The First Goodbye

Preparing to fly

His voice barked out through the phone, “Hello, this is Recruit Wolfinbarger. I have arrived safely at MCRD, San Diego. The next time I will contact you will be by postal mail so expect a letter in two to three weeks. I love you. Good bye.”

I am not the first mother of a Marine to say goodbye to her son, nor will I be the last. As I process this next chapter in my son’s journey, I have cause to reflect on my own. It is only human to look back and wonder who I would be today had I made different choices in my youth. I have yet to encounter the person that said, “I did everything I planned to do and my life turned out exactly as I had hoped.” I’m sure such people exist, but our paths have not yet crossed. I now consider the extravagance of my youth will only be balanced by the wisdom gleaned with age. Meaning, I will forever be in debt to my expenditure of foolishness!

I will not bore you with all of the stupid mistakes I made chasing after the wrong things. I’m certain, dear reader, that you have enough of your own. If not, please feel free to stop reading now. You have officially arrived and have nothing left to learn. What I do know about myself is that by some miracle of divine intervention, at 22 years of age I was given a 6 pound baby boy who—in my humble opinion—had the most perfect face this first time mother had ever encountered. Have I resorted to sentimentality? Absolutely. My baby just left home to be a solider.

This morning I rolled out my yoga mat and began—with intense rigor I might add—my strength training regimen, all the while thinking about my son. I began with a series of crunches, followed by arm and leg lifts that target specific areas. Finally I came to the most dreadful part of my workout, the dreaded planks. Every time I “plank” I fuss internally. They are just really tough. They push me mentally and physically and don’t produce very visible results. Still, they are probably one of the most important exercises I do and I used to dare my eldest son to do them with me. This time, he wasn’t there to show me how I was doing it wrong. You see, he was already training with the Marines and their standard of excellence is far beyond my own.

Still, I pushed myself. I figured if my son can endure the rigors of boot camp, the least I can do is a good sympathy workout. Besides, I’m used to pushing my boundaries. Early in my journey to better health I encountered some very big hills both physically and metaphorically. Lifting each foot and pushing up actual hills was extremely challenging. With every footfall I wanted to quit. I would scream at myself, “How did you let it get this bad? You’ll never make it! Losing weight is impossible!” Then I would pray for God to help me and counter my perceived inability with, “I think I can, I think I can!” Just like the little engine that could. After repeating that mantra and praying like crazy, I learned that mental toughness is just as important as physical toughness. Mental toughness pushes past pain, past despair and into the territory of resolve. Resolve says “even though I feel like I can’t do this, I will try.” Resolve conquers challenging mental hills much the same way a fly swatter kills vermin; one at a time.

I was 36 years old before I learned this lesson. As far as I’m concerned, that is far too late in life. In my youth I adopted the attitude that the world revolved around me. My reckless whims took president and I applied no strategy other than, “If it feels good, do it.” I gorged myself with worthless ideas, nurtured fleeting emotions, and gave little thought to the way my actions affected others. Only through intense pain, brought on by the disappointments in life, did I begin to change my thoughts and behavior. Pain sharpened me. It taught me to survive and trust God, even when I was very angry with him. Now, when I read the scriptures, “For the Lord disciplines the one he loves, and chastises every son whom he receives,” and “For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.” (Hebrews 12:6, 11) I now understand hardship is meant to drive us to Christ. He means to teach me that all I really need is Him, even when it is a lesson I don’t want to learn.

“Why were you thinking about all of this while you were doing planks?” you ask.

In many ways I feel that I failed my son by not teaching him discipline earlier in life. He spent the most time with me in my pre-healthy state. He was the beneficiary of countless cookies, cakes and tragic emotional outbursts. The parenting regrets stack up like a brick wall between he and I. And even though I bloodied my fingers trying to tear it down, it was too solidly built. In fact, I felt as if I had completely failed him. So you can imagine my shock when he approached me and said, “Mom, I want to serve my country by joining the Marines.”
Say what? Where did that come from?

Andrew swearing inMy son, who previously refused personal discipline at every turn, has chosen an encounter with the crucible of discipline in its rawest configuration. He will face himself and make decisions about the man he will become. As I sit here typing this all I can think is how thankful I am that he is clearly as stubborn and hard-headed as I am. That’s the only way he’ll make it through. Still I asked him before he left, “Are you afraid?” He had a very simple answer, “No.” Age and experience tells me that answer may change in the next few weeks, but there is nothing I can do for him now.  For that reason and many others, I have no other option but to fall on my knees and pray.

Over the years my children have frequently expressed to me their frustration about my healthy lifestyle, my eldest is not the least of these. They wished to eat all the things we ate before and felt quite deprived when I began using honey instead of sugar, whole wheat instead of white flour, and–gasp–brown rice! They’re argument was fairly rudimentary, but wholly naive, “Mom, we’re not fat like you!” Ah, the blissful ignorance of childhood. It denies any sense of culpability. Still, after my son’s recent decision to serve his country, I can’t help but think maybe I’m doing something right.

Baby birdYesterday I said goodbye to my boy as he stood at the edge of our nest. His take off was a little rocky. After all, leaving home for the first time is just as scary as it is exciting. He stood in a room full of other chicks, each with his or her hand raised as they pledged to honor and serve this great nation. I, for my part, stood with all the other parents; my camera in hand and my heart thumping in my chest. This time there were no goofy faces though. No bunny ears. No refusal to cooperate for pictures. There was simply my son and the course laid out before him. He has no doubts. His path is crystal clear. I held my breath as he spread his wings and jumped. For one terrifying moment I began to worry. A thousand things ran through my head, none of which I will mention here. “My baby bird has left the nest!” I thought with trembling lips and tears close at hand. But then my face lit wide with a smile. “Look!” I wanted to shout. “Did you see that? He can fly!”

I was So Annoyed!

Lately I have noticed a great struggle in my life with someone I love and am committed to. The problem is this; I let my personal preferences interfere with the relationship by way of annoyance. Annoyance grows to rebellion. Rebellion grows to anger. Anger rages and produces regret. Regret eliminates my peace and leaves me feeling awfully lonely. Call me selfish—I totally am. But how does annoyance grow and explode so quickly? And how do I stop it? It’s like a mushroom I recently found in the woods. When you poke it, it shoots out black spores that cover everything in close proximity. I am that mushroom!

Annoyance → Rebellion → Anger → Regret = Loneliness

 

I have also been on the receiving end of this cycle. My friend has preferences that collide with mine. When I don’t perform as anticipated, BLAMO! When I am in the right frame of mind—not tired, and perfectly mentally tethered—I find it easier to comply. But I’ll be candid, I’m Margaret, and this almost never happens. Henceforth this relationship is producing a fair number of black spores in the form of frustration, anger and indignation. And if you know anything about mushrooms, they have a tendency to reproduce tenaciously.

Many years ago a good friend of mine asked me to lunch. At the time my ideal lunch was Taco Bell or an establishment that made French fries. French fries were fairly integral to my diet at the time so when she suggested a restaurant that did not involve tacos or fries, I tried to reason with her. I really wanted to go and visit with her but the food was a major hindrance. She tricked me into going by saying, “Oh, we’ll figure it out”. She then proceeded to drive me to The Bread Company(my very first experience with that restaurant). I was held hostage by hunger and forced to eat, gasp, a turkey sandwich. Looking back I realize her utter contempt for my size manifested in a desperate attempt to make me eat something “healthy.” It was a disaster. I never ate lunch with her again. Seriously folks, do not interfere with a fat girl and her fries.

If you are still reading my blog at this point you are probably bored. I’m sorry. I just really love this person and want to fix the problem we are having…this battle of the wills per se. I want a Band-Aid for our boo boo. But the last time I was at Wal-Mart, they didn’t have anti-annoyance pills. For that matter, maybe I should invent them. I’d make a fortune! I’d lobby the government to pass legislation requiring American citizens to take them, and then sit back and watch auto insurance companies cry because I’d eliminated road rage. Attorneys would cry because lawsuits would decline. But seriously folks, I don’t think anyone would take them. We are all so in love with our opinions and preferences that divorcing ourselves from them would probably wreak havoc on our current society. In case you hadn’t noticed, our sense of self-importance is very grand.

For instance, I was in a meeting at work recently. As most do, my company likes to set deadlines. That’s generally how businesses accomplish objectives. The people I work with are very busy—often to their detriment. My leader gave a deadline and one of our associates balked at it. His response, “I don’t know what to tell you. It is what it is.” Or, as Larry the Cable Guy would say, “Get ‘er done!” The bottom line argues with no man. Profit is the ultimate measure of success and—like it or not—success is usually the fruit of hard deadlines. I could tell the associate was annoyed. She looked like a pot of soup with steam hissing out from under the lid. A casual observer might ask whose personal preference takes precedence in this scenario? However, it is generally accepted that if one wants to keep ones job, they will do everything in their power to meet to the deadline.

Humility is painful. It looks so noble when the hero of the movie makes the victim’s needs more important than his own. I’ll never forget that picture of Tobey MacGuire as Spider Man, holding onto the train as it raced toward a broken section of tracks. He was straining and groaning—stretched to capacity—to the point that right as the train stopped, he collapsed in exhaustion. It had taken every ounce of strength afforded him to save those people. But even as I applauded his courage, I walked outside and let a friendship die because I wanted to eat French fries and my friend didn’t.

I’m annoyed when my children don’t eat all the dinner on their plate. I’m annoyed when my neighbors keep me awake by playing loud music. I’m annoyed when my dog gets sick in the house. But these are all minor inconveniences. One of the most beautiful things a human being can do is lay down his life for his friend. So why can’t I just boil the spaghetti noodles a little bit longer because my husband likes it when they turn to mush?

It is so challenging to set aside our feelings and put someone else’s needs before our own. Yet I would propose that what appears at first glance to be a weakness is actually a great strength. Some might even call it heroic.

Real hero’s come in all shapes and sizes. Be it the dog who dives into icy waters to rescue her master or the man who left his job and drove to New York City to participate in a 9/11 rescue effort. What if I told you that every day we have the opportunity to be a hero to someone close to us? I realize it’s easy to be annoyed. It’s easy to get carried away and destroy relationships. But it’s painful too. And lonely. Justifiable anger can feel really great in the moment, but it can cast a long shadow not only on those we profess to love, but also on our own heart. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we were able to set aside our personal preferences and put someone else’s needs and wants before our own? How would it change the relationships we have with people close to us? How would it change us?

Humilty → Selflessness → Grace = Love!

No one ever said loving others is easy. Obviously I have a rich history of “epic failure” in this respect. But today I resolve to practice this discipline. Yes, it’s probably going to sting a bit at first. I might even have to sit in silence while I watch my friends eat Pizza Hut, rather than lecture them on sugar, calories and fat content. Oh the horror! But when it comes to disciplines, I propose nothing is more beautiful or heroic than a humble heart.

Club Misfit: Join Now With No Membership Fee

I was up very early this morning hiking the hills of St. Charles, Missouri. It was chilly, but I opted out of wearing a jacket because the cool air felt nice on my hot skin. The stars were in full splendor, shining down on the lonely street as my sneakers popped on the pavement. I wanted to run. I wanted to breathe hard and dash through the trees with my arms pumping. But I couldn’t. My faulty body sags, like an old horse whose swayed back can’t carry a rider any longer. So I limp, and hobble, and exhale my disappointment.

I was not alone for long. Runners with headlamps and flashlights dashed around me as if to shame me with their speed. Because it was dark, I shouted greetings only to be rebuffed by silence. “Go in peace,” I thought to myself. “Enjoy it while you can.” Running is a great grace that was given to me for a while. Now I must settle for a brisk walk, Kung Fu arms, and stealth. Yes, stealth! That great art afforded to Ninja warriors and mothers of mischievous children.

I saw a very slender person walking towards me at a distance and waved. “Good morning!” I shouted, as if I was in a parade and he was the paparazzi. He waved back and said, “That’s what I say every morning I have the good fortune to wake up.” As I got closer I noticed he was advanced in years and moving very deliberately. “You are doing GREAT!” I said, as if I was his personal motivational coach. He chuckled and carried on. As the distance between us grew, I considered that those of us who can’t move as gracefully as we might like belong to a very special club….

The Persistent Hobbler’s Club should not be confused with The Determined Gobbler’s Club(of which I am a former member). Hobbler’s around the world unite! Lock arms and wobble in unison. Can’t bend your knee? Lurch in the general direction of the group. Can’t wiggle your toes, stomp and moan! Is your arthritic elbow giving you fits, flap like a bird instead! I promise no one will hold it against you. We are all in this together! But all kidding aside, it comforts me to know there are others who are dealing with chronic body issues and still refuse to give up.

Today I encountered a woman in the Godiva Chocolatier shop in the mall. She overheard me inquiring about sugar free chocolate and inserted herself into the conversation I was having with the clerk. “What do you mean you don’t eat sugar? Life is not worth living without chocolate.” I explained that many companies make sugar free chocolate and it is actually very tasty. I gave her the cliff notes version of my story and her eyes grew big. “Good for you!” She said, with this look of utter bewilderment. Then she just stood there and stared at me with this amused look like I was the drunken squirrel in that video floating around YouTube. That was when I realized I probably shouldn’t wander into chocolate stores and start flapping my gums about weight loss. So I ambled out without making a purchase, fully aware that yet another stranger thinks I’m a weirdo.

I often find that by living a healthy lifestyle I am a little at odds with the general public. I don’t fit in with the super fit crowd and I don’t fit in with the unfit crowd either. Does that mean by all intents and purposes that I am genuine misfit?

If being a misfit means shopping almost exclusively at The Salvation Army because my weight fluctuates and I don’t want to spend a fortune on clothes…

If it means dousing my veggies in apple cider vinegar and making whole wheat pizza crust…

If it means avoiding foods in cans and manifesting genuine contempt for soda and fast food restaurants…

If being a misfit means my husband sticks his nose up at the dinner I cooked and flees the house for Steak N Shake…

Well then, Margaret Wolfinbarger, you just might be a misfit.

So if you are my neighbor and you accidentally catch a glimpse of me working out in the basement, those twisty, hand-standy things are called planks. I realize it looks different when the “professionals” do it. I don’t care. I’m doing the best I can. And no, I’m not constipated, I’m doing crunches. And yes, those big metal clutches are hand weights. They make me strong. Come to think of it, misfit is not the right term. Actually, it’s Miss Fit!

So what if Richard Simmons is my hero? Who cares if I have a little bit of cellulite? Does it really matter if a trip to Sports Authority makes me giddy? This Miss Fit is one happy camper. So if you’d like to join Club Misfit, sign up now. Membership is FREE!