had printed up from the internet earlier in the week and calmly read about a little town called Sligo(in SW Missouri), and one of the families who was fortunate enough to live there. And then we were caught up in the tale of Dwilla Lewis Dubouchet and what life in the late 1800’s was really like.

We pulled into the campsite fairly relaxed, but quickly lost our cool with all the tasks that needed to be accomplished in order to put warm food into our bellies. Cooking over a campfire is no small accomplishment, but it is one of the wonderful things that make camping so much darn fun.

If you can get the fire started that is.

And since it was clear that rain had recently doused the area, it took quite a few matches (and a half gallon of lighter fluid) to get the wood going. Meanwhile my teenager grumbled and groused about hornets and heat. And my little guy ran around in circles emitting high-pitched noises between unreasonable demands(I want to go to the river NOW!). So after our bellies were full(we had to eat with our fingers because I forgot the utensils) and we were completely soaked with sweat, I somehow convinced my exhausted husband to accompany us to the river where we could cool off and relax.

Except that my little guy is behaviorally challenged and would not follow instructions. He was being unsafe in the river and after about 45 minutes of patiently directing him to stop trying to drown, I gave up and we went back to our campsite. And the teenager was still grumbling about the heat and having to sleep in a tent. And the little guy was still buzzing around making unreasonable demands, but somehow I found a way to lie down in the back of the truck and stare up into the sky. And that is when I saw it.

The trees over the truck blocked much of the sky, but there in the leaves of the canopy I saw the shape of a cross and I remembered that for all my suffering, there is One who went before me and bore the worst of it. And by his stripes I am healed(Isaiah 53:5).

Life on planet earth is a succession of pain and sorrow. Our bodies are fragile and perishable. People wound us with their actions and words. We suffer mental and physical illness. We anguish and sob over traumas so recklessly inflicted upon our person. But this is not the end of our story. As Rachel Wilson so eloquently writes in the book she co-authored with her husband, Andrew, (The Life We Never Expected), “We rush to explain all the ways in which having special-needs children has, despite appearances, enhanced our lives. We strive daily to make sense of the senseless, so that the pain we’ve experienced will not be in vain. In other words, we write our own happy ending. But we are not the storyteller. We don’t have the power to resolve the twisted plot and bring triumph out of tragedy. Only God does. And his timing is often very different from ours.”

This morning I saw the sun rising through thick fog. It was more like a mirage than a sunrise. The small, pale, orb hovered there on the horizon like an opaque gem, shaking smoky sunbeams at the earth. I stopped my bike and took a picture, but I couldn’t quite capture the eerie light and dull throbbing ache that seemed to resonate through the clammy air around me. Maybe it was just my “hurty” heart and the realization that I may never know a pain-free life this side of Heaven, but in that moment I desperately longed to ask the Storyteller one simple question, “Why all this suffering?”
Today I am thawing. I am facing the frostbite. And it hurts. But it is not the end of the story. I like the way Rachel Wilson writes it, “The biblical drama ends with redemption, as the hero defeats the villain, gets the girl, saves the world, and lives happily ever after.”

If this was not the case, I would truly have a reason to despair. But as it stands, my suffering is temporary and therefore, I have only one real choice: Rejoice!

Sunday morning my family found respite in the Meramec River after about 2 hours of fitful sleep. The spring fed water gurgled in a beautiful blue array around us as we splashed and laughed and frolicked. We planned to spend most of the day there, but 30 minutes into our play, a frightful storm blew in. Amidst the thunder and lightning, we scrambled to the truck, raced back to our campsite, and loaded the last of our belongings as the first raindrops hit the windshield. And it felt rather anticlimactic to drive home against the backdrop of dark storm clouds and feisty wind after a full day of “not relaxing”. But as I sat next to my children, who nibbled on cold hamburgers and carrot sticks, I had to smile. Because even though we did not get the quiet, relaxing weekend we had hoped for, I know that one day I will. And when I think about what that looks like, what it will actually be like to walk on the shore of Heaven’s beautiful rivers with the Storyteller, knowing exactly and fully how the story ends, well, what are a few silly dark storm clouds and frostbitten fingers anyway?

I climbed aboard my bicycle this morning with sweat dripping down my back. To say that it’s hot in St. Louis would be an understatement(100 degrees +). My Facebook feed is filled with images of melting ice cream trucks and even a melted Snoopy. I would have been justified to stay at home in my cool house and relax but Sunday morning bike rides before church give me so much joy. I didn’t want to miss the blessing I receive by spending time with my Lord. For me, exercise is an act of worship. I suppose this is due in part to how difficult it was in the beginning of my journey and how the only way I could endure it was to listen to scripture and pray. I was recently standing at Lowe’s with a 28 pound bag of bird seed on my shoulder when I thought I would collapse from the weight of it. I literally cannot imaging walking around with an extra 140 pounds on my body today. Or maybe I could, but even thinking about it makes me ill.

Last night I read my friend Holly’s blog: 300 Pounds Down where she talks about her journey to keep off the excess weight that threatens her life. I was praying for her this morning because her journey is my own, and right now she could use a little help. (Can’t we all?) You see, every day I face the temptation to make food my god and to be honest, more often than I would like to admit, I fail. This struggle to maintain a healthy lifestyle in the face of so much temptation causes me to ponder why I find (physical)success where others do not. Is it because I am stronger? Smarter? More determined? Is it because I have better genes(I don’t think so!) or because I have stronger faith? Because the truth is, it really doesn’t feel that way. I have many friends who are strong Christians and they have not been able to lose the weight and keep it off. It seems like the ultimate snub from God to pray for help to lose weight and to see that prayer go unanswered.

I was pondering all of this early today as I rode my bike in the sweltering heat. I often feel guilty that I have (mostly) kept the weight off and want so much to help others not to lose heart. The truth is, every day I make a series of choices–some of which are difficult–others of which have become routine, but none of which would be possible without the word of God and its tremendous impact on my life.

I recently began reading “Tramp for the Lord” by Corrie Ten Boom. If you have not heard of her, please read her book, “The Hiding Place” where she details the work she and her family did to rescue Jews during the Nazi occupation of Holland. The Ten Boom family were betrayed by a neighbor and her father died in jail. But Corrie and her beloved sister Betsy were sent to the infamous Ravensbruck concentration camp where they were certain they would never emerge alive.

She writes,

“It was in the middle of the night when Betsie and I reached the processing barracks. And there, under the harsh ceiling lights, we saw a dismaying sight. As each woman reached the head of the line she had to strip off every scrap of clothes, throw them all onto a pile guarded by soldiers, and walk naked past the scrutiny of a dozen guards into the shower room. Coming out of the shower room she wore only a thin regulation prison dress and a pair of shoes.

Our Bible! How could we take it past so many watchful eyes?”

Upon entering the camp, Corrie’s biggest worry was that she would not have the precious word of her Lord, but it seems in 2016 that most Christians have one(if not ten) bibles laying around their homes, most of them with dust on them. But the Bible, to Corrie, was her most precious possession. This resonated very powerfully with me today. You see, I probably don’t state enough in this blog how important the Bible is to me, especially since I am–at my core–a rotten and wicked sinner saved only by the amazing grace of God.

If you are reading this and thinking, “Good grief! That Margaret sure is self-righteous. Who does she think she is?” Let me make this very clear, I think little to nothing of myself. If you knew me, you would know what I neurotic mess I really am. I only use this blog as a way to continue to make right decisions and to spur on others who are interested in learning and growing on their journey. Now that we have that straight, I want to be very candid. I would not be where I am today without Jesus and his great gift to me, his words.

In fact, early on, when I thought I hadn’t a chance of success, I made a decision to memorize his words because I believe they have great power. Today I believe this is the only reason I have succeeded in losing weight at all. Today I still rest on that decision and recite His words every time I struggle with the desire to eat something that would harm my body(sugar/french fries/McArthur’s cake). Memorizing scripture has not only given me a tremendous love for God’s word, but it has given me the strength to work out when I didn’t feel like, resist the foods that once defined me, and to learn to love people who are wholly unlovable. But more than any of that, it has enabled me to know Jesus in ways I never thought possible. And there is nothing–and I mean nothing–in this world more important to me than that.

It is so challenging(as a food addict) to face a world that offers me delightful food at every moment of the day and know that if I want to remain healthy, I must find the strength to resist those things that would harm me. Without the truth of God’s word shining in my heart, I might still believe that lie that I can’t live without it.

That is what I would tell Holly today….don’t give up. Don’t lose heart. Today’s failure is tomorrow’s victory. Corrie Ten Boom told the prisoners in Ravensbruck, “Jesus is victor!” And he still is. Whether we fail or succeed in resisting temptation, one day we won’t fight this horrible battle any longer because Jesus will win the war.

Today, if you are struggling with any kind of addiction, open your bible. Read God’s word. It is powerful. It is beautiful. And it is true. And it will help you succeed in the strength of the One who faced the cross and conquered sin once and for all.

I am a creature of habit. Some people say, “I’m stuck in a rut” as if that were a bad thing. But as for me, I like my ruts long and deep. Ruts are easy. And that is why we ate homemade pizza for 6 days in a row last week. I was worn out (life is busy—not to mention mentally challenging) and everybody likes pizza. Believe it or not, I get tired of my children complaining about the healthy dinners I make.

Last week it was Mom for the win! And we might have had pizza for dinner every night forever except that my husband put his foot down. He might have said something like, “Where’s the beef?” but I can’t remember. Mainly, he made it clear the reign of pizza was over. And that is when Taco week began. (Okay, it was really only 3 days of tacos, but I digress)

Before I learned how to make “healthy” pizza, I would never have imagined I could eat pizza for 6 days in a row and not gain weight. And it’s not just because I exercise a lot. (Fyi…one can lose weight via diet alone) This morning while I was jogging, I was thinking about my routines and how safe they make me feel. I was also thinking about how wonderful it is that I spent so many years cultivating healthy habits. I don’t say all of this to brag about how awesome I am. Much to the contrary. I am simply saying that I am glad some good came out of the diet and exercise torture I went through to get to a place where I no longer weigh 310 pounds. I’ll be candid…I never, ever want to go through that again. Twice is enough!
But there was a time in my life when I could not have imagined being excited to wake up early to exercise and I am very glad that has become my reality. Still, there are some days—like today—when I consider my “new reality” and chuckle.

I have recently been a part of a Facebook Group of women(mostly moms) who are striving to live a healthy lifestyle. I didn’t purposely sign up for the group. It happened quite by accident. The owner of the group is a Facebook friend and she added me to a team after I “liked” one of her posts about forming two teams who compete for the most miles walked in a week. Today I noticed that my name was at the top of team 2 and I wondered if she did that because she knew I would be faithful to keep my team on track.

It then occurred to me that 6 short years ago I was struggling to walk up one hill, much less 6 miles of hills(which is now my comfortable “rut”). As I was taking my “proof of exercise” picture, it occurred to me how strange my situation is. How did the girl who could barely walk around one block get to a place where she eats “healthy pizza” and walks 6 miles several times a week, and is such a sure-fire exercise bet that she gets put at the top of the roster for an workout challenge? (disclaimer—I might be reading too much into the list leader thing, but please don’t burst my bubble and tell me it was a coincidence)

In 1984, the band Chicago released a song called, “Hard habit to break”. In it the broken-hearted man laments the loss of someone he took for granted. When Peter Cetera sings, “I’m addicted to you! You’re a hard habit to break”, he could be singing my song. After all, trading in my Snickers bars for dried apricots took some “getting used to”. (if you feel so inclined, read my posts about sugar addiction)

There was a time when I couldn’t envision my life without plates of cookies or chocolate stashed in my drawers at work. Now I stop at tables on the side of the road for free summer squash (while my children whine, “Mom, what are you doing?!”) I ride my bike for hours just so I can soak in the fresh air and sunshine. I make whole wheat pizza crust heaped high with veggies instead of pepperoni and sausage. And truthfully, I don’t miss the heaps of sugary/carb laden crap. And I don’t like to imagine returning to a life where I’m not able to move freely.

So many times I watch friends and acquaintances lose large amounts of weight only to gain it back. I’ve done it myself—mostly because I am a creature of habit. If I eat ice cream one day, I want it the next day too. And that is why it has been so important that I stay as sugar-free as possible. Eliminating sugar reduces the cravings by circumventing the insulin loop that causes me to want more. This is especially important because increasing exercise causes me to get hungry more often. By practicing healthy habits, I have created an environment where I can maintain my weight loss over time.

Now, 6 years into my journey, I find it really challenging to put unhealthy foods into my mouth. And when people question my resolve, I have no problem telling them why I abstain. And if people feel offended by my “rut”, so be it.

It takes time to learn about how to properly nourish the body. It takes time to develop an exercise routine. Much like wearing down a footpath into the woods requires day after day of stomping down the weeds, living a healthy lifestyle does not happen overnight. So if you are reading this and you have been disheartened over past failures… if you feel like you don’t have the strength or stamina to make another start… if you think healthy people are annoying people(sometimes I do too!)… think again. Try again. Because I am living proof that healthy habits are hard to break. And even though I really like the Chicago song that grieves the burden of a habit that is hard to let go of, I am happy to follow it up with the Robert Plant fiesta that is, “Addicted to Love”. Because the thing is, I am “addicted to love” -ing myself enough to stop hurting myself with food my food addiction.