Destination Discipline

I believe all our cracked and broken pieces will someday be mended.
I believe all the sorrows and horrors that haunt us will one day be ended.

While I stand in the stale and gloomy cave and wait for the shaft of light
with dripping echoes of sadness resounding through shadows that bite,

I remember my hope. As real as a feather, though blackened, ruffled and worn.
My Anchor is stronger than lightening. I am brave enough to weather this storm.

Let me tell you a secret. It is truer than felt agonies of the soul.
His love is like water flowing through parched ravines and filling the holes.

He will come–He promised–and like a beacon of light,
He will shine through the crevices and shatter the night.

Like vapor on water, the shadows hover and scowl,
but they cannot smother my joy, no matter how they howl.

I am one among many, broken, battered and bruised.
He is my only, the one treasure I can never lose.

These tears are a trifle, the pangs of death, a flickering scene
that will be the beautiful stories I tell at the feast for my conquering King.

The sun is shining, the weather is warmer and I survived the morning. All in all, I’d say it’s been a pretty good day. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, my morning sucked. It sucked like a hot air balloon taking in NOT hot air after being punctured by a stray torpedo. I felt as if I were sinking rapidly toward the ground while the handler laughed, pulled out a parachute, and said, “See ya later, Gator!” and leaped overboard. This is life with depression. Sometimes, it just sucks.

I knew I was in a rough spot when I couldn’t get out of bed. It took my youngest son pleading for food to pull me from my blanket cocoon. And even then I did it mostly with my eyes closed. I couldn’t bear to see the sunny day when I felt like cobwebs and dried snake skins inside. After I fed him breakfast, I stepped on the scale. And then I got mad. Because it’s not bad enough that my jeans are too tight, but the dang scale refuses to lie to me. Where is my willpower? Is it that red balloon I accidentally let go of that sailed off into the clouds–so high its just a little red speck? Because that’s what it feels like. (sorry about all the balloon analogies. If you hate balloons you can stop reading now. I personally like balloons because they make me happy and therefore seem apt, and its my blog so I can do what I want, and if you don’t like it you can go suck an egg — or like I said, just stop reading)

So I began the negative self-talk that is impossible to avoid when my mental faculties are bereft.

“I am a failure.”
“Why can’t I stop eating too much?”
“Nobody will love me if they notice I’ve gained weight.”
“I had better exercise extra hard to burn the calories I ate last night.”
“But I’m too tired to work out.”
“I give up.”
“I’m tired of fighting this battle.”
“I want to die.”

The sane part of me wants to erase that last line and pretend it didn’t happen so people won’t think poorly of me. But that wouldn’t be honest. Sometimes I feel so helpless and out of control that no amount of pep talk can fix me. So I did what I always do, I put on my workout clothes and prepared for a blistering hour of elliptical machine. And then I sat down at the kitchen table(no–I did not work out) and stared out of the window for 3 hours because its all I had the strength to do.

I put left over bagels out for the birds and watched the evil squirrel gobble it all up, all the while heckling me with his beady black eyes. And I didn’t have the heart to chase him away, so I just watched him. Then I put out more bread for my beloved (now-starving) birds and resumed my sitting position, but Tank, my faithless boxer dog, was let out while I was in the potty, and don’t you know that dang dog snuck around and gobbled all the bread up? And then I was just so aggravated! So I kept sitting and waiting to feel better so I could work off the calories I overate last night. Only it never happened.

I began to make a wish list of all the things that would make me feel better. Because that’s what I do when I feel bad. I did not read my bible. I did not pray. Because honestly, I was mad at God for allowing me to suffer like this. Why did He make me this way? As if it’s not bad enough that I feel like the bottom of a goat’s hoof, I can’t even eat myself better because my pants already don’t fit. And I don’t have a lot of money, so I can’t buy a motorcycle and go zooming around with the wind in my hair and my leather chap fringes flailing, or hop a flight to Jamaica to catch up on my repleted vitamin D while I roll around in the sand like a movie star. (I am going to read this later and consider what a whiny baby I am–or as Charlie Brown would say, Good grief! But right now I’m too busy pouting).

So I picked up “Useless News”, the newsletter Dean Koontz sends out to his faithful readers. And do you know what? He is so funny. If you have never read his books, you should pick one up. Start with “Life Expectancy.” You will laugh and laugh, and find hope when you thought you had lost it. But back to the newsletter, “The Crow Shrieker” describes his encounter with a feckless black bird and his decision to shriek at it because, well, why not?

“One night, I imitated their shriek but belted it out at great volume. I was amused when repeatedly my shriek silenced them for a minute. After my fifth or sixth response to them, they were silent longer–until one bird flew down from the tree, to the edge of the patio, and stood staring at me. I stared back, and after a moment, it shrieked. I shrieked in, if I do say so myself, a perfect imitation of it, but louder. The crow flew away, and a second later, a dozen crows in the oak burst into flight and followed it. Two months later, they have not returned. I lack Dr. Dolittle’s ability to speak with animals, but I seem to have the power to scare the hell out of crows. Anna (Dean’s golden retriever) watched all this with interest. My shrieking did not in the least disturb her. But she knows her dad is….different.” -Dean Koontz

It seems silly to say, but Dean reminded me that we can find joy and beauty in the midst of the darkest places. He reminds me that I must not give up wishing(though not for stupid things) and hoping (in Jesus–for the day when He makes all things new and saves me from my brain and my body). And Dean also reminded me that laughter truly is good medicine, even though it doesn’t fundamentally fix anything(except my attitude).

I looked down at my favorite Gerbera Daisy. Its pot is too small and I can’t seem to water it enough. It is always wilting. And it makes me sad. So I made a decision to put one foot in front of the other and not give up. I stood up. I put shoes on. I grabbed the potting soil. And I gently worked the soil from the roots of that plant and put it in a new shiny pot. And now the Gerbera Daisy is happy and so am I am. Sometimes joy is as simple as a funny paragraph and a flower. And that’s good news for me.

If you are reading this and you struggle with depression, or physical pain, or the loss of someone you love, or your weight, or insert-your-problem-here; please don’t give up. Don’t give in to the voices. Take heart. You are not alone.

Right now I am putting down my keyboard and picking up “Spurgeon’s Sorrows: Realistic Hope for those who Suffer from Depression” by Zack Eswine. I’m on Chapter 9: Promises and Prayers. And I have decided tomorrow will be a better day.

I make it a practice not to complain on my blog, but today I’m chaffed. And since it’s not polite(or wise) to complain about work or co-workers or politics on a public space, I would like to gripe about the drawbacks of living a healthy lifestyle instead. Call it a list of pet peeves or petty grievances… I’m going to give you my top five list of things that really annoy me about maintaining a healthy lifestyle – none of which I have any control over or have the power to change.

Eating healthy is expensive

Let’s be clear, I think losing weight should cost nothing. After all, I’ve plunked down plenty of change for Nestle Caramel Treasures, copious amount of McDonald’s fries and Taco Bell tacos in my lifetime. In fact, I’m certain I’ve bought enough White Castle shakes over the years that—if purchased all at once—I could bathe in them. (I really hope that mental picture turns you off of them forever). But the real reason I think reducing my waistline should be free is because I am a miser. It’s true. My favorite store is The Salvation Army Store. Let’s be clear, if I could purchase groceries there, I would. My husband will die of embarrassment to know I am making this public, but let’s be real—this is who I am and I am not ashamed. Therefore, since I hate to spend money and am fully comfortable wearing used clothes and buying gently used appliances and furniture, it’s fairly safe to say I would rather saw off my arm than pay money to lose weight. So when I started getting healthy, it really irritated me to spend money on fresh fruit and vegetables. Whenever I go into Sam’s Club(I know—fancy, right?) I look at the beautiful grapes and cringe. If you ever run into me there and I am drooling over the Bing cherries because I refuse to pay $11.96 for a tiny box of them, just keep walking. It’s bad enough you have to listen to me complain on my blog. And don’t be obnoxious and post, “Shop at Aldi” in the comments. Apples are still more expensive than the value meal at McDonald’s.

Restaurants do not cater to healthy people

I’m sorry if this offends you. Maybe there are a few exceptions. But for the most part, restaurants in our culture have become panoply’s of hedonism. By that I mean this, rather than nourish our bodies, most eating establishments want to give you an “experience” and that experience usually has nothing to do with good health. Now some of you will argue, “That is the point!” Well I say bah to that. It’s a lie. I think all food should be bland and tasteless because then I wouldn’t love eating so much and maybe I wouldn’t be fighting with my body all the time. So while one side of our culture preaches that we must look “healthy”(have 0% body fat) the other side of our culture says, “Indulge! And while you’re at it, pad our pocket books.” Restaurants really irritate me with all their tasty vittles that make me feel gross after I eat them.

Skinny people who eat candy, never get fat, and torment me with obscene candy dishes

I know this makes me a very wicked person. I know I am supposed to love everyone. And I do love them, but as my mother used to say, “I just don’t like them very much.” That is to say, they annoy me. I know several very pretty(and skinny) girls who keep giant candy dishes on their desks. These dishes are almost always full. These girls know that eating excess amounts of sugar will make them fat and so they just nibble occasionally…and leave the dishes there to torment me. Imagine stocking a bar at your desk and then expecting the resident alcoholics to abstain, or leaving little baggies of illicit drugs lying around and then smiling and waving at the addicts who stare(and secretly connive to rob you)longingly. This is probably the real reason for workplace violence. There is one word that perfectly describes these types of people, ghouls!

The Term “Beach Body”

What exactly does that mean? I know what it implies… I should have zero body fat, strong muscles and no cellulite. But has the person using this turn of phrase ever actually been to a beach? I have, and I would say that 80% of the people I see there do not look like the pictures that generally accompany those two words as used in correlation with getting healthy.

The Vocalized Perceptions of People who Don’t Live a Healthy Lifestyle

I don’t care what other people think, except when they tell me what they are thinking. And then it’s a real problem. I know I’m crazy. I don’t need you to tell me I’m crazy. I already know because my husband tells me all the time. Like when we are eating at a restaurant I didn’t want to go to because it means spending money I don’t want to spend on food I don’t want to eat, and he tells me to stop rambling on about the calories. He always says, “People are staring.” I say, “Who cares? As long as they don’t say anything to me, I’m fine.” At which time he either grimaces or sinks lower in the booth. We are not allowed to sit at tables with chairs. He can’t hide behind a chair. But I digress… I like vegetables. If cooked or marinated(with lots of low-calorie dressing) they are very tasty. I don’t eat things that taste like cardboard because I like to eat a lot. I do not “eat like a bird.” Birds eat stale bread and bugs. I don’t eat bugs (at least not intentionally). And while my family thinks I torture them with healthy food(whole wheat bread, brown rice, gallons of broccoli) no one else is allowed to critique what we eat. Keep it to yourself. I prefer my delusions to your perceptions of my reality.

So there it is! My epic rant. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it(even though you should probably take it with a grain of salt). Still, it feels like life is too short to not vent every now and again. In this instance, venting means laughing and letting go of all the ridiculous things I can’t control and just have to deal with. So if we are eating out at a restaurant, don’t give me a hard time for eating vegetables and I won’t give you a hard time while you eat a big greasy hamburger. Don’t ever tell me you are trying to obtain a beach body and never, EVER taunt me with candy from your candy dish. Because I will most likely take the candy you offer, gobble it in secret, and then quietly hate your ever living guts behind your back all the while conspiring over how to come back and take more when nobody is looking.

I feel better now. How about you?