Destination Discipline

Have you ever walked through a day of such intense pain that you thought you could not make it? Have you ever felt the tears burning behind your eyes but were unable to shed them because the responsibilities of the day called for composure? Have you ever sat and stared at a wall and wondered how you will continue to move, breathe, or even think? I have learned that people don’t like honesty when it is inconvenient for them. And when someone greets you with a “How are YOU today?” They don’t always actually want to know. Because yesterday I told a few people how I was doing and they got that confused/pinched look that says, “Go away, Son. You bother me,” as perfected by W. C. Fields in years gone by.

Now I don’t want to be cruel, because in all honesty, it’s not fair to unburden my problems on the unsuspecting acquaintance. This is why disciplining my tongue is so important. Our words(especially when filled with pain) can infect and hurt people. I sat next to a woman at a previous place of employment and her words were filled with every conceivable complaint nearly every moment of the day. It was tiresome. Mainly because there was nothing I could do to fix it. My point is this, sometimes, whether we like it or not, our pain is SO big that it just seeps out. And then we stand there in this uncomfortable space of trying to mop up our mess with words like, “It’s not really as bad as I just said.” Or better yet, we slink away and hide under our rock and cry like an embarrassed child.

This morning I read a fantastic blog post from my new friend, Holly, where she talked about God being her hiding place. She described in acute detail the pain of food addiction and her struggle to break free from it. This comes on the tail end of another post by a friend who is going through menopause and the fiery pain she experiences that keeps her awake at night. Lisa Buffaloe described how she gives each wave of heat and ache to God as an offering of worship. That is how she walks through her suffering. And I was humbled and amazed with the practicality of it. How often I have run from my pain instead of facing up to and bravely walking through it. When we choose to live in community with people who use their words to make us stronger, we have the incredible opportunity to not only learn from them, but grow. And God, who is the source of all right reasoning(a quote stolen from Ravi Zacharias) pours out his love in this vast river of beauty and nourishes our hearts. And all we have to do is dip our fingers in the water and lift it to our lips.

But what happens when the pain is too big—even for that?

This morning as I was walking in to work, I hopped up the steps in my purposeful gait to reach the interior of the building as quickly as humanly possible. I walk the same path every day—up the stairs and under the portico at the entrance to my company. It is a mad scramble as I walk among my peers—dozens of them—and race for the revolving doors. This morning I nearly stepped on a piece of mud. I caught myself just before I squished my foot in it, only to realize it wasn’t a blob of clay after all, but rather, an unfortunate tree frog. He blended so well with the sidewalk that I felt it was clearly a miracle that I saw him at all. I supposed him dead and hesitated to touch him. I was fearful that I might get frog guts on my fingers. Also, there’s this part of me that hurts when creatures suffer, and sometimes it is emotionally safer for me to leave them alone. But something(some One) compelled me to look closer and I determined that he was not crushed or dead. I picked him up. He was drier than he should be. And his nose was scraped. The suddenly warm/suddenly cool air and recently manicured bushes (the gardeners had destroyed his froggy habitat) had obviously drawn him out of the bushes. And he found himself stranded in the busiest walking path at my company. I held him for a brief moment and as he warmed, he nestled closer to my palm and I knew that he was alive. And so I carried him into the bushes—into the warm mud(in my nice shoes I might add) and placed him in a moist place in the safety of tall grass. And then I busted my shins racing up to my desk.

And it occurred to me that so often I am just like that unfortunate frog. I am weary and worn out, and I find myself in a dangerous place with no way to remove myself of my own volition. And God, with a heart full of grace, bends down to remove me from my circumstance and put me in a safe place.

And even when he does not, He stands with me. He weeps with me, because He knows I am human and fragile and weak. It is precious to me the way His love endures when mine fails.

Today is such a beautiful day. And not because the weather is warm and the sun is shining. Not because it’s Friday(though I am SO glad it is Friday). But because today I saw a glimpse into the heart of God by way of his vast and mysterious character as displayed through a tiny little creature that was utterly and completely helpless.

“Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. But even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows.”  –Matthew 10:29-31

“His Eye is on the Sparrow and I know he watches me.”  Civilla Martin

“Oh Lord, I am furrowed like the field. Torn open like the dirt. And I know that to be healed that I must be broken first.” – Andrew Peterson

I woke in the night to the terror of monsters who had invaded my dreams. They writhed and tormented me with horrors I will not speak of, and so I climbed from bed and hid in the bathroom. And I held my stomach because it ached. It aches a lot lately, and I’m fighting to find a way to fix it. And I prayed—because that’s what I do. And then I went back to sleep.

So when I crawled from bed this morning to exercise, I remembered the mild ache in my gut and it occurred to me that maybe I should rest. After all, I have learned from overdoing it that if I am not careful, my body only continues its downward spiral in a slow and steady decline. But after drinking a glass of water, I considered that sometimes raising my heart rate chases away the body ghosts—both mental and physical—and so I laced up my walking shoes, grabbed my friend, Tank, and set out to see the world.

This morning I got a good chuckle out of Tank chuffing repeatedly after a school bus blasted by us blowing out thick, black smoke. With each “chuff” I said, “Yep. Stinky bus! I hear ya, Buddy.” And I had to smile when we walked by the yard of the beagle who likes to give Tank(and me) a run for our money. My dog remembers his “friends” and always looks for them at least a block before we reach them. These include German Shepherds, Shih Tzu’s and today, an Alaskan Malamute who was accompanied by two Dachshunds. Curiously, the Malamute stood there looking annoyed while the “weiner dogs” danced and barked around him. I know exactly how that feels because I have two boys, and when they get excited, they are not unlike those yippy creatures.

We finished our walk and I ran into the house to get a shower, and while I was getting ready I heard the most beautiful song. A Mockingbird has taken a shine to a suet feeder I have on the back deck and as I cleaned up, I heard him singing. And his song made me glad in a way chocolate ice cream never could. I never saw him because he flew off too quickly, but my son was eating at the table and confirmed his appearance. And with that song the nightmares that had so clouded my night, and the pain in my belly just sort of diminished somehow.

I have been listening to my Bible while I walk and there is a verse in Romans that keeps jumping out at me.

“Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer.” Romans 12:12

Right now I feel very much in the “tribulation” phase with my health issues. And I find that learning patience is definitely hard work. But persevering through it also gives me hope and that makes me happy. I couldn’t do any of this without prayer.

Living a healthy lifestyle takes dedication and grit. I have found that while there are a thousand reasons to quit, and only a handful that really make me want to persevere, the few are far more important than the thousand. This morning I needed to see the sky. I needed the cool air in my lungs and I needed the friendliness of a dog who loves me even though I’m an odd duck.

Sometimes I see these advertisements that show scantily clad people with zero body fat working out in a fancy gym. The ad usually includes the catch phrase, “Beach Body” in its enticement to buy the product. As in, “Don’t you want a beach body?” Well, I’ll be honest, three children have come out of my body and I’m never going to look like that. Those ads just don’t motivate me at all. You know what does? Nature. Family. People who understand what I’m going through who refuse to give up. People like my friend Holly(at 300 Pounds Down) who also struggles with food addiction. Today her blog really encouraged me. I saw it at just the right time—while I was trying to talk myself out of making a run for ice cream.

I must never lose sight of why I began this journey to learn discipline. I don’t want to live my life like a runaway freight train on a collision course with myself. I want to continue learn how to tame my passions. I certainly haven’t mastered it yet. But I’m getting there. One choice at a time.

I recently ran into some friends who were having a conversation about their frustration with issues in their lives over which they have no control. I listened as they discussed the injustices they are witness to and how there doesn’t seem to be anything they can do to make the situation better. I suppose it would have been just like any another casual conversation except that one of them went so far as to say, “You know where they’re going to find me? In the garage with my earbuds in, a good book playing, and my car running. That’s just how I feel about life sometimes. I just can’t take it anymore.” And with that simple statement the conversation went from being a simple gripe session to something much more.

If this were an isolated incident, I suppose it would be easier to shrug it off. After all, everyone has something they can complain about. I have not one, but TWO gumball trees, and my back does not like them. Not. One. Bit. But the more I listen to people, the more aware I become of how deep the wounds in our lives run. Problems with bosses and co-workers. Deep hurts over an unwanted divorce. Children with special needs where the answers aren’t simple or concise. And pain. Deep, chronic, insomniatic pain that doesn’t subside long enough for us to even catch our breath. C.S. Lewis wrote an entire book about it, “The Problem of Pain” where he discusses the intellectual problem raised by suffering. But even C.S. Lewis, that great thinker who had so many thoughts to share on the matter, had this to offer in the preface:

“For the far higher task of teaching fortitude and patience I was never fool enough to suppose myself qualified, nor have I anything to offer my readers except my conviction that when pain is to be borne, a little courage helps more than much knowledge, a little human sympathy more than much courage, and the least tincture of the love of God more than all.”

I will never forget the moment when, at 15 years old, I decided I wanted to die. We were on vacation in Colorado Springs, CO with family friends. It was supposed to be a time of rest and refreshment but I felt only rejection and pain. I was lost among the cacophony of people. I felt unimportant, unloved, and insignificant. I crawled behind one of the beds of our friends and lay down. I closed my eyes. And then I prayed for God to let me die. And I meant every single word. “Please, God. Stop my heart. I can’t bear the pain any more. I just want it to stop.” And while some will say that an overly emotional teenager is perfectly normal and that I didn’t really have serious problems, well, you weren’t there and you didn’t feel what I felt. Otherwise you wouldn’t say such a thing. That moment is etched on my brain as one of the defining moments of my life. First, because God obviously did not answer my prayer. And second, because his refusal to meet my demands caused me to wonder if he even existed, and if he cared about me at all. I figured that maybe he wanted me to suffer. And everything I had been taught about his love and grace was a lie.

“As a father shows compassion to his children, so the Lord shows compassion to those who fear him. For he knows our frame; he remembers that we are dust.” -Psalm 103:13-14

There have been many times in my life where I felt like abandoning my faith. I felt like a ship sailing through an ocean of pain with no port of call in sight. And with the waves whipping and the rain beating down, I turned away from the one who would save me. After all, the world has a lot to offer by way of distractions. But distractions are by definition, temporary. They don’t satisfy the deep longings of my soul. Food was a distraction for a long time. But it was a double edged sword because while it numbed the pain, it also made it worse. Even living a healthy lifestyle has had its pitfalls. Pride and vanity have at times jockeyed for the upper hand, but God–with his infinite patience–has always called me back with his great love and care for me. I really can’t give myself any credit for where I am because–in case you haven’t noticed–I’m kind of a goof.

So maybe you are reading this and you think I’m a religious weirdo. I’m sorry. And I hope my imperfect faith doesn’t make you uncomfortable. But maybe, just maybe you are wondering why in the world anyone would believe in God and, to go a step further, want to have a relationship with Him? Well, read on.

When I was little, I used to steal cookies from the cookie jar. I would get up in the middle of the night and carefully climb onto the kitchen counter and remove the lid. Then I would quietly remove handfuls of cookies and sneak them into my bed. I knew if my mother caught me there would be hell to pay, but I couldn’t resist the urge to take them. I wanted cookies more than a trip to Disney-world and that’s saying something. In truth, food was all I ever thought about. As I grew up, this need for fulfillment only grew stronger. The bottomless hole in my heart and stomach became ever more cavernous no matter how full my belly was. The more I ate, the more guilty and out of control I felt. I suppose that is why I hate food advertisements. For years I followed their beck and call and indulged myself with abandon. But I was never satisfied. And I am so ashamed to write all of that. So it is without a doubt significant that the only thing that has ever comforted or calmed me has been Jesus. And maybe it’s cheesy and Hallmark Hall of Famey, but it’s real for me. He is the only reason I was able to lose the weight. He gives me hope when I have none, and he fills the cobwebby places in my heart that cookies cannot touch with a love so wonderful and beautiful and pure that I know it has to be real. He soothes my troubled heart with peace I can’t really explain. And sometimes I feel like I’m so full I could just burst.

Following Jesus is a journey that is as much baffling as it is beautiful. And all someone need do is call out to him for help and he is there. Maybe not in the way we expect, but He is there.

This world is full of disappointment, sorrow and pain. It infects our lives like cancer and eats away at our hope. But when the ship is going down, and the waves are so big you are certain you will drown, remember there is a life raft you can reach out to.