Destination Discipline

I was 16 years old on the Valentine’s Day of my sophomore year of high school. I remember the cold and quiet ride on the big yellow bus as well as I remember the echo resounding in my lonely heart. I remember the longing I had to love and be loved. I had a big crush on a boy at school, and a lot of fantasies about how I wished the day would go, but the realist in me knew what the day would produce; oodles of girls walking around with bouquets of roses from their boyfriends while I watched, flowerless and romance-free. I knew from watching the movies I loved (Pretty Woman, Pretty in Pink, etc.) that being in love was the highest and best state of existence, and being single, was, well the absence of that. I remember clinging to my seat and praying, “God, would you just please help me to get through this day?” Back then Valentine’s Day was a day to be endured. Even as I mocked the practice of romance with my “Men are scum” attitude, I secretly wondered what it would be like to have someone look at me the way Duckie looked at Andie.

Our television died yesterday. I heard my youngest child scream, “Mom, the TV screen is fuzzy.” And then I heard my older child holler, “It’s smoking! The TV is smoking!” And I secretly rejoiced. Because truth be told, I hate that stupid machine. I feel like all it does is spew lies at me and my family, and I want nothing more than to be rid of it. But I knew the death of the boob tube meant we would be soon be shopping for a new electronic box to menace our sensibilities. The reason I say that is because for so many years I formed most of my opinions by what the people in the box said. The people in the box who wanted to sell me yummy food showed me pictures of happy people eating Panteras Pizza(What a hunk!) and then in the same breath told me beauty is akin to body shape(see my previous post). I had been a news lover until Ferguson(my hometown) took the headlines by storm, and I watched helplessly while almost every media outlet spun the story of my neighborhood into their version of the truth, which is to say un-truth. It was the first time I began to wonder if I had ever seen anything true in the news at all, or was everyone trying to sell me something? Even if all they are selling is an idea, I have learned that ideas have as many consequences as calories. I say all of this, not to make anyone feel badly for partaking in entertainment via the television, but rather to point out the irony of that old adage, “Seeing is believing.” Because if seeing is believing, being thin will make me happy much the same as eating Oreo’s via cold milk. And everyone living in the real world will–at the very least–attest to the fact that you definitely cannot have both at the same time.

So today we were standing in Wal-Mart looking at a row of boxes that were flashing bright colors and I felt sick. Literally. My stomach hurt and I was crabby. But my husband was of the mind that we need a new television lickety split and so there we were. I was trying to determine what kind of television would best suit our needs(the smallest and cheapest) while my husband was eyeing the larger/flashier models. All of this because he won’t let me get a used TV at The Salvation Army(not fair). And my children were trying to ram each other with the cart while complaining and whining. And when not complaining or whining, they were asking if I would buy them various movies and devices. It quickly became apparent that my husband and I were not going to come to agreement any more than the children were going to lay off the shenanigans. So we gave up and left. And all I could think was, “Is this how I’m spending Valentine’s Day? What a rip off!” I have yet to see a Lifetime movie that ends with the lovers squabbling at Wal-Mart over televisions as part of their happy ever after.

I think Valentine’s Day is stupid. I just want to throw that out there.

I think it’s stupid much the same way I think health magazines are stupid. They put a zero body fat chick on the cover to catch my attention(make me feel bad because I will never look like her) and then write a catchy headline like, “100 Best Diet Tricks Ever”. Don’t get me wrong, love is a wonderful thing. And we should always strive to love others as much as possible. But real love is different than being “in love” and I don’t think we need a designated day out of the year to celebrate being “in love” any more than we need skinny people to sell(guilt) products to fat people. Love is not a commodity to be bought or sold. Real love, the love that lays down ones life for another, is rare and precious. It is the reason I wrote the names of my children in my husband’s Valentine Card. And the love I have for my family is something I never anticipated or expected when I was 16 years old and thought my world was over because “nobody loved me.” I thought love was flowers and chocolate and gooey looks over spaghetti and meatballs. I didn’t realize love was working 6 days a week(50+ back breaking hours) to make sure my youngest child has a roof over his head and insulin in his Humalog pen. I didn’t know love was biting my tongue in the middle of Wal-Mart because my idea of entertainment and my husband’s idea of entertainment are two different species of animals. And I certainly didn’t know love could be as tender as the sloppy kiss of a 7 year old after saying, “I love you, Mommy. I wish I could make your tummy better.”

When I was 16 years old, I loved the snow. Snow meant snow days(no school!). Snow days meant a good book in bed and a belly full of chocolate. Snow meant a good movie and a crackling fire. Snow made me happy when little else did. So I remember riding that bus on that cold day on the 14th of February and wishing like the dickens that it would snow so I wouldn’t have to go to school and be tormented with images of romance and “love”. So when I stepped off the bus, forlorn and despairing, and saw the first few flakes falling from the sky, I had to stop and ponder what it meant. I remember looking up into the sky as cold, white pieces of precipitation fell onto my eyelashes. And I remember the tears that formed in the corners of my eyes as I looked to the heavens and considered that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t so unloved after all. Because if God had seen my sad and sorry heart and sent snow just for me, what Valentine heart full of Russell Stover’s chocolate could be better than that?

It snowed in St. Louis today. I was walking outside early this morning–trying to get some exercise before church–while praying that God would help me not to give up when I most wanted to. I was tired, discouraged, and 2 pounds heavier than the day before. And I was especially crabby that the Valentine Candy I purchased for my 14 year old somehow found its way into my belly the night before. I’m not proud. In fact, I’m terribly ashamed. So there I was, walking(skulking) up the most difficult hill on my route, when I felt the snow on my eyelashes. I looked up to the sky and felt His answer like a soft kiss on a bad boo boo. Like the strong and steady hug of a good friend after a terrible loss, or a genuine smile from someone you thought hated you. And I considered that God’s best gifts to me are always unexpectedly beautiful. Even(and especially) when they come on (stupid) Valentine’s Day. And my prayer for everyone reading this blog is that one day you too will experience that kind of love. It is real and it is true. And it is much more wonderful than the ending of that cheesy romance movie that makes your heart swoon, or that high-calorie sweetheart box of chocolate, or even those pretty flowers. Not that any of those things are bad. But God’s love is the only thing that cures all my sadness–and that to me–is the best gift of all.

What does it mean to be beautiful? What is true beauty? The culture I live in pummels me with all of these images and I have to sort out for myself what it all means and how I fit into the collage. If it’s a matter of personal preference, I prefer to be thin. But others prefer the opposite. Who decides who is right? In one era, a little bit of fat on a woman is beautiful. In another, the curve of the pelvic bone stretched against taut skin makes the cover of a magazine. And if beauty is in the eye of the beholder, as the old adage goes, why is there so much pressure to conform to the “proper” perspective?

Yesterday I read a fascinating article on a celebrity of bygone years; Sophie Tucker. The headline on the BBC website caught my eye, “Everybody Loves a Fat Girl“. Sophie was a jazz singer and celebrity in the early 1900’s who was as famous for her curves as she was for her bawdy humor and outlandish behavior. She counted gangsters and presidents as friends. She was the epitome of fame—people loved her! But underneath all of that fluff was a woman who abandoned her husband and little boy in pursuit of that success. And while the article doesn’t highlight that decision so much as it glorifies her success, it is that decision that most defined her character for me. So I asked myself the question, was Sophie Tucker beautiful?

I also read an article about Gwen Hartley, the brave mother of two little girls born with microcephaly(a serious birth defect that causes babies to have extremely small heads and brains). Gwen writes a blog over at The Hartley Hooligans that details her journey. One quote in the article captured my attention. “They called it a ‘terrible’ birth defect,” Hartley said. “I don’t look at them as having terrible birth defects. I look at them as gorgeous. To me that is not a horrible, hideous birth defect. It’s no less beautiful to me.” Gwen Hartley had to let go of people’s perceptions and live her life of caring for two severely disabled children. That takes perseverance and grace in spades. I don’t know if I could do it. Again I asked myself the question, is Gwen Hartley beautiful? More importantly, how do I define beauty?

This morning I was on my elliptical machine chasing down the excess calories I consumed yesterday. I’ll be candid, so much of my journey to lose weight has focused on the beautification of my body. In order to obtain a more slender, and therefore more culturally acceptable body type, I have bent myself into pretzels trying to conquer my food lust. I have been praised for my efforts and success. And I’ll be honest, praise is exciting, but it is also addictive and terribly treacherous. Because if I begin to see my success as having been born of my own strength, I begin to make myself my own savior. And if I view myself as capable of saving myself, I believe a lie. The root of this lie is pride and it gives fruit to vanity, arrogance, and narcissism. And if you think I am better than those behaviors, think again.

When I look closely at my heart, and see the darkness at its core, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am not capable of saving myself. All of my motives are twisted—my yearnings corrupt. How then do I proceed in a world when I can’t control myself, much less the dark and twisted lives of others? I am not safe from them. They are not safe from me. For we all go about with swords on our tongues, with bitterness on our breath, and hearts aflame with agonies for which no cure can be had by our own hand.

Taking all of this into consideration, why would I pursue physical beauty at all? It seems meaningless. And it is. Having the perfect body is utterly meaningless. How did I come to this conclusion? Read on.

When I think about why I began this journey in the first place—the journey to learn discipline—it was out of the brokenness I felt in my heart. And it’s interesting to me now how I viewed myself at 310 pounds as worthless(a lie) and pathetic(a lie) and hopeless(a lie). At that time I contrasted those feelings against what my faith was teaching me through God’s word—that I was more than a conqueror, that I was so precious and valuable that Jesus died for my sin(gluttony among other things), and that hope(in Him) would never disappoint me. And while my underlying desire was for physical beauty, I fully understood that I could never conquer my food lust without God’s help. And God, in the richness of his glory, bore my pursuit with great patience, and has been gently leading me on the path to know Him better. And I have come to the conclusion that his love really does conquer the worst in me. And as I seek Jesus out of sheer desperation under the realization of my own helplessness, I find the most beautiful truth ever known to mankind. Amazingly, it has nothing to do with physical beauty at all. In fact, it is really very simple. To accept and know the love of the one who created me.

There are times when my attempts at discipline end in misery. I abstain from my food lust for a certain period of time and then I fall—face to the ground, nose bleeding, neck twisted and bent, while I scrape the gravel from my chin. I am still learning to discern the issues in my heart that drive aberrant behaviors. So as I read about people like Sophie Tucker and Gwen Hartley, I have to ask myself; which life do I want to model? Do I seek glory and fame for myself at the expense of others, or do I lay down my life to seek and serve others? The answer seems obvious, but in truth, it is a very difficult path. Jesus modeled it perfectly. As for me? I’ve got a long way to go.

I don’t mean to be obnoxious. I just want to put that out there. And I know how it feels when I’m in a bad mood and a happy, peppy person jumps in my face. It is seriously annoying. So I realize “Happy Monday” sounds like an oxymoron. Except that it’s not. I’ll explain why.

Mondays are not actual happy days for me. It is the first day of the work week and I usually have many tasks that must be accomplished before 10:00am. No, I do not usually wake up on Monday mornings with a “can-do” attitude. This morning I sulked under the covers for 45 minutes and effectively skipped my work-out. Yeah. It was that kind of day. And my dog is sick. And she wouldn’t take her medicine. And my kid has a sore throat and wouldn’t stop whining about it. And I had a headache that carried over from yesterday. And the list goes on and on. In general, Mondays are icky. Everybody knows that.

But this Monday morning was particularly grody. Without going into specifics, I was very troubled by some news I received. I was angry. I was sad. And truthfully, I wanted to poke someone in the eye. But, as life often dictates, the person I was upset with was not readily available for an eyeball contusion from my grubby digit. Even worse, I’m not sure they really deserved it.

The thing is, I knew my heart attitude was wrong. And as much as I wanted to justify my frustration and anger, I knew my reaction had more to do with my history than the actual situation at hand. So I began to wrestle with my response. Would I hold it all inside and fester? Would I put it out of my mind and save my anger for the next time I came into contact with the situation that was upsetting me? To be honest, the sadness and anger felt like an anchor around my neck. The more I clung to them, the more I felt myself slipping deeper into an emotional quagmire. I also knew that if I went to work with that attitude, wearing it like some kind of shimmering garland, I was going to have a very, very bad day. I also knew (from past experience) that wearing my pissy attitude like a badge of honor is infectious. I’m not really very good at hiding my emotions, so I faced an entire day of soaking in my sulk and taking time out to complain to my friends about the crappy event that is happening in my life. Because if it’s not bad enough that I have to suffer, every person I come into contact with should suffer as well, right?
As I looked carefully at my hurting heart, I saw it for what it really was; ugly. But will-power alone wasn’t going to solve the problem my dark attitude was breeding. So I did the only thing I know how to do in such moments of despair. I prayed. I prayed that God would take the burden of the pain away. I set my eyes on the love of my life and simply said, “Forgive my wicked attitude. Help me to move forward. You know the problem set before me better than I do. You know my history and all the things I can’t change about myself that make it difficult for me to let go and not fester.” Then I set my mind forward, and decided not to dwell on the issue that was out of my control. And I went to work.

Proverbs 4:23 “Keep your heart with all vigilance, for from it flow the springs of life.”

I was standing in the break room when a co-worker approached for a cup of coffee. I greeted him with a peppy, “Happy Monday!” And he scowled. “What’s so happy about it?” And I said, “It’s a brand new opportunity to do something wonderful.” And he looked at me quizzically, as if he was wondering whether I was for real or totally bonkers. So I added, “Seriously, we can either complain or we can speak happiness into our day. Our words can affect our attitude. Today I choose to be happy.” He smiled a little and said, “You know, you’re right.”

Proverbs 21:23 “He who guards his mouth and his tongue, Guards his soul from troubles”

It’s not always so easy for me to give my problems up. In fact, it’s my natural tendency with hurt to hold onto it and let it turn cancerous. But today I chose to pray about it instead and give Jesus the chance to heal it. Some people walk around with cavernous wounds and pretend to be okay. Others grimace, grown and complain. Today I chose to address the problem at its root. And God gave me this supernatural peace that enabled me to have a really great day. And for that I am just really, really thankful.

Proverbs 29:11 “A fool always loses his temper, But a wise man holds it back.”

A few years ago I was going through a really tough time and I memorized a piece of scripture that helped me break the negative cycle of emotions. Every time I would go to that dark place I would say this verse:
Psalm 73:26 “My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.” My faith is very simple. I love God and I trust Him. It’s often messy and so far from perfect, but it’s not unlike many of my other relationships. He loves me in spite of myself. And you know what? Just knowing that makes every day happy, even if it is a Monday.