I nestled in close with my 4-year-old son, cherishing our bedtime routine of snuggles and prayers. I love to inhale the smell of his freshly washed hair and feel the warmth of his little body as he cuddles in as close as he can. As I prayed for him in the darkness of his little bedroom, he piped in at the end “And Jesus, please make mommy’s nose all better.”
Ah, my nose. Yes.
My middle-aged, mid-40s body had produced some sort of hormonal cocktail that wreaked havoc on my complexion and left my nose in a rash of acne. Leaving the house as little as possible, I dabbed on creams and ointments, desperately trying to conquer the outbreak and avoid a trip to the dermatologist my insurance would not cover. I would breathe a sigh of relief as I watched one pimple diminish only to wake up the next morning to discover two (and at one point, four) had risen to take it’s place. I gently powdered to go in public, desperate to avoid drawing attention to this unfortunate outbreak, though it wouldn’t have been any more conspicuous if I’d taken to wearing a bright red clown-nose (the redness of my nose as it was, was nearly as embarrassing).
I found myself really aggravated. Really, Lord? At my age? Why my nose? Couldn’t I have a shin-pimple? An ingrown hair on my elbow? Even a boil on my back? Something not so obvious and "out there?" Aren’t my flabby thighs and corpulent bottom enough humiliation for one woman to endure? Must I battle glaringly obvious teenage acne well into middle age?
Over the next several days, Carson was my personal little prayer warrior against nose acne. And over the next several days, the improvement was nothing short of remarkable. In fact, within a few days of his fervent storming of the heavens on my behalf, my nose was nearly back to normal.
Last night as I tucked Carson into bed he reminded me that we had yet to pray for my nose. I told him that thanks to his prayers it was nearly healed and that it probably wasn’t necessary to pray for it anymore. He inspected it closely and declared “But Mommy, it’s not all the way better yet” and immediately prayed with all the seriousness that he could muster that my nose would get “all the way better.”
How often have I appealed to the heavens for change and the minute things begin to improve I abandon the prayer altogether and move on to other things before I’ve gotten that last thing “all the way better.”
For several weeks after the potato chip incident, I found myself miraculously empowered to bypass those temptations that had completely derailed me in the past. I began to feel confident and comfortable. I began to feel as if I might actually beat this food thing into submission once and for all. And then I just quit praying about it.
Fast forward a few weeks and I am presented with an unexpected temptation. At a lunch out with my sister-in-law she bought me a chocolate cupcake. An extraordinary, moist, delicious, chocolate cupcake. No longer bolstered by consistent prayer, I crumbled before I even paused to think about it. I didn't even try to resist.
Dang. I guess I’m not “all better” after all.
The issue isn’t really about the cupcake. That few tablespoons of chocolate frosting is not going to reverse the weight I’ve lost thus far or render me unable to lose weight in the future. BUT, what it DID do was stall my progress toward consistently exercising power over my decisions. Noticeably so. After the cupcake, I found that choosing healthy options was suddenly more difficult. Bypassing some of my old unhealthy favorites – something that had become easy over the last few weeks – was suddenly a matter requiring an internal combat of wills. And my body, which had become accustomed to the deprivation of sugar, was suddenly craving it at every turn. I realized that I’m not done praying about this – “all better” is still a ways off.
I’m not sure why I always have to “mess up” in order to get the message, but I tend to be like that with a lot of things. I wish that I could be one of those people who says “Here is my eating plan and I am sticking to it!” and then actually stick to it. Instead I’m someone who’s successes are tempered by the occasional faceplant, who’s hands are always a little skinned up and who’s pants always seem to have a little dirt on them from the time spent on the ground.
I’m realizing I actually need to spend a little more time on my face – not because I’ve fallen there, but because I put myself there at the foot of the cross. There are two verses that speak to me in the midst of this thing, and I’ve taken them apart a bit to really unpack all they can teach us:
Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer. Romans 12:12
Rejoice in hope…
It is important to understand the word “hope” as Paul intends it. This isn’t “optimism” or positive thinking, this hope is an assurance of victory through Christ! There IS a light at the end of this tunnel, and that light is the glory of God. Rejoice!
…be patient in tribulation…
It’s hard to be patient when things are tough. Sometimes the fact that the tribulation you face is of your own creation makes it even more challenging to tolerate with grace. Of course, the tribulation Paul is talking about here is the abuse the Christians endured because of their belief in Jesus, and while I don’t equate shopping the plus-sized racks at Macy’s with being tortured on the rack for my faith, I also don’t want to minimize it. It is frustrating to feel as if you continue to battle the same dragons over and over again. But be patient and…
…be constant in prayer.
Prayer has to be a priority – for all of us, certainly, but especially for those of us in the midst of a power struggle with something that threatens to derail us (like cupcakes or potato chips). Don’t wait until the moment on the battlefield of temptation to pray for strength! It is those prayers in the morning when I am not struggling that remind me to pray for strength when the real temptations come.
Continue steadfastly in prayer, being watchful in it with thanksgiving. Colossians 4:2
Continue steadfastly in prayer…
This is a recurring theme in both of these verses. Pray, pray, pray. And pray. And then go pray some more.
…being watchful in it with thanksgiving.
Gratitude! How often have I ignored the progress I’ve made and the victories God has walked me through because I am focused on one failure – on one aspect of the process that wasn’t what I’d hoped it would be. Praise Jesus for each tick-down of the scale! Praise Jesus for each battle won! Thank you, Lord, that you love me so much you will walk me through this!
That said, we also need to be watchful. While I am, by the grace of God, making progress, I am also very weak in areas where I need to learn to be strong. I mustn’t abandon prayer when I see it is simply “better than it was.” I still have areas where my priorities are skewed and where food matters much more than it ought. I need to continue praying about this stronghold in my life until God has completely freed me of it – until I have learned all the lessons that God needs to teach me through this journey.
Until it is, in the words of my precious little boy, “all the way better.”
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Monday, September 24, 2012
I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth...SO HELP ME GOD!
“I really don’t eat that much.”
“It doesn’t matter what I do, I just can’t lose weight.”
“I’ve been so good all day, I’m going to treat myself.”
“This one meal is not going to make a difference.”
“But it’s my [birthday/anniversary/cousin’s birthday/sister’s anniversary/Labor Day/Flag Day]!”
Ever heard any of these? Ever SAID any of these?
I’ve said them all.
Multiple times.
And that is why I am still walking around in my big-girl pants.
If I truly want to end my love affair with the elastic waistband, I have to do some serious business with the mindset that spouts out these lies as if they were the truth. Yep. They are lies, every single one of ‘em. And no, the fact that I have spewed them out with great conviction does NOT make them true.
I am a master at self-deception.
This is not an easy thing to admit. In my personal life, in my marriage, in my role as a parent I am committed to living with honesty and integrity. I want to model that for my son. And yet, when it comes to my eating habits, I have been lying to myself for so long that those phrases above have rolled off my tongue without a hint of conscience. I’d even convinced myself that I was telling the truth. But I wasn’t.
For those of us battling a significant amount of weight, we are all guilty of self-deception, and many of us, like me, are masters at it. Before we commit to any program or eating plan, we first have to stop the insanity of our daily self-delusion and commit to brutal honesty about our food and what we are putting into our bodies. It’s hard. It’s uncomfortable. And it is the only way to make a lasting change.
Before we can be honest, I think we first have to dissect the lies:
“It doesn’t matter what I do, I just can’t lose weight.”
“I’ve been so good all day, I’m going to treat myself.”
“This one meal is not going to make a difference.”
“But it’s my [birthday/anniversary/cousin’s birthday/sister’s anniversary/Labor Day/Flag Day]!”
Ever heard any of these? Ever SAID any of these?
I’ve said them all.
Multiple times.
And that is why I am still walking around in my big-girl pants.
If I truly want to end my love affair with the elastic waistband, I have to do some serious business with the mindset that spouts out these lies as if they were the truth. Yep. They are lies, every single one of ‘em. And no, the fact that I have spewed them out with great conviction does NOT make them true.
I am a master at self-deception.
This is not an easy thing to admit. In my personal life, in my marriage, in my role as a parent I am committed to living with honesty and integrity. I want to model that for my son. And yet, when it comes to my eating habits, I have been lying to myself for so long that those phrases above have rolled off my tongue without a hint of conscience. I’d even convinced myself that I was telling the truth. But I wasn’t.
For those of us battling a significant amount of weight, we are all guilty of self-deception, and many of us, like me, are masters at it. Before we commit to any program or eating plan, we first have to stop the insanity of our daily self-delusion and commit to brutal honesty about our food and what we are putting into our bodies. It’s hard. It’s uncomfortable. And it is the only way to make a lasting change.
Before we can be honest, I think we first have to dissect the lies:
“I really don’t eat that much.”
or
“It doesn’t matter what I do, I just can’t lose weight.”
Several years ago I watched a documentary on Patrick Deuel, who at the time weighed 1070 pounds – yes, over a half-ton. He complained that the cause of his morbid obesity was little more than unfortunate genetics and said at one point in his interview: “I really don’t eat more than anyone else.” His wife, once out of his earshot, told a very different story. She confessed, with great shame, that she provided him enormous quantities of food – a daily menu consisted of several pounds of bacon, donuts, several large pizzas, buckets of fried chicken, cheeseburgers and french fries. She said that if she refused to provide him the food he demanded, he became so nasty and verbally abusive that she just decided it was easier to give in.
While few of us live in denial of THAT scale, I have certainly been guilty of denying the volume of what actually goes into my mouth. I eat healthy food in quantities that negate the healthy aspect. Or, I eat the sensible lunch and then an hour later, feeling hungry, eat the apple I should eat, followed by a crackers, then chips, a few more crackers with cheese, one of Carson’s fruit snacks, a few more chips and before I realize it, I’ve grazed my way into dinner time. My “snack amnesia” kicks in and suddenly I’ve forgotten about everything between lunch and dinner except for the apple and maybe a few crackers. Then I find myself on the scale wondering why my healthy eating plan isn’t working the way the book said it would.
I wish I were kidding, but I’ve done this. I’ve seen other people do it. And if you think you ought to be dropping weight like crazy, but you’re not, there is a good chance you are doing it too.
Just sayin’.
Just sayin’.
“I’ve been so good all day, I’m going to treat myself.”
or
“This one meal is not going to make a difference.”
Both of these make me want to flail my arms up and down like that robot from Lost in Space. “Danger, Will Robinson!! Danger!!” (I know, my age is showing). We’re often not as good as we think we’ve been (see above) and the “treats” are often much “worse” (calorie-wise, fat-wise, etc) than we care to admit. But even more than that, for a genuine food-addicted, chocolate-covered-donut-dreamer like myself, I can find myself so focused on continuously looking for “excuses” to treat myself, I never acquire the taste for healthy snacks or the new, healthy eating habits that I need long term and that is the real problem.
In Lysa Terkeurst’s book Made to Crave, she shares her battle to choose her healthy meal and avoid the chips and salsa she really wanted:
I had to stop thinking about what I shouldn’t have and park my mind on thoughts of being thankful for what I could have. I could have delicious grilled fish and steamed broccoli. Food that is healthy and beneficial for giving my body strength. We must embrace the boundaries of the healthy eating plan we chose. We must see them a parameters that define our freedom with things like grilled fish and broccoli, not as horrible restrictions keeping us from chips and salsa (p.150)It takes time to embrace the healthy options. I know enjoying “natural” snacks is not natural at all to some of us. But it does happen, strangely and inexplicably, it does happen. I may not crave that apple the way I have craved some of those less healthy options, but I’ve discovered that I am actually beginning to enjoy it and I don’t have to deal with the guilt and disappointment in myself afterwards. THAT alone is worth it.
“But it’s my [birthday/anniversary/cousin’s birthday/sister’s anniversary/Labor Day/Flag Day/3rd anniversary of my niece's youngest child’s first haircut]!”
It’s always something. There is always going to be a holiday or special occasion that screams “Fried appetizers for everyone! Dessert all around!” While I am a firm believer that no one ever got fat because they ate mashed potatoes and gravy on Thanksgiving, I also know that I can find “occasions” 3 times a week to justify a poor choice, whether it’s “But we’re eating at [ _____ ] and I love their [ ______ ] ” or “I am too tired to make a really healthy meal.”
My wedding anniversary was last weekend and our celebratory meal was at a restaurant that offers one of my favorite appetizers – fried calamari. I love it, in all its flash-fried goodness, provided it is properly prepared and not overly breaded or over-cooked. But we looked past the calamari and instead we chose an ahi tuna starter with fresh cucumber and mint that was absolutely delicious and completely guilt free. I could have easily justified the unhealthy option: “But it’s our anniversary and we NEVER eat here.” In the midst of a commitment to healthy eating, one special occasion has usually turned into a binge on every forbidden item I could find on the menu. The problem was that in spite of my best intentions, my binge never stopped there. It is as if that one step off the curb left me playing in a street of forbidden food traffic, and time after time, I find myself hit by every culinary temptation that went by. This time, I decided to choose differently. I chose a healthier option for dinner than I typically would have chosen and I ignored the dessert tray entirely, instead choosing a delicious (and much lower calorie) after dinner drink.
I walked out of that restaurant comfortably satisfied, not stuffed, and I felt good about the choices I’d made rather than feeling a need to assuage my guilt over bad choices with an endless list of rationalizations. It was empowering and it showed me that good choices leave me feeling liberated, not deprived.
As I commit myself to a healthier relationship with food, I have made another commitment to myself:
I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God.
No more lying to myself about what I’m eating or not eating. No more excuses. No more rationalizations. No more pretending. Like any relationship, a healthy relationship with food begins with honesty – brutal honesty – and sometimes honesty is difficult. Even unpleasant. But it is essential. And the “so help me God” part? It isn’t just a cliché, it is essential too. A quick prayer in the midst of decision is often the difference between the carrot stick and the carrot cake. One of them I feel great about afterward, and the other I have to make excuses for. The Lord has proven time and time again that when I let Him, he empowers me to make the better choice.
“…and the truth will set you free.” John 8:32b
Friday, September 14, 2012
Temptation
I discovered something about myself this last week. I discovered that I can sit in front of a bowl of potato chips – TWO bowls, actually – that I desperately want and I CAN choose NOT to eat one.
Not. Even. One.
I was at a friend’s house and snacks had been put out, including the aforementioned potato chips (in two delectable flavors) as well as snack crackers and one lovely bowl of celery, which, in all its pristine, healthful goodness, did not attract my interest whatsoever. The conversation that evening was intense and heavy, and had absolutely nothing to do with my eating issues, but there they were, demanding my attention in spite of the serious discussion underway, and those two little bowls of potato chips were there to exacerbate the situation, mocking me from the coffee table.
The briefest lull in conversation left my mind to momentarily fixate on my desperate desire for a taste of crispy, salty spud heaven. The celery waved its little celery-stalk arms to attract my attention away from the evil flavored tater extravaganza as I found myself justifying just one – or maybe one of each flavor. Or maybe just a broken chip of each flavor…that’s okay, right? I mean, seriously, how many calories are in a broken chip?
It was difficult. Excruciatingly difficult. Embarrassingly excruciatingly difficult. I mean they are POTATO CHIPS for goodness sake!!! Yeeeeah. I know. But anybody else been there? Maybe for you it’s NOT a potato chip or a cheesecake, but maybe it’s:
When it comes to food, it’s a battle I’d forgotten I was even capable of fighting, much less winning.
In my battle of the bulge, I’ve discovered that my brain goes into justification mode before I even realize that I am in the middle of something.
I rationalize - how many calories could possibly be in that potato chip crumb?
Not. Even. One.
I was at a friend’s house and snacks had been put out, including the aforementioned potato chips (in two delectable flavors) as well as snack crackers and one lovely bowl of celery, which, in all its pristine, healthful goodness, did not attract my interest whatsoever. The conversation that evening was intense and heavy, and had absolutely nothing to do with my eating issues, but there they were, demanding my attention in spite of the serious discussion underway, and those two little bowls of potato chips were there to exacerbate the situation, mocking me from the coffee table.
The briefest lull in conversation left my mind to momentarily fixate on my desperate desire for a taste of crispy, salty spud heaven. The celery waved its little celery-stalk arms to attract my attention away from the evil flavored tater extravaganza as I found myself justifying just one – or maybe one of each flavor. Or maybe just a broken chip of each flavor…that’s okay, right? I mean, seriously, how many calories are in a broken chip?
It was difficult. Excruciatingly difficult. Embarrassingly excruciatingly difficult. I mean they are POTATO CHIPS for goodness sake!!! Yeeeeah. I know. But anybody else been there? Maybe for you it’s NOT a potato chip or a cheesecake, but maybe it’s:
- a Coach purse you can’t really afford
- those shoes you shouldn’t buy
- that third drink you know you shouldn’t have (or that FIRST drink you know you shouldn’t have)
- that movie you really shouldn’t watch or that book you should avoid
- that comment you shouldn’t make
- that tidbit of gossip you should keep to yourself.
When it comes to food, it’s a battle I’d forgotten I was even capable of fighting, much less winning.
In my battle of the bulge, I’ve discovered that my brain goes into justification mode before I even realize that I am in the middle of something.
I rationalize - how many calories could possibly be in that potato chip crumb?
I make deals with myself - I will walk more tomorrow to make up for it
I downplay the significance of the decision at hand - Is eating a potato
chip really the end of the world?.
chip really the end of the world?.
Obviously, taken at face value, those seem like legitimate arguments. But they miss the real issue.
The issue is not that we’ve chosen to eat that potato chip, or piece of cake, or [insert food you feel powerless to resist], but rather that we’ve (temporarily) lost the ability to make a choice at all – when you consistently just “give in” to whatever craving comes your way, “giving in” becomes a habit – one that is desperately difficult to break.
I had become so accustomed to simply caving to my appetite, I was completely out of practice and gave in out of habit as much as a sense of powerlessness.
No one knew more about temptation than Jesus. And no one can possibly better understand the temptation of food.
Then Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. And after fasting forty days and forty nights, he was hungry. And the tempter came and said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread.” But he answered, “It is written, “‘Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.’” Matthew 4:1-4
My potato chip dilemma is pretty pathetic by comparison. After 40 days of fasting, the hunger had to have been absolutely agonizing. And yet Jesus resisted Satan’s suggestion that He call upon His divine power to make the trial easier on himself. Jesus recognized that the issue was greater than His hunger and whether or not he would choose to supernaturally produce the food that would satiate it. The issue was obedience. And although Jesus was (and is) divine, He was also very human and there was most assuredly a battle raging within His humanity. How did He withstand it? He rejected the lies (rationalization, etc.) and chose instead to speak truth out of Scripture.
When we face temptation with food, we can be absolutely confident that Jesus has walked in our shoes - even in this - and He truly understands the battle that rages within as we struggle with those choices. C. S. Lewis, in his book Mere Christianity, explains:
Only those who try to resist temptation know how strong it is. After all, you find out the strength of the German army by fighting against it, not by giving in. You find out the strength of a wind by trying to walk against it, not by lying down. A man who gives in to temptation after five minutes simply does not know what it would have been like an hour later. We never find out the strength of the evil impulse inside us until we try to fight it: and Christ, because He was the only man who never yielded to temptation, is also the only man who knows to the full what temptation means—the only complete realist (p 125).
In the days since the potato chip incident, I have begun to rediscover my will and the power of Scriptural truth in the face of temptation. Each time I choose a healthy choice over an unhealthy one, I perpetuate a new habit – a habit of self-control. I am discovering that self-control is not only possible, but invigorating, and I’ve discovered that when my will is weak, I can - and desperately need to - depend on the power of prayer to keep me strong.
For I can do everything through Christ, who gives me strength. Philippians 4:13
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Self-loathing, Messes and Lies, Oh My!
I am on the scale this morning and the nasty little imp that dances around and points to the number while laughing hysterically is back. The 2-pound loss I was so pleased with earlier in the week has come back to find me. The “imp,” of course, is all in my head (you hope, for my sake) but I feel as if he’s there pointing and laughing and mocking me, doing the Macarena and using exaggerated gestures for the part where he slaps his backside, as if it is so gigantic, he can scarcely reach it. I am annoyed with myself and revert to my habit of self-loathing. Before I know what I’m doing I’m in the pantry eating a reduced fat cookie and thinking “Why do I even try?!”
Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Back this train up!!
If I allow self-loathing to creep in, I spend all of my energy feeling foolish and embarrassed. Self-loathing says “You’re an idiot. You have no self-control. No discipline. Seriously, two weeks in and you’ve already blown it? Pathetic. Here, eat a low-fat cookie. Or a cheesecake. Go ahead…you’ll feel better, really.”
The devil may not really be a little red guy with horns and a pitch-fork, but I’m pretty sure that self-loathing personified looks exactly like that. And it gets me over and over again.
My little red friend is a deceiver and a fraud.
Self-loathing uses all of our energy on self-flagellation and leaves nothing in the tank for strategizing on how to make better choices the next time, and THAT is what makes it such a waste.
I made another unpleasant discovery about this emotional waste of energy: When I berate myself over the poor choices that convert to extra pounds, I FEEL as if I’m repentant for those choices, but when it comes to the work of actually PROVING that I’m repentant by making better choices going forward, I justify and deny. I justify the cookie by saying “but I did so well all week” and I deny that the quantities I ate were out of line. It’s so much easier to beat myself up about my bad choices (or deny their impact) than it is to change them. I get to feel as if I care while continuing the self-destructive behavior that suggests I really don’t.
I threw the rest of the cookie in the trash and sat down for a moment to think honestly about the last few days. It was Labor Day weekend and Dave went camping with a friend of his. I took my son to a movie and ate popcorn that I’d planned on with a Coke that I hadn’t. Two dinners at my mom and dad’s were dominated by poor choices and poor portion control. It was enough to reverse the 2 pound loss I’d been so proud of earlier in the week. And enough to bring around my old friend self-loathing to remind me what a failure I am.
But I’m not falling for his derailment tactics this time.
I can continue to hate being overweight. Or I can change it. It’s that simple. Simple, but oh, so difficult in its execution.
I have to continue to identify the emotional aspect to my desire for food. I have to learn to actually think not only about what I’m eating, but control how much – especially when I’m eating away from home, outside the safety of my pre-planned menu. And I have to pray. A lot.
I'm a little embarrassed to admit that part of me truly hoped that once I had identified my “issues” with food and recognized how my idolatrous relationship with chocolate was adversely affecting my life (physical and spiritual) that God would supernaturally free me from those issues. While God certainly has the power to do that, He also has the wisdom not to.
Like most 4-year-old boys, my son loves to make a mess. Last winter he went through a stage where he would dump his toy bins – ALL of them – out on the floor creating a massive pile of Fisher-Price chaos in the middle of his playroom. This was great fun until it came time to clean it up. The first few times he did this, I helped him. It was a pretty overwhelming job for a 3 ½ year old, and I thought that as long as he was also putting things away, there was no reason not to help expedite the process. One morning, when I heard the sound of the first bin being dumped out, I added something new to my “Please don’t do that” speech. It was “If you choose to dump out all of your toys, I will not help you clean up the mess. You will do it yourself.”
He smiled sweetly at me and proceeded to dump them out onto the floor. I smiled back. And then, in a while, when he was ready to move onto something different, I reminded him that he needed to take care of Mount Playskool before he did anything else. He quit smiling.
Clean-up was excruciatingly slow. There was a lot of whining. And crying. And fussing. I stood firm and reminded him that I had warned him ahead of time that if he chose to make that mess, I would not help clean it up. And I didn’t. Finally, the last of the cars and blocks made their way back into the bins.
I would love to say he never did that again, but he tried it twice more after that. Each time I made him clean it up himself. Each time it was excruciatingly slow. Each time, more tears and more fussing. But I stood firm and now he doesn’t make those messes anymore.
He learned that the fun just isn’t worth the unpleasant cleanup.
In some ways, my world isn’t so different from Carson’s. Like him, I have to come to a place where I understand that the “fun” of bad eating habits just isn’t worth the unpleasant cleanup.
God could certainly have miraculously changed my mindset about food to help me clean up my mess. But I wouldn’t learn anything. If I had continued to pick up Carson’s pile-o-disaster, I guarantee he would still be making it. It is only the impact of having to clean it up himself that makes him think twice before he starts dumping.
God is going to allow me to go through the difficult and sometimes unpleasant process of cleaning this thing up because through this process He wants to teach me how to become better equipped to handle life down the line. He wants me to depend on Him, not food, and though it may take tears and fussing, I’m going to learn that.
In his letter to the Philippians, Paul says:
But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. Let those of us who are mature think this way, and if in anything you think otherwise, God will reveal that also to you. Philippians 3:13b-15
I choose to look forward, not back. I am cutting ties with self-loathing and am choosing to press on. A healthier me is only part of the goal, and the prize is so much greater than just a smaller-sized wardrobe. Ultimately the journey is a spiritual one as much as a physical one, and it is the journey that matures me.
On to a new week!
Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Back this train up!!
If I allow self-loathing to creep in, I spend all of my energy feeling foolish and embarrassed. Self-loathing says “You’re an idiot. You have no self-control. No discipline. Seriously, two weeks in and you’ve already blown it? Pathetic. Here, eat a low-fat cookie. Or a cheesecake. Go ahead…you’ll feel better, really.”
The devil may not really be a little red guy with horns and a pitch-fork, but I’m pretty sure that self-loathing personified looks exactly like that. And it gets me over and over again.
My little red friend is a deceiver and a fraud.
Self-loathing uses all of our energy on self-flagellation and leaves nothing in the tank for strategizing on how to make better choices the next time, and THAT is what makes it such a waste.
I made another unpleasant discovery about this emotional waste of energy: When I berate myself over the poor choices that convert to extra pounds, I FEEL as if I’m repentant for those choices, but when it comes to the work of actually PROVING that I’m repentant by making better choices going forward, I justify and deny. I justify the cookie by saying “but I did so well all week” and I deny that the quantities I ate were out of line. It’s so much easier to beat myself up about my bad choices (or deny their impact) than it is to change them. I get to feel as if I care while continuing the self-destructive behavior that suggests I really don’t.
I threw the rest of the cookie in the trash and sat down for a moment to think honestly about the last few days. It was Labor Day weekend and Dave went camping with a friend of his. I took my son to a movie and ate popcorn that I’d planned on with a Coke that I hadn’t. Two dinners at my mom and dad’s were dominated by poor choices and poor portion control. It was enough to reverse the 2 pound loss I’d been so proud of earlier in the week. And enough to bring around my old friend self-loathing to remind me what a failure I am.
But I’m not falling for his derailment tactics this time.
I can continue to hate being overweight. Or I can change it. It’s that simple. Simple, but oh, so difficult in its execution.
I have to continue to identify the emotional aspect to my desire for food. I have to learn to actually think not only about what I’m eating, but control how much – especially when I’m eating away from home, outside the safety of my pre-planned menu. And I have to pray. A lot.
I'm a little embarrassed to admit that part of me truly hoped that once I had identified my “issues” with food and recognized how my idolatrous relationship with chocolate was adversely affecting my life (physical and spiritual) that God would supernaturally free me from those issues. While God certainly has the power to do that, He also has the wisdom not to.
Like most 4-year-old boys, my son loves to make a mess. Last winter he went through a stage where he would dump his toy bins – ALL of them – out on the floor creating a massive pile of Fisher-Price chaos in the middle of his playroom. This was great fun until it came time to clean it up. The first few times he did this, I helped him. It was a pretty overwhelming job for a 3 ½ year old, and I thought that as long as he was also putting things away, there was no reason not to help expedite the process. One morning, when I heard the sound of the first bin being dumped out, I added something new to my “Please don’t do that” speech. It was “If you choose to dump out all of your toys, I will not help you clean up the mess. You will do it yourself.”
He smiled sweetly at me and proceeded to dump them out onto the floor. I smiled back. And then, in a while, when he was ready to move onto something different, I reminded him that he needed to take care of Mount Playskool before he did anything else. He quit smiling.
Clean-up was excruciatingly slow. There was a lot of whining. And crying. And fussing. I stood firm and reminded him that I had warned him ahead of time that if he chose to make that mess, I would not help clean it up. And I didn’t. Finally, the last of the cars and blocks made their way back into the bins.
I would love to say he never did that again, but he tried it twice more after that. Each time I made him clean it up himself. Each time it was excruciatingly slow. Each time, more tears and more fussing. But I stood firm and now he doesn’t make those messes anymore.
He learned that the fun just isn’t worth the unpleasant cleanup.
In some ways, my world isn’t so different from Carson’s. Like him, I have to come to a place where I understand that the “fun” of bad eating habits just isn’t worth the unpleasant cleanup.
God could certainly have miraculously changed my mindset about food to help me clean up my mess. But I wouldn’t learn anything. If I had continued to pick up Carson’s pile-o-disaster, I guarantee he would still be making it. It is only the impact of having to clean it up himself that makes him think twice before he starts dumping.
God is going to allow me to go through the difficult and sometimes unpleasant process of cleaning this thing up because through this process He wants to teach me how to become better equipped to handle life down the line. He wants me to depend on Him, not food, and though it may take tears and fussing, I’m going to learn that.
In his letter to the Philippians, Paul says:
But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. Let those of us who are mature think this way, and if in anything you think otherwise, God will reveal that also to you. Philippians 3:13b-15
I choose to look forward, not back. I am cutting ties with self-loathing and am choosing to press on. A healthier me is only part of the goal, and the prize is so much greater than just a smaller-sized wardrobe. Ultimately the journey is a spiritual one as much as a physical one, and it is the journey that matures me.
On to a new week!
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Freedom!
I am running. My arms pump rhythmically with each stride and I feel the power of my legs propelling me forward as the ground beneath my feet is devoured with astonishing speed. I am amazed by the strength in my legs as my feet hit the ground and push off for the next stride, and I feel no fatigue, no windedness.
I am, of course, dreaming.
The running dream is a recurring one and shockingly vivid. I run, not out of fear, but for the sheer joy of it (which alerts me, even in my sleep-state that I am, indeed, dreaming). The dream almost always starts with me playing in a softball game (which I have never done) and as I hit the ball (again, dreeeam-ing!) and begin to run the bases I am suddenly aware of the effortlessness with which I am running. I am so amazed by this that as I hit second base, I abandon my friends and the game and take off across the outfield, over hills and through this lush beautiful country landscape, all the while energized by the fact that the strides come with remarkable ease and with no complaint from my lungs at all.
It is freedom and even in my sleep I feel joy from it.
Then I awaken and throw my feet over the side of the bed. I glance at my crooked arthritic toe and marvel at how it participated in powering me pain-free through that wheat field the night before. My knees creak and my back is stiff and as I sit there on the edge of the bed I close my eyes and try to remember the feeling of the wind in my face and the exhilaration of propelling myself along at such speed with so little effort. I try to remember the strength and power in my legs and that feeling of freedom.
My prayer throughout this journey is not for a skinny version of an old me. It is a prayer that I will develop a freedom in food. Not a freedom to eat whatever I want and never gain an ounce (which would only exacerbate my preoccupation with that chocolate-frosted cake donut) but rather a freedom from obsession with food. A freedom that will allow me to plan meals and stick to the plan without pining for the cream-sauce laden selections that contribute to my love-affair with elastic waistbands. A freedom that will help me see food as a fuel and not a trusted friend. A freedom that will grant me the energy to propel myself effortlessly into focusing on other things and not my next meal.
A freedom that can only come when I submit my every appetite to the Lord and trade my obsession with food for an obsession with Him.
You may wonder why I have to make this into a “God-thing.” Exercise a little discipline. Exercise a little, period. You might think “You know, Cat, if you’d just eat less and move more, you could find yourself sliding comfortably into those size 6 skinny jeans without gettin’ all 'Jesus crazy’ about the thing.” That works for a lot of people. And yes, it would even work for me. On the surface.
But I wouldn’t be free.
I don’t want to just trade an eating obsession for an obsession with not eating. Or an obsession with exercising (which is quite unlikely to happen in my case). Or an obsession with shopping or being a perfect mom or Facebook or Pinterest or gaming or any of the things that we seek out as a way to bring a little fun or meaning to our lives. None of those things are bad things. Some of them – exercise, especially – are good things, even necessary things. But obsession with any of them does not bring true freedom. Only slavery to a new thing.
There is only one safe obsession, only one that draws my attention away from myself and on to something that truly matters in light of eternity.
Jesus.
In Made to Crave Lysa TerKuerst says:
I’m so tired of craving things that don’t matter. Of obsessing over things that hold no eternal significance. Of fixating on things that just continue to promote more “me” and less God.
I'm replacing my old cravings and my old obsessions with an earnest devotion to Jesus. When I want something "just to taste it," I read the Word instead. When I want to toss my grilled chicken roll-up for a cheeseburger and fries, I pray. When my emotions take me hostage and demand a ransom of ice cream, I get on my knees and cry out to God.
In the Lord there is compassion. There is blessing. There is hope. And there is freedom!
I am, of course, dreaming.
The running dream is a recurring one and shockingly vivid. I run, not out of fear, but for the sheer joy of it (which alerts me, even in my sleep-state that I am, indeed, dreaming). The dream almost always starts with me playing in a softball game (which I have never done) and as I hit the ball (again, dreeeam-ing!) and begin to run the bases I am suddenly aware of the effortlessness with which I am running. I am so amazed by this that as I hit second base, I abandon my friends and the game and take off across the outfield, over hills and through this lush beautiful country landscape, all the while energized by the fact that the strides come with remarkable ease and with no complaint from my lungs at all.
It is freedom and even in my sleep I feel joy from it.
Then I awaken and throw my feet over the side of the bed. I glance at my crooked arthritic toe and marvel at how it participated in powering me pain-free through that wheat field the night before. My knees creak and my back is stiff and as I sit there on the edge of the bed I close my eyes and try to remember the feeling of the wind in my face and the exhilaration of propelling myself along at such speed with so little effort. I try to remember the strength and power in my legs and that feeling of freedom.
My prayer throughout this journey is not for a skinny version of an old me. It is a prayer that I will develop a freedom in food. Not a freedom to eat whatever I want and never gain an ounce (which would only exacerbate my preoccupation with that chocolate-frosted cake donut) but rather a freedom from obsession with food. A freedom that will allow me to plan meals and stick to the plan without pining for the cream-sauce laden selections that contribute to my love-affair with elastic waistbands. A freedom that will help me see food as a fuel and not a trusted friend. A freedom that will grant me the energy to propel myself effortlessly into focusing on other things and not my next meal.
A freedom that can only come when I submit my every appetite to the Lord and trade my obsession with food for an obsession with Him.
You may wonder why I have to make this into a “God-thing.” Exercise a little discipline. Exercise a little, period. You might think “You know, Cat, if you’d just eat less and move more, you could find yourself sliding comfortably into those size 6 skinny jeans without gettin’ all 'Jesus crazy’ about the thing.” That works for a lot of people. And yes, it would even work for me. On the surface.
But I wouldn’t be free.
I don’t want to just trade an eating obsession for an obsession with not eating. Or an obsession with exercising (which is quite unlikely to happen in my case). Or an obsession with shopping or being a perfect mom or Facebook or Pinterest or gaming or any of the things that we seek out as a way to bring a little fun or meaning to our lives. None of those things are bad things. Some of them – exercise, especially – are good things, even necessary things. But obsession with any of them does not bring true freedom. Only slavery to a new thing.
- An obsession with not eating or exercise leads me into a preoccupation with my appearance.
- An obsession with shopping leads me to be fixated on my stuff.
- An obsession with being the perfect mom drives me to view my child as little more than an indicator of my own competence
Freedom from my corpulent backside does not necessarily mean I’m free.
Jesus.
In Made to Crave Lysa TerKuerst says:
God never intended for us to want anything more than we want Him. Just the slightest glimpse into His Word proves that. Look at what the Bible says about God’s chosen people, the Israelites, when they wanted food more than they wanted God: “They willfully put God to the test by demanding the food they craved” (Psalm 78:18).
I’m so tired of craving things that don’t matter. Of obsessing over things that hold no eternal significance. Of fixating on things that just continue to promote more “me” and less God.
I'm replacing my old cravings and my old obsessions with an earnest devotion to Jesus. When I want something "just to taste it," I read the Word instead. When I want to toss my grilled chicken roll-up for a cheeseburger and fries, I pray. When my emotions take me hostage and demand a ransom of ice cream, I get on my knees and cry out to God.
Therefore the Lord longs to be gracious to you,
And therefore He waits on high to have compassion on you.
For the Lord is a God of justice;
How blessed are all those who long for Him. Isaiah 30:18
God doesn't keep a tally sheet of my failures. When I call on Him, He doesn't remind me "Of the 38 times you were stressed out last month, you called Ben & Jerry's 37 times and Me only once."
He longs to be gracious to me. He waits to have compassion on me. And when I long for HIm, I am blessed.
God doesn't keep a tally sheet of my failures. When I call on Him, He doesn't remind me "Of the 38 times you were stressed out last month, you called Ben & Jerry's 37 times and Me only once."
He longs to be gracious to me. He waits to have compassion on me. And when I long for HIm, I am blessed.
In the Lord there is compassion. There is blessing. There is hope. And there is freedom!
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Stupid
The other morning I was getting dressed to take my 4-year-old son to preschool and he walked in, looked at me, poked me in the stomach and asked with genuine curiosity “Mommy, why are you so fat?”
I don’t remember the last time I felt so disappointed in myself.
I answered simply and honestly. “Well, Carson, sometimes Mommy eats too much and sometimes I don’t make good choices about what I eat. I’ve done that for a long time and now I’m fat.”
This seemed to satisfy him and he said “Oh” and after a brief pause “I’m not fat.”
I looked at his skinny little body, a testimony to his general disinterest in food. “I know, honey. You are just right the way you are.” And then a sudden thought occurred to me “Carson?”
“Yes, Mommy?”
“Please don’t EVER ask anyone else why they are fat or tell anyone else that they are fat.”
“Why?”
“Because some people don’t really like being fat. It’s embarrassing. And saying ‘You’re fat!’ to someone might hurt their feelings and make them sad.”
“Is it like saying ‘stupid’?” (the other thing I’ve said never to say to anyone).
“Yes, honey, it’s exactly like ‘stupid.’"
The worst thing about battling my weight is that I feel stupid. I know it’s my own fault. I am not one of these people for whom delusion actually allows them to say with great sincerity “no, really, I barely eat a thing, but I still don’t lose a pound.” As I glance at my Facebook page with its barrage of updates detailing workout regimens, pictures of so-and-so’s latest healthy dinner recipe, and check-ins at the local gym, I am thoroughly disgusted with myself. I am painfully aware that every unfortunate bulge on my body has been bought and paid for with countless instances of abandoned discipline and bad decision making.
What’s wrong with me? Why is my self-discipline so non-existent? Why can I not make “nothing tastes as good as thin feels” resonate with me? Even in the midst of weight loss success, it seems as if I’m just one rough day away from total complete relapse.
It was during my last briefly-blog-chronicled attempt at tackling this monster that I recognized the Spiritual component to my issues with weight. It was then that I recognized that my “go to” and my cravings need to be directed to something different. They need to be redirected toward God.
In addition, I also need to be very cognizant of the enemy’s role in derailing my efforts. Satan LOVES it when I feel stupid, because when I feel stupid I am very vulnerable to all the other lies he wants to whisper in my ear.
You’ll never really change.
You’re too weak to keep this up.
Even if you lose the weight you’ll still just be a fat girl in a thin girl’s body.
Satan will take advantage of my vulnerability and he will fuel the fires of self-loathing with lies. Feeling stupid keeps me powerless. It keeps me defeated. It keeps me paralyzed. It keeps me fat.
I need to take those lies and replace them with the truth of scripture.
You’ll never really change.
In all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. Romans 8:37
You’re too weak to keep this up.
But I say, walk by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh. Galatians 5:16
Even if you lose the weight you’ll still just be a fat girl in a thin girl’s body.
Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. 2 Corinthians 5:17
The truth of the Gospel is more powerful than any lie the enemy tries to tell. It's true - I can’t do this on my own. If I’m depending on self-discipline and willpower to put me into single-digit sizes, I best prepare myself for yet another disappointment. I cannot manage this in my own power.
But I don’t have to.
It’s not about me trying harder, doing better, or pulling myself up by my bootstraps until I find that "thin within" me. It’s about submitting my heart – and my appetite – to the Lord. It’s about pulling down the food-shaped idols once and for all and recognizing that they don’t deserve my worship, God does. And it’s about realizing that the power that raised Jesus from the grave is the power that can enable me to be victorious in this (Ephesians 1:19-20).
I leave you with this tonight. It is such a great encouragement to me!
Bless the Lord, O my soul,
and forget not all his benefits,
who forgives all your iniquity,
who heals all your diseases,
who redeems your life from the pit,
who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy,
who satisfies you with good
so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's. Psalm 103:2-5
I don’t remember the last time I felt so disappointed in myself.
I answered simply and honestly. “Well, Carson, sometimes Mommy eats too much and sometimes I don’t make good choices about what I eat. I’ve done that for a long time and now I’m fat.”
This seemed to satisfy him and he said “Oh” and after a brief pause “I’m not fat.”
I looked at his skinny little body, a testimony to his general disinterest in food. “I know, honey. You are just right the way you are.” And then a sudden thought occurred to me “Carson?”
“Yes, Mommy?”
“Please don’t EVER ask anyone else why they are fat or tell anyone else that they are fat.”
“Why?”
“Because some people don’t really like being fat. It’s embarrassing. And saying ‘You’re fat!’ to someone might hurt their feelings and make them sad.”
“Is it like saying ‘stupid’?” (the other thing I’ve said never to say to anyone).
“Yes, honey, it’s exactly like ‘stupid.’"
The worst thing about battling my weight is that I feel stupid. I know it’s my own fault. I am not one of these people for whom delusion actually allows them to say with great sincerity “no, really, I barely eat a thing, but I still don’t lose a pound.” As I glance at my Facebook page with its barrage of updates detailing workout regimens, pictures of so-and-so’s latest healthy dinner recipe, and check-ins at the local gym, I am thoroughly disgusted with myself. I am painfully aware that every unfortunate bulge on my body has been bought and paid for with countless instances of abandoned discipline and bad decision making.
What’s wrong with me? Why is my self-discipline so non-existent? Why can I not make “nothing tastes as good as thin feels” resonate with me? Even in the midst of weight loss success, it seems as if I’m just one rough day away from total complete relapse.
It was during my last briefly-blog-chronicled attempt at tackling this monster that I recognized the Spiritual component to my issues with weight. It was then that I recognized that my “go to” and my cravings need to be directed to something different. They need to be redirected toward God.
In addition, I also need to be very cognizant of the enemy’s role in derailing my efforts. Satan LOVES it when I feel stupid, because when I feel stupid I am very vulnerable to all the other lies he wants to whisper in my ear.
You’ll never really change.
You’re too weak to keep this up.
Even if you lose the weight you’ll still just be a fat girl in a thin girl’s body.
Satan will take advantage of my vulnerability and he will fuel the fires of self-loathing with lies. Feeling stupid keeps me powerless. It keeps me defeated. It keeps me paralyzed. It keeps me fat.
I need to take those lies and replace them with the truth of scripture.
In all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. Romans 8:37
But I say, walk by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh. Galatians 5:16
Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. 2 Corinthians 5:17
The truth of the Gospel is more powerful than any lie the enemy tries to tell. It's true - I can’t do this on my own. If I’m depending on self-discipline and willpower to put me into single-digit sizes, I best prepare myself for yet another disappointment. I cannot manage this in my own power.
But I don’t have to.
It’s not about me trying harder, doing better, or pulling myself up by my bootstraps until I find that "thin within" me. It’s about submitting my heart – and my appetite – to the Lord. It’s about pulling down the food-shaped idols once and for all and recognizing that they don’t deserve my worship, God does. And it’s about realizing that the power that raised Jesus from the grave is the power that can enable me to be victorious in this (Ephesians 1:19-20).
I leave you with this tonight. It is such a great encouragement to me!
Bless the Lord, O my soul,
and forget not all his benefits,
who forgives all your iniquity,
who heals all your diseases,
who redeems your life from the pit,
who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy,
who satisfies you with good
so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's. Psalm 103:2-5
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Overcoming Cream Sauce...Take 2
I am about to re-embark on the journey I began several years ago. A journey I started with great intentions and greater hopes, a journey that I fully intended would take me to a new place where special occasions requiring a nice dress and possibly a photo didn’t send me into fits of self-loathing. A place of understanding as to why my roughest days seem to end up in the bottom of a gallon of ice cream and my best days seem to justify the same, the only difference being whether or not I care that some of it ended up on my shirt. A journey that I never finished and in truth barely even started.
A journey that I intend will leave me 50 pounds lighter than I am right now.
I was a little hesitant to blog this time around. After my last failure I was feeling a little embarrassed. It was as if I’d planned a big cruise, bought the appropriate cruise-wear and brand new luggage, stocked up on Dramamine and magnetic bracelets and told my friends to meet me at the launch point. Then the day of the cruise arrives. The sun is shining, the mood is festive and I am on board the ship ready to embark on the adventure of a lifetime. I lean over the railing, catch the attention of my beloved friends and wave farewell with great enthusiasm as the horn blares it’s Bon Voyage and the ship pulls slowly away. Then quietly, I slip from the crowd at the rail and make my way to the far side of the ship where I climb into a little life boat, lower myself into the choppy sea, row to shore and slip into an all-you-can-eat seafood buffet. Meanwhile, my friends, who’d waved their supportive goodbyes, are envisioning my fantastic adventure, anxious to see the miraculous transformation that is sure to take place. Little do they know I didn’t even stay on the ship. I did the easier thing and made my way quietly back home. But this “home” is uncomfortable. This home is embarrassing. This home is a place of shame and self-loathing. But this home is familiar and I’ve been here so long that I hardly know how to rearrange the furniture, much less move to somewhere new.
It’s not really about the food. It’s about my “go to.” My “go to” is simply what I “go to” when I’m stressed or angry or sad or celebrating or bored. We all have a “go to.” Some of us exercise or run (why, oh why can’t that be mine!), some of us head out on the town for a night out looking for attention or physical intimacy, Some of us drink or use drugs, some of us bury ourselves in our work or our roles as a mom, and some of us eat. And eat. Aaaand eat.
In the past I’ve tried to resolve my weight problem by making better food choices and simply eating healthier foods in smaller portions. While this sensible approach certainly reduces my dress size it doesn’t resolve the “go to” problem that got me into double-digit sizes in the first place. As a result, I never manage to stick with the program. I can change my behavior for a little while, but since I’ve not changed my motivations, eventually the scale ticks up again and I end up right where I started.
It is at our “go to” that the physical intercepts the Spiritual. God made me with a “go to” but He wants my “go to” to be HIM and not french fries. He wants me in His Word when I’m stressed, He wants to fill me with His peace when I’m angry, He wants to meet me on my knees when I’m sad, to shower me with His love when I’m celebrating and He wants to fill those moments of boredom with something to satisfy my soul, not my taste buds.
There is another problem as well. It finally hit me during my last foray into weight-loss. I was doing some personal “brainstorming” on what I would “reward” myself with if I lost 20 pounds. A new dress? A new bag to haul my computer and books? A trip to the spa? Nope. You know what I came up with? You know what I wanted more than any of those things? A donut. A cake donut with chocolate frosting. I actually thought “When I lose twenty pounds I am going to go get 2 cake donuts with chocolate frosting and I’ll wash them down with an iced cappuccino.” Embarrassing. Pathetic. But it made me realize that what I am eating is really only a symptom of a bigger problem. Of all the things I could use to reward myself, nothing was as appealing to me as FOOD.
I have a serious craving problem and my butt is just one gigantic symptom of it.
Most weight-loss plans assume that we are fat because we simply don’t know when we are full. They suggest foods that make us feel fuller longer and offer healthy options to satisfy our cravings. Two things make this approach an epic fail in my world:
- If I want McDonald’s French fries, my hunger or fullness is pretty much irrelevant. And I can tell you that I have never been too full to thoroughly enjoy a piece of key lime pie.
- Whenever I hear someone say “If you crave something sweet, eat an apple” I want to punch them in the throat. When I am craving something sweet, an apple doesn’t cut it. Seriously. That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. I can eat a dozen apples but I’m not happy until I’ve eaten a pint of Ben and Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk ice cream. The whole pint. By myself. If that kind of craving doesn’t make any sense to you, then please don’t offer your advice on how to deal with them. You really have no idea what you’re talking about. (Do I sound bitter? Okay, maybe just a little. Maybe I’m just a little angry that I didn’t end up with the “constant exercise” craving).
When I discovered Lysa Terkeurst’s book Made to Crave I felt as if I’d finally discovered someone who understood my struggle. She says “Not once in my life have I ever craved a carrot stick” and she admits that she can feel completely full after a meal “and still crave chocolate pie for dessert.” THIS is someone who gets me. THIS is someone who gets me and has won her battle with food. THIS is someone who gets me, has won her battle with food, and recognizes that there is a significant Spiritual component to the thing.
She says:
I believe God made us to crave. Now before you think this is some sort of cruel joke by God, let me assure you that the object of our craving was never supposed to be food or other things people find themselves consumed by…Yes, we were made to crave – long for, want greatly, desire eagerly and beg for – God. Only God. But Satan wants to do everything possible to replace our craving for God with something else (p. 20-21)
I’ll be referencing Lysa’s book off and on throughout this journey because she has identified the heart of my problem with food. I crave it more than I crave God. I have given food a place of prominence in my life that should be reserved for God alone and until I turn that around my weight loss successes are going to continue to be only temporary.
So, I’m back on the proverbial ship and I’m in for another adventure. I’m sure there will be times that I’ll be tempted to jump into one of those life-boats and row for shore, but I think I’ve found my “want to” and I really, really don’t want to be at home in those big ol’ pants anymore. By the grace of God, I’ll need a new wardrobe by spring.
Till next time, Bon Voyage!
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