Destination Discipline

One of the great gifts given to humanity is the capacity to learn. So why is it that we have such a challenging time admitting our mistakes? Isn’t realizing we are wrong part of the learning process? If we don’t know what we are doing is wrong, we can’t make the necessary changes to do what is right. Granted, I don’t like to be told I’m wrong. But sometimes being wrong is necessary. Therefore I have healthy respect for people who are bold enough to(kindly)shine light on my flaws. Unfortunately, I don’t encounter these people often enough.

I recently had a conversation with my husband about a mutual friend. This friend is walking through the consequences of choices he has made and is not very quick on the uptake about why he is where he is in life. He grumbles and complains a lot over what is being done to him rather than taking responsibility for his choices. And while we have tried to encourage him to examine himself and learn from each experience, he quickly doubles down on his positions–disregarding our advice. This led my husband to say today, “Well, I suppose eventually we all learn by experience–like it or not.”

Sometimes we pick and choose the truths we want to believe. I saw a meme on Facebook today that said Taco Bell beef is only 36% beef. I was astounded. What do you mean it’s not all beef? What else could possibly be in there? Why would Taco Bell lie to me that way? But I also know that some people like to post propaganda on social media that is less than truthful. So I explored the truth behind this claim and learned that Taco Bell beef filling is actually 88% beef and 12% filler. And then, because that story is nearly two years old, I went directly to the Taco Bell website where they fully disclose ingredients in all their food. After that I felt somewhat satisfied. It’s important to sort out actual truth and disseminate it from a lie perpetuated as truth.

In my personal experience, one of the great hindrances to acknowledging mistakes was the interference of my personal preferences. My pride often stood in the way–like a solid brick wall–preventing me from seeing how my choices truly affected my life. As a result, I continued to make poor choices and then be baffled by the consequences.

I used to think a meal was healthy if I ate salad with it. I also used to think drinking water negated calories consumed. I would pick and choose my personal truths like a trip to the all-you-can-eat buffet. I didn’t want to believe I was overeating because I couldn’t stand the thought of giving up the foods I loved. I made a conscious decision to not exercise and live snack to meal as if there were no consequences. The problem was, my body type didn’t allow me to eat unrestrained without accumulating vast quantities of fat. The more weight I gained, the more despairing I became until one day I had to face the truth. I consider that day the most important step in my journey–the first one. I had to acknowledge I had made a mistake(a lot of mistakes actually) and then begin to learn what living a healthy lifestyle actually looked like. This meant discovering that many of the things I previously believed were lies. It was a painful truth, and yet it was breathtakingly beautiful to be set free from all the lies.

I consider the ability to learn truly incredible. It means I don’t have to be the same person tomorrow that I am today. It means life can be lived in a state of perpetual adventure. Pitfalls and blunders become opportunities to improve. The unknown can be filled with awe and wonder. Intellect becomes this gateway by which I pass from oblivious to mindful knowing. But the most wonderful news of all is that the journey never ends while I am alive.

I believe the ability to learn is a gift from our creator and when utilized properly, brings him great glory. How else could something so painful(admitting fault) be used to transform my(years-long)foolishness into a 140 pound weight loss journey? You see, living a healthy lifestyle is not a diet. It’s not a “get-thin-quick” scheme. It’s not a “21 day fix” or a boot-camp style regime. I suppose some people take great pride in paying for and completing such programs. But for me and my stubborn will, I have to purposefully fight every day with my body. And so the more I learn about it, the easier it is to admonish and care for. That is why learning is so cool. Every day is a new opportunity for adventure. Yesterday it was riding my bicycle. Today it’s cooking a lean meat in a new way. And tomorrow? Well, I for one can’t wait to see what it brings.

This morning I woke up to the sound of dog toenails clicking on my hardwood floors. I say “woke up” even though my alarm had already rung, I had already turned it off, and I had already decided not to exercise. But when I hear dog toenails clicking, I know that if I don’t answer the call to let the beast that owns those toenails out, I will have more cause for concern than I care to consider because he is a Boxer dog and he is the king of mess making. Yesterday morning he vomited at my feet, which is just about the worst gift a dog can give its owner. Other than worms. Worms are not a good gift.

Last night I planned my workout—a brisk walk with my trusty ESV audio Bible. But, as with all good intentions, some dreams dissipate in the fog of exhaustion. So when my dog forced me out of bed, I decided to follow through on my plan even though I didn’t quite feel like it. That’s the great thing about planning…sometimes the plan sticks to me even though I don’t stick to it. Good habits, when properly applied, reap more than just results. They become part of your identity. My exercise habit has become so much a part of the routine that I feel somewhat naked without it.

I squeezed into my workout clothes and opened the door to find something I wasn’t quite expecting, rain. It was still dark outside but I could tell by the gray blob in the sky that this wasn’t a quick shower. It was a full on, not-going-anywhere drizzle. In case you were wondering, this is the point in my blog where my eyebrows furrow and I look a lot like Bert from Sesame Street. For a brief second I considered my elliptical machine, and then I decided I would rather stab myself in the eye with sharp objects than torture myself with that monstrosity. And so I pulled out a water resistant hoodie instead. And the rest, as they say, is history.

And I lived happily ever after.

Except when I didn’t.

And that is what walking in the rain feels like. The day AFTER happily ever after.

I have committed to live a healthy lifestyle. I have been practicing these healthy habits for almost 6 years now. But keeping the weight off my fat-inclined body is tough stuff. It’s skipping the donuts, maintaining a sugar-free lifestyle, and forcing myself to exercise even when I don’t feel like it. But I have to chuckle a little bit here because when faced with my options, walking in the rain or running on the elliptical, it felt like a hundred other adult decisions I make every day. Go to work and stay employed or live on the street. Wash the dishes or eat off a nasty plate. Do the laundry or wear stinky clothes. Why can’t my choice ever be between winning the lottery or finding gold nuggets in the back yard? But I digress.

Along with the cold wet drops dripping in my eyes, I felt the dreary flicker of despair. But for many reason, today I decided that despair is for dummies and I’m no dummy. So I bucked up and charged up the first hill and down the next. I started with Galatians and ended with Thessalonians. And I didn’t enjoy every second that my knee and hip hurt, but I kept walking anyway.

You see, in the dark of night I received a distress call (text message) from my son(who is a Marine). And because he is far away and I am not able to sit him on my lap anymore and kiss away his boo boos, I had two options: worry or pray. I chose the latter. Prayer infused with truth(the Bible) makes sad hearts glad. I know this is true because I don’t always like walking(especially with a bum knee and hip). But walking with Jesus is always awesome. It’s how I began my journey to better health and how I continue to keep the weight off. When life’s problems swell to enormous proportions I know that I have a safe place in a brisk walk with Jesus. Walking and Jesus have become so synonymous to me that I struggle to do one without the other.

Sometimes I worry about the day I stop adhering to a healthy lifestyle. But worry never gets me anywhere good. Sometimes my body gives out and I can’t do the things I want. That’s when I rest most in his grace. Today I rejoiced that I had the courage to face the rain and didn’t even consider skipping my workout. Sure I was spurred on by the need to pray for my son, but I’ll admit, I found so much joy as I walked and talked to God and gave him all my burdens, that the worry and fear and pain just evaporated in the splendor of his great grace. Because sometimes our best laid plans are diverted. And somehow they still manage to happen anyway. That has to be grace. And you can’t plan grace.

I was driving home from work one evening, weary and mentally tired from a long day. I stopped by the grocery store and stood in the long line. I dreaded my arrival home for it only meant more work; preparation of dinner, the bearing up of screaming children, and a crabby, argumentative husband. I often feel like I’m subsisting on my last ounce of energy as I strive only to make it to the next moment. I make do with a gasp for the next breath and prayer to my God to help me. So it was that I climbed into my car with my meager assortment of groceries and sighed.

As I left the parking lot, I saw a man in a bulky jacket with a large backpack and bedroll on his back. He walked swiftly and with purpose. It struck me that he must be cold. I thought this because I had just experienced the bitter temperatures as I loaded my groceries into the car with stiff fingers. I had rushed the shopping cart to the holding bay, barely able to breath because the cold hurt my lungs. And there was this man walking out in it. I stared hard as I drove past him, awkward though he was, and continued my journey home.

A few minutes later I realized I could not get the image of him from my mind. I considered what I could do to help him, and realized my situation as a woman alone in my car and of not much monetary(or physical strength) means. I prayed that God would show me clearly if I should help him or go home. And then I stopped at the stop sign. If I turned left, I would drive straight home with a heavy burden on my heart for this stranger. If I turned right, I would drive back to the parking lot in search of the odd man and offer to pick him up.

Now you must understand that the words of common sense were screaming in my ears. You can’t pick up a stranger. You won’t have any means to protect yourself. What if he robs you? What if he steals your car? What if he does unspeakable things to you? But it occurred to me in that moment that nothing he did to me would be my fault because when we offer grace out of the kindness of our hearts, we are not responsible for the way people respond to it. Still, I knew my husband would absolutely never let me hear the end of it if he knew I picked up a strange man on the side of the road. So I planned to turn left at the stop sign. But my hands–guided by some higher power–turned right instead.

I figured I was completely crazy. Bonkers. Mad. So I prayed that I would not find the man in the parking lot if it was not God’s will for me to help him. And I breathed a deep sigh of relief when he was not there. And I started to drive home as I had before. Until I saw him there in the dark hiking on the side of the road. And so I pulled off and called to him, “Do you need a ride?” And he ran to my car and said, “Yes. Thank you.”

And my heart was beating so fast and with such complete terror that I thought I might pass out. If you think I’m being overly dramatic, I am not. I assumed that he would pull a knife from his jacket and slit my throat at any moment as I said, “I’ve never picked up a strange man before, but Jesus told me to stop for you.” As if using the name of God’s son would somehow protect me from malicious intent. And he said, “I’ll get in the back.”

“Where are you going?” I said.

“To Quick Trip.” He said. “I need to charge my phone.”

Quick Trip was only a half mile away at best. “Can I buy you dinner?” I asked.

“No thank you.” He said. Then he noticed my leather satchel in the back seat. “Is that where you keep your Bible?” He said.

“Yes.” I said. “Among other things.”(like my wallet and every single valuable thing I owned)

“My mother always wrapped her Bible in leather.” He said. “She was a missionary.”

“Really?” I said. “To what country?”

“To several different countries.” He said.

“What is your name?”

“Joshua.”

And then we drove on in silence for a few minutes.

“Are you sure I can’t buy you dinner, Joshua?” I said as we pulled into the parking lot at Quick Trip.

“No thanks, Ma’am.” He said. “But maybe you could buy me a cup of coffee?”

“Sure.” I said.

I finally got a good look at him as he climbed out of my car. He was a white man in his mid-thirties with a weathered face and a full auburn colored beard. His large green coat looked thin and raggedy, and he appeared tired. He set his backpack on the ground and began to plug in a pay-as-you-go cell phone. I proceeded to walk inside but when he did not follow me, I paused. He stood resolutely by his stuff, as if waiting for me to go inside and buy the coffee without him.

I suddenly felt compelled to forgo the coffee–realizing instead that maybe he had a greater need I was not aware of. Impulsively, I opened my wallet and pulled out a $20. I handed it to him. And even though he appeared extremely uncomfortable, I forced it into his hand anyway.

“This is not from me, but from the Lord.”

And he smiled, as if he might cry at any moment. And then I hugged him. Not a little hug, but a great big bear hug. The kind of hug that takes in a person’s whole being and says, “I accept you. You are precious and dearly loved.”

And as I got into my car I looked to make sure he had not stolen my leather satchel(he had not). And as I backed out of the parking space, I saw him standing there waving at me with this great big smile on his face. And then I drove away.

My heart was still thumping–as if I had just run half a mile–and I was shivering with fear. Because doing this thing had terrified me to the depths of my bones. What if he had thumped me over the head or worse? But in my heart I felt this peace I would not have had if I had listened to common sense and ignored him. So I prayed for Joshua. And I didn’t tell a living soul what I had done because I was afraid everyone would tell me that I was crazy.

“Let brotherly love continue. Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares. Remember those who are in prison, as though in prison with them, and those who are mistreated.” – Hebrews 13:1-3.

I read that verse this morning as I sat at home suffering with my sick tummy. And I remembered Joshua. We are all fighting something. It may be a situation beyond our control–like joblessness, or an unexpected bill we cannot pay. We might have a relationship in crisis or a health issue that makes us weak. In retrospect I realized something; we are all Joshua’s. And it occurs to me today that sometimes we must step outside of ourselves and our situation to see life on this planet as it really is; utterly hopeless, intangibly futile, and in need of extreme grace. We must do this because we are in need of it ourselves. And even though we might get hurt when we offer grace to people, we should extend grace anyway, and by every means available.

Pain is the only constant in this world. Everyone experiences it. And it is the work of Jesus to relieve it.

I wrote this for Joshua. He showed me that sometimes I need to risk everything to extend grace, especially when it is most uncomfortable. Because that is what Jesus did for me.