Destination Discipline

“Mom, you’re scaring me.”

My little guy said this to me right after I slammed a pot lid onto the kitchen floor. It was not an accident. I am ashamed to admit I committed the pot lid assault after I finished screaming. I wasn’t screaming at my child, but rather, into the air. Because after a long day of persistent self-control, I was tired. I had stepped outside to enjoy the cool air(and hunt for toads for my little boys) after making dinner(no one said thank you to meatloaf) and baking healthy muffins for my breakfast for the next week. It was 8:30pm. I had walked back into the house feeling somewhat refreshed and ready for bed when I realized that half of the muffins I had just spent an hour baking—were gone. Our affectionate boxer dog, who regularly clings to our heels, was nowhere to be seen. There were large chunky crumbs under the cooling racks where the muffins used to be. I was furious.

“I’m scaring me too.”

I want to be a good mom, but I’m not. I can blame this on a lot of things, but mainly, I blame myself. I’m not strong enough to hold it together all the time. My kids love me anyway, but I don’t usually love myself. I have this big invisible bat that I walk around with and which I like to bonk myself over the head. After I have received enough sufficient lumps, I set it aside until the next time I’m bad. It’s called “The Bat of Shame”.

“I want to be good.”

A good friend of mine was fired at my place of employment last week. The event shook me to my core. My boss told me about it in simple yet vague terms. He said, “She broke a company policy.” I was devastated and instantly selfish. How would I manage without her beautiful smile? How would I cope without her sweet and sarcastic wit? I’m still reeling from it. I miss her face at the office. I feel like a hot air balloon that’s losing altitude. A pinhole in the material above me is tearing and the rocky ground below me beckons. Her termination affected everyone on her team. They are sad, frustrated and even angry. She made a series of mistakes and the rest of us are left to deal with the consequences. It’s not fair.

“I’m such a hypocrite.”

I write this blog about my journey to better health, but I frequently break my own rules. I feel really guilty about that. Last week my boss caught me eating Chick-Fil-A ice cream at my desk. He’s doing a 21 day cleanse. He didn’t say a word but I felt guilty anyway. And I finished eating it. I got caught and I continued in my “sin”. How many times have I encouraged him to give up sugar? To “just say no” to soda? To “be more like me”? I am an epic failure.

“What is grace?”

“What shall we say then? Are we to continue in sin that grace may abound? By no means! How can we who died to sin still live in it?” – Romans 6:1-2
This morning on the way to work I listened to one of my favorite preachers, Chuck Swindoll(Look…I’m walking!). He was preaching about the Christian walk. His words comforted my heart as I thought about how I continue to strive toward personal holiness. He spoke about the freedom we have as followers of Jesus to not be enslaved to sin any longer. He used the very first verses I memorized in my journey to better health(Romans 6:12-14). Then good old Chuck said, “Since you are not under law but under grace, when you want to sin, you can present yourself to Christ and ask him to deliver you from the temptation.” I’m paraphrasing here, but in other words, he said, grace is the freedom not to sin.

“My loss of control is serious business.”

The truth is, it’s impossible to be perfect, AND my mistakes impact those around me. My “mistakes” are what prompted Jesus to leave heaven, wrap our injured flesh around him, and suffer tremendously. They are no joke. And while I take great comfort in being absolved from my sin, if I’m not actively striving to control my baser impulses, I’m spending his grace extravagantly.

I recently learned about Darrin Patrick, the lead pastor of The Journey Church. He was fired for reasons I will not name here. His termination has had a terrible impact on the people in his congregation. I would dare to say his actions have sent a shock wave through the evangelical and secular community. The secular community now has another “perfect” example for how Christianity is a great fraud. The Christian community has reason to doubt that grace actually works. Both perspectives grieve my heart because I stand on both sides of that fence.

“I deserve a spanking, Mommy.”

This morning I called to my young son to come and “get his goodbye kisses.” This is the wonderful ritual we have every day. I hug him and kiss his sweet little cherub cheeks. This morning he arrived in front of me—sans shirt—with a chocolate/caramel smudge on his chest. So I bent down and hugged him just as tight as I always do. Then I kissed his chocolate-smudged cheek. And I said, “I love you.” It occurred to me that all the worrying I’ve done recently over belly aches and high blood sugars(he is diabetic) are not because his medication is faulty, but rather because he has continued to ferret out any sweets in the house that he can find and consume them. I pointed out his transgression and he looked up at me with this sad face and said, “I deserve a spanking, Mommy.” And it wasn’t manipulative(although he can be manipulative). It was just a simple statement of acknowledgement. He knew what he had done was wrong and he knew he deserved punishment. (I did not spank him but he did get another lecture about diabetes and the consequences of recklessly eating sugar. I also told him he will not get dessert tonight).

“The simple reason is love.”

I didn’t speak to Tank(my boxer) for over a day. He’s a smart dog. He knew I was furious with him. He also knew eating the muffins was wrong or he wouldn’t have hidden from me in the first place. But this morning he waggled up to me with his ears laid back and the sorriest, most expressive “Please don’t hate me, Mom” look I have ever seen. I put my hand on his head and petted him. Then I rubbed his sides and said, “I forgive you because I love you.” And it occurred to me that God loves me the same way. He bears with my mistakes because he loves me so much. And I keep going back to him after I make them because I love him so much.

Love is messy, though God never intended it to be that way. When we love someone, they have the power to hurt us. But love also heals wounds. When we forgive someone who has hurt us, we build a bridge over an awful chasm they created. Building that bridge is always the right thing to do. Jesus is teaching me how to build that bridge because, after all, He is the master architect of bridges. My bridges are kind-of flimsy, but I’m learning. And truthfully, I am so glad his love is patient. Because sometimes those bridges crumble under the weight of me, and he is teaching me that the only way to build them is on the solid foundation of his love.

I went swimming in the big blue ocean this morning. It was glorious. The wind was cool, and the temperature a fair 71 degrees. I swam with the cows and breathed in the smell of a million sweet wildflowers. I went flying too. I skipped through the luscious blue sky like a perfectly flat and round stone. The wispy clouds were at my fingertips and the brilliant green grass smiled up at me and waved. Okay, so I didn’t really swim and fly, but I did ride my bicycle and it was amazing.

I’m so excited that spring is here. I’m excited I can ride my bike without 3 jackets and two pairs of pants. I’m excited to fly down hills without chattering teeth. I’m excited to see the sun crest over the horizon as the big bass jumps out of the lake next to the bike trail. In fact, the only thing I’m not excited about is bugs in my teeth, but I’ll save that for another blog post.

I used to dream about the ocean. I don’t live close to one and so I always wanted to visit. I wanted to play in the sand and swim with the fishes. I wanted to collect sea shells and chase little white crabs. I wanted to live there so badly I could almost taste it. So this morning as I was riding my bicycle, I realized that a different kind of big blue ocean was right at my fingertips. I realized what I truly longed for was right in front of me. I mean, I knew I was pedaling, but I felt like I was swimming in the pure beauty of an ever changing sky. And all those years I spent dreaming and wanting were really kind-of wasted when all I had to do was just look up!

For those who don’t rise early in the morning, the sunrise is such an amazing experience. I leave when it is dark. This morning the moon was shining bright and the stars were sparkling. Then gradually, the black turns to gray and then to blue. And if I’m really lucky, the sun pops over the horizon with a burst of color that lights up the clouds. I felt the sun this morning as I climbed the hill out of my favorite park. I felt the cool air on my back turn warm and looked back to see the hot pink sun shining at me. The simplicity of it made me so happy.

A few short years ago I stood in the shower in the morning and cried. I said, “Today I’ll do better. Today I won’t eat Taco Bell and candy. Today I will learn to control my appetite. Today I will start to lose weight.” I looked down at my aching knees and my giant tummy and howled in misery. And then I pulled out my elastic waistband clothes and my stretched out shirts, and I dragged my heavy body to work. I was in a constant state of grieving. I don’t know any other way to put it. I wanted to lose weight more than anything in the whole wide world but I didn’t know how. I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t know what it meant to eat healthy. I couldn’t face life without a non-stop infusion of sugar. It was pure misery. Every. Single. Day. I remembered that feeling this morning as I soared down hills on my bicycle. And I was so thankful. I thanked my God for delivering me from slavery to food.

Gratitude is a funny thing. We say “Thank you” when someone opens the door for us. We say “Thank you” when the waitress brings us our food. But true soul-filled thankfulness springs from the realization that we have something precious, something we don’t necessarily deserve, something we never, ever want to let go of. This morning I understood that the longing for something I can’t have makes me feel very empty inside. Taking stock of the wonderful things I do have makes me feel full. The sky is not the ocean, but it is just as beautiful. My sagging belly will never put me on the cover of Shape Magazine, but I used to weigh 140 pounds more. Riding my bicycle isn’t swimming in the ocean but the wind on my face feels just as sweet.

Years ago I worked for a man who never had enough. He had a beautiful house, a pretty good salary and a lovely family. But every morning when I greeted him and said, “How are you?” he would reply, “I wish I had a million dollars.” And I remember wondering what would happen if he ever got it. Would he really be happy? Or would he want a million more?

My life isn’t perfect and I have about a thousand and one things I could complain about. But I’m not going to. Today I’m just so filled with gratitude and wonder at the beautiful world around me. Whoever you are reading this, you have something to be thankful for. Be it as simple as the air in your lungs or the sound of the birds outside your window….take stock of what you have and be glad. You’ll be happier for it.

Yesterday we experienced a great grief in our home. I heard my youngest son screaming from the backyard, “The ants are eating the toad! The ants are eating the toad!” and I knew immediately what had happened. Sometimes the toads in our yard(which my children love and adore) hide under some bricks at the back of the house in the heat of the day. I have explained to my young son that he must not disturb them, but he can’t help himself. His curiosity gets the better of him every time. I have explained to him that he should not lift the bricks because I don’t want him to injure them. Yesterday he ignored my warnings and inadvertently crushed one of the little warty beasts. My little one was devastated. My older son, who also has a tender heart, ran to see what had happened to his beloved friend, only to discover the painful truth; he was dead. Is there anything worse than discovering a creature you love not only dead, but being devoured by nature’s most efficient insects? I heard the wailing and my heart just broke. Both of my children went from the quiet of preparing for bed to devastation.

As I considered how to comfort my grieving children, I thought about the pain that has infected my own life over the years and my response to it. While the loss of a toad seems insignificant compared to other griefs, I distinctly remember the sickness and sadness I felt when I inadvertently killed several peepers while on a float trip as a child. I had collected the cute little creatures on the shore of the Bourbeuse River in the company of my family. My sweet Grandma saw my affection for the baby toads and gave me a tin can to keep them in. When we climbed back aboard the boat and began our trek down the river, I sat the can next to me on the seat where I could keep my new friends close. Sometime during the course of our journey I looked down to check on them and discovered that the heat of the sun had warmed the tin can and cooked the little creatures. I was horrified. I remember the torment I experienced as I considered that I had killed them. I felt not only sadness, but guilt. It was my fault that they died. The trip I had been wonderful up until that moment. I threw the can and its charred contents into the river and watched it float away. But the pain stayed with me.

This world offers up so many hurts. Like a sideshow carnival, we peruse the exhibits in a state of shock and horror, and consider how best to respond to such atrocities. Why would God allow the Siamese twins or the bearded lady? Why must the lions be kept in cages, only to pace back and forth and suffer at the hands of their captors? I would stand and watch the magician but his slight-of-hand is only an illusion–all lies! And so I want to run away from such things–and I do–except that running away doesn’t mean they don’t exist. So I am forced to find some way to handle the brutal realities of life.

Yesterday morning I tucked my heart into the word of God because I have learned that his words bring comfort and life when everything around me is death.

“For he has not despised or abhorred the affliction of the afflicted, and he has not hidden his face from him, but has heard, when he cried to him.” – Psalm 22:24

Every day I die a little death as I consider what foods to put into my body. I consider the starving hoards and the abundance of food in my pampered life. How can it be that I am struggling not to get fat while so many are hungry? I feel guilt when I consume ice cream when that same ice cream would delay the death of a child on the streets in Ecuador. Lest I sound melodramatic, food is a very constant battleground for me and I must keep it in its proper perspective. And yet I often find myself, much like my 7-year-old son, standing in a corner with balled up fists as I pound on my head and say, “I hate myself! I hate myself!” Because my lack of self-control is not always a purposeful attack. The natural delight God has given me in consuming healthful foods just sometimes takes an inadvertent turn down a dark and twisty path and ends up in a muddy pit full of venomous snakes.

Where do I turn when I have no one to blame but myself? What happens when I get what I deserve for the harm I have caused myself and others? No amount of self-torture will absolve the guilt, shame and pain. So what do I do?

Last weekend I had a conversation with a friend who has lived a long and painful life. He is afflicted with guilt and shame for the wounds he has caused to people he did not love well in his youth. He told me, “I don’t think I can ever be forgiven for what I did.” The grace of God seems incomprehensible to him and so he does not accept it. It’s too audacious, too intangible to even consider. And so he bumbles around in the dark, banging his knees against the sharp edges of his sorrow. It pains me to watch and so I look away. And then I pray. Because I know God is there and he is working, even when my prayers are not answered the way I want them to be.

Last night I held my son as he sobbed into my shoulder. Then we sat down and I told him that we can go to Jesus with our pain over the death of the toad. And so we asked for God to help us heal and to give us peace. We grieved the death we didn’t mean to cause. We grieved the loss of a thing that caused us great joy. And we gave our sorrow to the one who is strong enough to take away not only our regret, but our guilt. I am thankful for a heavenly father who bore the weight of my guilt so that I wouldn’t have to. His love covers our sorrows. It covers our shame. It even covers the wounds we have yet to cause. And that is why I have hope, even when my heart is full of grief.