Current Thoughts

I am having a rummage sale so I am pretty much a prisoner in my husband's personal space, the garage. It's hard to be out here and not think about Brian since he is everywhere here. When we made the move to this house, it was important for Brian- a landlord, handyman and the family mechanic; to have a work space to call his own. He loves it out here and has a TV, stereo, heat and air conditioning making it really nice for having a rummage sale. I don't think much about garages until I drive by someone else's house with their garage door up and see what they "call" a garage that is really just an extra storage unit, full to the top with junk. It is then that I appreciate the fact that I can get into my semi warm vehicle every morning to go to the gym, take groceries directly into the house without getting wet and have an extra refrigerator for food and drinks. Brian takes pride in keeping his garage clean and tidy, much like his life. He is a good and thoughtful man that loves his family and even his garage space reflects that.
From where I am seated, writing this- I can look around this space and see the things that are important to him. Over my head, there are several small posters of his favorite musicians because Brian loves music. I always tell him that he is the "fun" one in our marriage. I am the "serious, no nonsense, tell it like it is" one, and he is all festivals, popcorn and tickles. I tell him all the time that being married to him is just so much fun. For instance, he called me from work last week and said, "There is a band I want to hear downtown tonight- do you feel like going out?" Me? Want to go out? You BET!!!! I had been cooped up in the house all day cleaning so I got cleaned up, dressed and as soon as he got home- away we went; on a whim, no plan. That is how he is with things like that and I love it. We had so much fun and talked about how good the band was for days. It was funny because we thought they would have food so we didn't eat any dinner but when we got there all they had were snacks and beer so we both ate 2 snack packs of Lay's Potato Chips and drank Mad Anthony beer. It was perfect and I am sure that nothing else would have tasted that good. I just love being with him that way.
Next, there is a sign and a license plate. The sign says "Luke Skywalker" and it hung in our youngest son's room for 10 plus years. Brian loves his boys. He can't stand to part with it because it symbolizes Luke's childhood. Luke in his room building models, taking things apart to see how they work (he is now an Electrician's apprentice) sleeping peacefully and eventually with his little Lucy lying beside him on his bed. Brian sees all those things and more. When Luke was born Brian was so excited that the nurses asked me if it was our first boy. "Nope," I said, "That is just how he is." "You are a lucky girl." She replied.
She has no idea. I think that people are skeptical of how genuinely happy we appear. The other night we were with friends and the band starting playing "Pride and Joy" by Stevie Ray Vaughn and Brian started "singing" it to me- in his own silly way. He commented that people were just staring at him and smiling. I remarked that I think people don't believe that we are really this happy together but take my word for it- thirty years with this man isn't enough. I am praying for at least 50 more.
The license plate says, "I love Lucy" and it used to be on the front of my 2 door, Grand Am. I got rid of the car when my granddaughter (ironically named Lucy) was born because I couldn't get her car seat in and out easily. Lucy is our first granddaughter and she has changed our lives in wonderful ways. The plate hangs under the Luke Skywalker sign for obvious reasons since she is Luke's daughter. This is Brian's way.
Under the sign and plate is a small post-it note from our son Jordan. The note says :"Thanks for help with the yard Dad. Take it!!"
The "IT" was a twenty dollar bill that Jordan insisted on giving his dad after he had gone over and helped him with some things in his yard, 5 years ago. The yard belongs to Jordan's first house that he purchased right after he married his wife, Chelsea. They are symbols of his manhood; the house AND the twenty dollar bill. A good deed that his dad didn't have to do but did and money that didn't have to be paid but was. Brian was so moved by the fact that Jordan had given him that money that I don't know how long it was before he spent it.
In fact, I am not sure he ever did. Brian is so proud of his boys and he loves being their dad.
Next I see the can crusher. The can crusher is significant because we save cans for one of our adopted children that has a hard time in life and collects cans and metals to help support his family. We were his youth leaders over 20 yrs ago and he is still an active part of our family. Brian saves everything he can to help him and keeps it in a spot where he can easily retrieve it whenever he needs it whether we are home or not. This is also Brian's way. He is kind and helpful beyond belief . We have rental properties and anyone that is his tenant is one of the luckiest renters in Fort Wayne because he is the best. Our adopted children are lucky as well because he would drop anything to help them whenever they need him, much like our own biological children. Even if that thing is buying a can crusher which is small to us but huge to our adopted son- to him it says love and that is accurate because that is exactly what Brian meant.
Actions speak louder than words sometimes, lots of times with Brian. He is also the quiet one. One of us has to be.
Right next to the can crusher are two very different things that hang on the same hook. An old art smock that has our daughter's name painted on it and her dried Bridal bouquet.
I am not sure how old that smock is but I am guessing it is from 3^rd or 4^th grade, so it has seen better days- especially since its home is the garage. Cherith is her Daddy's girl and he loves her completely. When she was born we would just sit and stare at her because we couldn't believe that we had made her, she was just so beautiful. Last night I was showing something to Brian on Facebook and he saw that my screensaver on the laptop was Cherith and her daughter, Sage. "She is so beautiful- isn't she??" He asked quietly.
Some things never change.
On the day she got married I was worried he wouldn't be able to hold it together but he did really good- nerves can be a blessing sometimes. The pictures of their Father-Daughter dance together are so special. When I look at them I can remember him dancing around the room with her in his arms as a baby. She shares his appreciation of music and has the voice and rhythm that he wishes he had. The way he loves her is breath taking. I am sure that there are not many young women that have been adored in their lives as much as Cherith has. That may be because she is our only daughter as much as anything else, but I also think it is just because Brian knows how to love us SO well.
I have said before that if women were loved half as much as I have been in these last 30 years there would be less divorce and more babies in the world. Brian knows how to make his girls feel like nothing else matters but us. It is a gift he has and our daughter has blossomed under it. He is such a good daddy- and I can't see that smock or dried bouquet coming down anytime soon.
There is also an old pair of Luke's skateboarding shoes on a rack, a wooden chicken that won second place in a Science Fair for Jordan (if you pull on its tail it lays an egg…. really), wooden shelves that hold crock pots and party ware that I don't have room for in the house (my allotted space in his world), tools, brooms and projects the kids have done over the years that I would of thrown out long ago but now, I am so happy he salvaged. I have learned over the years that Brian's emotions are largely connected to objects. His music, his babies, his life- are all laid out in this garage and in that way, so is mine.
When I push the button for the garage door to open and his truck isn't here, my heart sinks. I hate coming home to a house without him in it. When he is out here piddling around, there is nothing I enjoy more than quietly coming through the door connected to our house and watching him for a couple minutes before he knows I am there. Usually he is in his Red Wing work boots with the music pumped up loud, bent over  something at his work bench.
It is those moments that I love to wrap my arms around him and lay my cheek on his back and hear him say, "Hey, baby." He always will say it just like that too. Sometimes he will add, "I am really dirty." and chuckle, but I don't mind. I love him dirty or clean and in this space. In my house. In my life. With our children's things around us, ready for the next 50 or so years.
These are the thoughts that flood my mind today, while my rummage sale is slow and I have drank enough black coffee to sink a small ship. It may be more than any of you wanted to know, but if you know me that is no surprise. I am who I am, I say what I mean and I love with all my heart. Whatever happens to me in this life, I hope what people remember is how much I loved my husband and how a rummage sale one summer made me write a blog that talked about it.
Maybe the next time you have a rummage sale you will have time to think about what is important to you too.
Those are thoughts worth thinking in my book. But maybe that is just me.

Born To Worship

All my life I have felt called to something bigger then myself. Because of that; I have felt lost for much of my almost 50 years, always searching for that tiny shred of significance, that one meaningful thing I was supposed to do. Many of the things I felt called to like home schooling, jobs and volunteer work have done more to impact my own personal growth than anybody else's. It seems as though through them, all I have accomplished is finding more things within myself that need work. I need to be kinder, gentler and more humble. Speak less, listen more and look people in the eye. Be more generous with what I have whether time or possessions, buy less of what I don't need and take better care of what God has already blessed me with. In my supposedly teaching someone else, there is always a lesson for me. Always an area of personality or temperament that needs shaping, always 4 fingers pointing back at me if I direct one to someone else. To say that God isn't finished with me yet is the understatement of a thousand lifetimes and living with someone as nearly perfect as my husband doesn't help much either. He is a constant mirror reflecting back all my harsh words and impertinence with his words of mercy and grace. Always mercy. Brian is the great giver of grace and mercy. He is the one that taught me what unconditional love really means. Throughout our marriage he has repeated one phrase to me endlessly; "Mercy, Jama. Mercy." It's really hard to not feel lacking in the presence of all that humble grace and if not for his undying devotion to showing me how much he loves me every day- I would have probably melted into a big soggy puddle by now. Actually, the opposite has happened. I have grown under the protective covering of my husband into someone that most days- I almost like. I still need lots of the kind of work that seems to be never ending; but the best thing about Brian's love is that it has also been a model of how my heavenly Father loves me. And because of that I realize that no matter how much work I still need to do- God's mercy and grace is also a never ending presence in my life. As husbands go, the standard for husbands to love their wives as Christ loves the church wasn't lost on Brian and he has it down pat. There is only one other place I get that "love you like no other" love and that is my grand girls-Lucy, Sage and Leah.

Leah spent the night with us last night and to be honest we mostly just watched her play all night. I doubt Brian or I either one could tell you much of what was on T.V. until she went to bed. She is just starting to talk so we had her trying to say all kinds of words most of which came out sounding like "Doggy" because that is her favorite. I sat on the floor with her and I can't tell you how many times she just came over to me and wrapped her arms real tight around my neck and squeezed. I got lots of kisses too and Papa was SO jealous because he just got a couple J It was one of those nights I know we will file away in our memory banks because soon she will be chasing Hurley like Lucy does and hiding away to have a tea party in the playroom with him and the dollies. We take as many of these offered kisses as our cheeks and lips can hold because all too soon we will be begging for them. We are smart now because we have been down this road three times with our own kids and we know the ropes, so we sing, play peek-a-boo behind the patio door curtain a million times, clap our hands and pretend we don't know where her belly button went- until she is yawning and rubbing her eyes and it's Night Night time. Sweet. Precious. Wonderful Leah. Her dad, Jordan was the child that would say things out of the blue that knocked your socks off. Like, "I love you Mom" when you were washing the dishes. Or, "You are pretty Mommy" or "You smell so good- like cookies" (he actually said this when he was about 8 years old) or "I am going to marry you when I get big." He said that A LOT, the marriage thing… and no amount of telling him I was already married to his dad would deter him. When I was pregnant with Luke I was so sick I could barely get off the couch without tossing my salad… Jordy was not even two years old but he would lie beside me for hours and not move, even when his sister was playing all around us. In fact, if I was sick at any time during his growing up years, he was a soldier for my cause; checking on me and taking control of the house if his daddy wasn't home. I see that same sprout of compassion in his daughter. She is only 16 months old and already she has his quiet, thoughtful ways. I feel for them when she is grown because I had a beautiful, compassionate daughter too and it can be a challenge. You have to teach them how to balance that compassion with wisdom so they don't bring home a houseful of strays… which in this case means the two legged teenage boy version and not the 4 legged, peeing on the floor type. It's tricky but since he was also his sister's greatest champion, he has had some experience in that arena which will be to his advantage. Believe it or not, sometimes the peeing is the easier problem of the two because all you need is a roll of paper towels and some disinfectant. It is much harder to put your daughter's heart back together.

This morning Brian had to work so Miss Leah and I headed off to church by ourselves. This was after I had to wake Sleeping Beauty up from a dead sleep at 8 a.m. Leah is the only grandchild I have had to wake up for EVERYTHING. This, she also gets from her father.

She was so excited when worship started her eyes were huge and her eyebrows were as high as her hairclip. She clapped her hands and "sang" at the top of her lungs. I know I am partial but it was so dang cute. I am glad they didn't abruptly stop the song for some reason because whatever little diddy she was singing was LOUD. I was so tickled I could barely sing myself and just started watching her face and I am so glad I did because I might have missed what happened next.

Without any prompting and without anyone else around us doing it (not even me) she shot her right arm straight up, hand palm out. She held it there while she sang and then this joy came over her face and she looked toward the ceiling and smiled so big I couldn't see her eyes. Her face lit up in rapture. It all only took a couple minutes but all I could think of was what is she seeing- Angels dancing around? Does she sense the presence of Jesus? Is He smiling at her? Whispering her name? As I am pondering these thoughts and searching her little bewildered face, the Lord spoke these words into my heart:

The rocks will cry out.

And then, I started to cry.

I thought about my own kids raising their tiny hands in church; child-like faith so pure and natural. Lucy playing her tambourine in service, the prayer she prayed at bedtime the other night during her sleep over: "Lord Jesus, I. Love. You. Amen." So simple and complete Sage as an infant, watching her mommy and daddy on the platform leading worship and now at 2 years old singing songs nobody thought she knew, already so musically gifted. Already so born to worship. On the drive home I was thinking about writing this blog and also thinking that I really need to write about the next chapter of Made to Crave like I am supposed to and not get side-tracked writing about my cute grandbabies but then it really hit me, one of those A-ha moments in life… this IS about Made to Crave. We are BORN to worship Him. BORN to crave Him. Nobody had to tell Leah to raise her hand and worship, it is IN her. It is in all of us, it's exposure to the world that takes it away. There is an old teaching about sin that you don't have to teach kids how to sin because we are born with it in us- the example being we don't have to teach kids how to lie, they just know how. I used to think that was so unfair until I married my husband and had someone choose to love me. Choose to be faithful to me. Choose ME. Then I understood how God wants it to be with us. He wants us to CHOOSE to do what is right once we are old enough to understand what right is. Choose to love Him. Choose HIM. It's so much nicer to be that one that is chosen. I see that example in grandparenting. My own kids kind of had to love me, sorry kids but it's true. You see it all the time in the world. Parents can do just about everything and never lose the love of their child- even to the point of death. But with the grandkids, well- it is somewhat more complicated. I am not their only grandma. I am Gigi, but there are also Nanas and Mimis. I do what I think is right by the girls but I am never going to be the "give them everything they want" Grandma, it just isn't me. Still, they keep on loving me consistently. Running into my arms and saying those delicious things that make my heart swell solely with the thought of them.

Just the other night I had pulled out our couch bed, layered it with fluffy blankets and pillows, and put in a movie for a freshly bathed Lucy, because this is something she loves to do. She snuggled up to me to eat some popcorn and Raisinettes and said, "I was hoping today would be this kind of day." So natural and so right from her heart. At that moment- she made me feel that special kind of chosen love.

 

In Luke 19, Jesus was making his entry into Jerusalem on the back of a young donkey. The people were ecstatic because he was coming into the city and they knew what wonderful things he had done and had heard him teach. They had no idea that in just a few short days this same man would hang on a cross because the Pharisees continued to grow more fearful of losing their influence with the local population:

Verse 36- "As he rode along the people were spreading their cloaks on the road; (37) and now as he was approaching the slope of the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of his disciples began to praise God aloud with joy for all the mighty things they had seen (38) They proclaimed: Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord. Peace in heaven and glory in the highest! (39) Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, "Teacher, rebuke your disciples." (Note: they were ticked off because they were not only giving him the kingly honor but also because they were worshipping him and they felt that was blasphemy)

BUT…. Get this….

(40) He said in reply, "I tell you if they keep silent the STONES WILL CRY OUT."

Remember what the Lord whispered to my heart while Leah was worshipping? The rocks will cry out.

You see, you don't have to teach a child to worship because it is born IN them. We were made to worship Him. He was made to BE worshipped. So much so that his very presence DEMANDS worship. He didn't say that he would tell the rocks to cry out- he just said they WOULD. Fact. Done. If we refuse to give him the worship he deserves, the rocks will cry out. The 16 month olds will throw their hands in the air and raise jubilant faces to the sky. Why because someone told them to? No, because it is natural to them. They haven't been in the world long enough to be ruined by it. To have someone put doubt in their heads about the existence of God. Someone to say, maybe Jesus was just a good person and not the Savior. Maybe he didn't raise from the dead and the disciples did just hide his body. Because you know that is where the rubber meets the road, don't you? History proves Jesus existed, that isn't where the question is. The question is was he who he said he was. God in flesh, sacrificed for the forgiveness of our sins. I heard a priest speaking one day about how all the apostles were martyred, dying horrible torturous deaths because they would not recant their story and belief that Jesus was crucified and rose from the dead. His main point was this: "People die all the time for the truth. The truth is easy to die for. It's why we go to war and sacrificially give our lives for the truths this country was founded on BUT how many people would die: for a lie? Would you allow yourselves to be tortured and murdered if you knew the cause you stood for was a lie? How many dips in boiling oil would it take for you to tell someone where the bones of Jesus of Nazareth were hidden? Yet, no one ever did. All the disciples allowed themselves to be martyred because they knew the truth and could not back down from it."

Wow.

Yet how many of us have let something come into our lives and cause doubt to sprout up where the truth once lived? Was it really that important that we let something draw us away from the one place where someone will always love us unconditionally? It's not about a church or people. They fail. It's about Leah's face in church today. Her urge to worship even before she really understands what it is. It's about the child like faith of a 4 year old that only knows that she loves Jesus and He loves her and that is all that really matters. I can tell you this too; at almost 50 years old, that two-way love is all that really makes sense in the world. We weren't born to figure every heartache and mistake out, we were only born to worship. The only beings created with a God-Void. The only ones Made to Crave HIM.

I don't know what Leah saw or felt today. Maybe nothing more than shiny lights and the smiling, tear streaked face of her Gigi. But I know what I felt when I looked at her. Hope. Hope that maybe, finally I DO know what it is I am called to do. Maybe it is just to help them meet Jesus in a world that will try and distract them. Help them understand that craving born within them.

And if that is it, OH, my sweet Jesus… what a privilege that will be.

 

 

 

 

My Daughter’s Car

It seems like only yesterday that we were ending a home school year. The kids would be gathered around our dining room table finishing up their studies before lunch, maybe getting ready to head to a part-time job or some other type of activity. Our little poodle would be cuddled up on my son Jordan's lap and they would all be laughing and chatting about the upcoming summer. The windows would be open much like they are today and the sky would be full of song birds, with the smell of Spring and the anticipation of Easter in the air. I have so many wonderful memories of those homeschool years and of all the hard decisions that I made during their childhood, that is one that I know I got right. It all went by at such lightning speed that it is almost hard to grasp and as it slips further and further into our past, it brings mixed emotions of achievement and melancholy.

It has only been a few short months since we put our little Phoebe- a tiny black, 15 year old poodle; to rest. She wasn't even two pounds when we brought her home and we marveled at how we had purchased packages of hamburger that were bigger then she was! We carried her around on pillows and she slept with the boys, eventually migrating to Jordan alone and became a constant fixture at his side throughout the rest of her life, eventually loving his wife Chelsea almost as much as her beloved boy. She rode with me every day to pick them up at school and when we decided to home school she slept on Jordan's lap every day, without fail as he did his studies. She was sturdier then she looked and loved everyone even the constant parade of teenagers who eventually became young adults- that frequented our home. This past year; when we made the decision to put her to rest, she was incontinent and crying constantly. Knowing she was miserable made the decision final but not any easier. For Brian and I, it was like letting go of a part of our lives that we cherished- our children's childhood; and losing her was harder on all of us then any of us thought possible. I still miss her today and think about how she loved Spring in her later years because she finally felt warm after the long winter and she would run circles in the new grass until she was dizzy.

Our sweet little Phoeb, how we loved her.

 

Just yesterday we lost another long standing member of our family. One that announced childhood was over for our daughter and a new adventure had begun: her first car. I remember the day Brian took me to see it. Four thousand dollars seemed like an awful lot of money 10 years ago, to be spending on a "first" car for any of the kids, but he was worried about his girl and wanted something reliable for her. It was a little white, 4 door Ford Escort. Not brand new, but not too old either. It had low mileage and Brian had deemed it safe for his baby girl's first adventures in driving. What could I say? We brought it home and Cherith was delighted. She became my taxi for her brothers. Never turning down an opportunity to drive, she took them everywhere. Jordan and Luke also took some spins in the Escort early on in their own driving years before they moved on to more manly cars, but Cherith drove that Escort until she married BJ. She backed into a friend's car (we miss you Nicole- our Guardian Angel), went on some road trips, chauffeured countless girlfriends, her cousins and friends of her brothers around and took my Mom in it to pick out her cat at the SPCA (who has outlived the car) on her 17^th birthday. Probably Brian's favorite memories of that car will always be one of his most recent ones. When Cherith and BJ decided to start a family, BJ agreed to buy Cherith a small SUV. With that, Cherith presented the well-worn car back to her Dad. He had tears in his eyes when he told me about it and laid the keys on our kitchen counter. The car he so carefully selected for his precious girl, that had kept her safe from harm and delivered her and her brothers to many destinations safely- was back in our driveway… but not for long.

Soon, Luke's car died and he needed a way to get back and forth to work. The little Escort was on the road again.

Oh, there were lots of parts replaced, oil changes and tinkering. But she puttered on for a full two years more for Luke and Sarah- that was until this past week.

Luke was dropping Lucy off last Monday and when he went to leave, the Escort made an awful noise and just gave up. He tried several times to start her up but to no avail. He took our extra vehicle and headed off to school but it didn't take long for his dad to access that the little car was probably beyond saving. Luke and his friend Brendan (Moo, Mama loves you J ) came back twice and tried to work on her but she was just done.

She had given us 10 years of her road life, and a hundred thousand miles, give or take-and she just couldn't do it anymore. The boys and Brian pushed her behind the fence by our house and closed the gate. Drank a beer in her honor and sadly said good-bye. Later when the boys left (Travis had arrived and joined in on the Car Funeral) and Brian came in the house we talked about how losing the little white car made us feel. It's funny how the silliest things can make you mourn days gone by- but loosing that car, choked us both up.

You see, Phoebe is gone now and Jordan's little girl; the one that now occupies his lap- is asleep in the other room right now.

Now instead of Cherith's car pulling into my driveway with the music cranked up and her singing at the top of her lungs, her daughter is running into my arms and singing Baa Baa Black Sheep to me.

The little car that safely transported Luke to work, Lucy to preschool and Sarah to the grocery- will never carry their new baby, Nora anywhere.

Soon, someone will tow the little car away and with it a little bit more of our past. Our sweet, sweet past full of home school and dreams, dance class and ball games. Trips to Taco Bell and Dairy Queen and to rescue a raggedy, abandoned Tortoise Shell cat and give her a better life then she ever deserved. Much like I feel today. Living a life that is so much more than I ever deserved. Still loving my grown kids and cuddling their little ones. Listening for Moo-Moo and Travis's voice coming in my door for a quick hug or special Hello.

Watching my husband tear up over the end of a little white car and the way it makes him think about a sweet 16 year old girl.

 

Goodbye, little car and thank you for keeping them all safe. You are a permanent part of our family tree.

Chap 4 MTC- Friends Don’t Let Friends Eat Without Thinking

 

 

Well, I am alive after the worst sinus-cold-flu-thingy I have ever had in my whole life! I had it for a couple days, got better then it back fired and came back with a vengeance. Last Friday was my first "normal" feeling day. I wish I could say that I lost a few pounds along the way but my body is so screwed up that the less I eat, the more it hangs on to everything. So it was 2 weeks full of No Good Very Bad Days with not even a weight loss to make it bearable. Brian was in Florida for the worst part which left me extremely emotional and self-reflective to be alone and sick, then when he came back he couldn't even kiss me because we were so afraid he would get it too which made me needy and sulky. Egads! I am SOOOO glad that mess is over. I am back to kissing my husband and the grand girls and hopefully; back to blogging semi-normally.

This chapter in Made to Crave was about accountability and I have to admit that this was probably the hardest chapter for me to swallow (no pun intended) in the whole book. The very thought of a friend or mentor talking to me about my food choices just about makes me break out in a cold sweat. I talked in a previous blog about some negative experiences with a friend that constantly talked about weight and food and how horrible that made me feel about myself. Since those years were the very height of my eating disorder; a comment that was not well thought out could send me on a purging binge for days. It wasn't entirely her fault but because of that time period in my life there are very few people that I feel comfortable talking about weight or food with. It takes an immense amount of trust for me to be vulnerable in that area. Here is an example of what I mean. My best friend Dawn knows everything about me. All of the pretty and the not so pretty parts and even the parts that make me look like a Saint but really stem from my own insecurities. She knows my past, my present and my dreams for the future. To say I trust her is only a fraction of how I really feel about her. She is my sister, my confidant and my rock when I am faltering either emotionally or physically. She knows the things I am afraid to tell anyone else and she knows what my heart is saying when I don't say anything at all. She is a Major in the Air Force, a RN at a prominent hospital and is helping raise 3 grandchildren plus get her youngest child through graduation and college so we don't get to spend as much time together right now as we have in the past but it doesn't change anything. It takes a while for me to get "there" with someone, so I don't let go easily but even with aaaaalllll of that- weight and food are still hard for me to talk about with her. She doesn't know about this particular situation and it will kill her when I write about it but it is a perfect example of what I am talking about. One day, we were talking casually about weight. She had just gotten back from deployment where she is fed a lot of starchy and often strange food that is filling and energizing because of the work they have to do, but not always figure friendly.(As a side note I should add here that Dawn has always been smaller then I am. She has an athletic build and WAY more muscle) Like I said before, she KNOWS my past so we rarely talk about weight or food but we were a little this day because she was feeling out of shape and I always feel out of shape so I could relate. I mentioned that I needed to get serious again too because I had gained back all the weight I had lost in Weight Watchers several years ago. My weight is the pink elephant in the room anyway- it's impossible not to notice if you have known me at least 3 years that I gained back the weight I worked so hard to get off. I don't even know how it happened or technically what went wrong but probably just too much Happy in my Meal, if the truth is to be told.

She said something so small and so innocent that it almost went by undetected until my extra-sensitive-food-issue-emotions picked it up on their radar and honed in. All she said was this:

"What's going on? I mean, you usually eat pretty healthy don't you?"

I don't remember what I answered but I remember what she asked because it took me weeks to get past it. The fact of the matter was that I did KNOW what I should be eating and doing, but somewhere along the way I had stopped eating and doing it. I had stopped going to the gym, which had never really helped my weight loss but did appear to help me start my day off thinking about being healthy and in turn, help me make better food choices- so that is where I started, with getting my butt out of bed and going back to the gym. The food choices followed and I am slowly getting back to where I was, so I guess in some ways the words from a trusted friend did get me thinking clearly again even though I am sure she did not intend for that to happen. I know she didn't, but I also know she does care about me and she IS a nurse so she also knows what the extra weight does to me emotionally and physically. That is something I am sure she can't separate herself from as she watches people our own age wheeled into her E.R. every week with health issues complicated or directly caused by obesity. But to her credit, she treats me with kid gloves because that too shows not only her love for me, but her thoughtfulness for my feelings and emotions because I am afraid that the fact remains that if you are weight or food obsessed; we will never be real friends or be connected in any real way. Now there are people that I am helping along the sometimes complicated road of their own disorders whether it's about too much food or the lack thereof and I am NOT talking about that kind of food/weight obsession.

I am talking about the person that goes around scrutinizing what they and everybody around them eats.

The girl with the 5 pounds to loose over her ideal body weight that can talk about little else.

The guy that feels that he has to be the Table Monitor at every function that involves food or the Exercise Expert in every discussion.

I am sure you know the type.

Not only is it self- seeking and self- elevating but it's incredibly thoughtless. These are the people that I wish would wake up with 10 extra pounds that will not budge even after every effort. Maybe then they would learn a little humility or sympathy for someone else's journey but usually these type of people are so engrossed in themselves, the mirror is all they see, It's this sect of humanity, if you can even call it that- that makes it almost impossible for people like me to be accountable to a single person. I hope that isn't you too, but if it is there are some ways around it. I had a lot of success with Weight Watchers. In fact, if I could afford it- I think would go back. I loved the meetings and they really helped me stay focused once I got past someone else seeing my weight each week. But it was very private and they were very discreet, which I appreciated. I could actually probably do it myself again since I have all of the literature, but without the meetings (at least for me) it loses a little of its punch. Besides, I have trouble doing the same thing again if I failed or relapsed. Too bad I couldn't make that work with eating the wrong foods. The human psyche is so unfair sometimes, isn't it? That said, I never met one-on-one with a representative, like they suggest-to discuss goals, strategies and plans. Just like the free personal trainer at the gym, I can't bring myself into that one-on-one relationship. I know me, I won't keep going back.

The other thing that works for some people is journaling or a combination of things that include journaling. In journaling you are at least accountable to yourself and you can read back through to find established patterns of weak spots in your days or see trigger foods that set you in a tail spin diet-wise. Others find that groups such as Over Eaters Anonymous or church- based group weight loss "clubs" help them. The group atmosphere can seem less scary and not as much pressure to speak up unless you are ready and comfortable. After all support is a good thing and can be a useful tool in helping you reach your goals but the same thing doesn't work for everyone. No matter how much wisdom the Pound Police think their badgering bestows, each individual has to find their own way to push back from the table a little sooner or less often. Everybody fights their battles differently, inwardly and outwardly. And the more compassionate those people are that have already won theirs, the faster others will figure out their own battle plan.

I am not sure I totally agree with everything Lysa said in this chapter. I think for some people, on-on-one accountability might be more torture then treatment but I do know this…

The Pound Police might be surprised at how much a little genuine humility would accomplish if they would just put their mirrors down. A little kindness goes a long, long way.

 

MTC Chapt 2: Maggots in Waiting

I haven't blogged for a week! We went out of town with friends for a couple days then when I came back I started coming down with a bad head cold and haven't really even posted on Facebook more than a couple words here and there. I am still struggling with my sinuses but I didn't want to let more time go by without blogging on Made To Crave, because I know that some of you are reading the book and following the blog so here goes J

I am discovering more and more that I haven't had your run of the mill experience with my eating disorder and I am very grateful for that. I was listening to my pastor teach this morning via the internet at Lifebridge.cc (since I was still sick) and he was talking about being totally healed and recovered once we are praying to be delivered from something. He used alcoholism as an example but I think it can apply to all areas in our life where we have prayed for deliverance whether it is an eating disorder, an addiction or an illness. We have to believe in and expect change when we pray to be delivered from something. I suffered from depression so dark for many years that I used to actually pray that I would just get sick and die so that Brian and the kids would have a chance to be happier with someone else as their wife and mom. I didn't want to have an accident or kill myself because that would be too hard on them, but I thought if I could get sick and die a little slower they would be more prepared… I can't even believe it now that I actually prayed and sincerely thought like that but I did. I felt so low and so bad about myself that I really wanted to die. The day God delivered me from that depression, I was sitting in a hospital room where I was being treated for what they had originally thought was a nervous breakdown but ended up being low blood sugar. I had been journaling about what I was feeling and the presence of God came into that room so strongly, I can't even explain it to you. For the first time in a long time, I felt important to God and His plan. I knew at that moment He loved me and wanted me, flaws and all. I stayed 5 days in a room that was supposed to be a double occupancy but nobody ever checked in with me and I know now that was God ordained so it would be just me and Him. I needed to get to the place where I remembered that I was part of a bigger plan and that He would never leave me. When I left that hospital I was never the same. I had got down and dirty with God during that time. I had told Him all my hopes, dreams and fears. I had some follow up counseling sessions after I was discharged but I only went to a couple because I knew right away that they wanted me to do things that I didn't need to do which was basically rehash every event from my childhood until the present day and dredge up all the hurts, old and new. To me forgiveness means leaving some things in your past, leaving some things buried. Buried is dead after all. You dig that up and all it does is stink and attract maggots… and nothing good can come from that. Nothing. So against every one with a PHD's better judgment, I discharged myself from the therapist's care and walked away and I have to be honest with you, I never regretted it. God had done more in those 5 days than any counseling sessions could have accomplished. Do I believe in counseling?? Sure. I told you in other posts that I was in a group counseling atmosphere for 5 years for other matters; I just believe as Christians we need to know when enough is enough. After all we say we are new creatures in Christ but when does that take over all our old garbage? We say we are whole with new hearts and new lives so why do we still want to live in the coffin of our pasts? We say we are healed but we still tell everyone that will listen about our aches and pains…… I have an idea, let me share it with you- one word….

Retreat.

That's right: Retreat. The Catholics believe in doing this and I think it is genius. Once a year, go someplace quiet and get alone with God for a couple days. Can't do a couple? How about 24 hours? Go to a park and stay in one of their hotels or cabins during an off season and stay 24 hours; one night and a part of 2 days. Somewhere close by so you don't have to drive all day to get there. Turn off the TV, put your cell away, get out your bible and retreat into a quiet place with God. Tell Him what is going on. Tell Him you fears, hopes and dreams. You can fast or treat yourself to a couple good meals, whatever your soul needs. I think that is what happened to me in the hospital even though it was unintentional. I finally got away from all the distractions and quiet enough to really hear what God was trying to say to me. When it was just me and Him, I could hear Him. I don't recommend almost having a nervous breakdown to get to that place, but God has a way of using what the enemy intends to destroy us and turn it for His good use. When I was first admitted they wouldn't let me talk to my family for 24 hrs. then it was another 24 before I could have a visit from them. That first visit, my husband carried my youngest son out crying for his Mama. He was only 3 and he couldn't understand why I wasn't at home. I watched his little face crumble when Brian told him it was time to go and to kiss Mommy good-bye. I knew at that moment I had been wrong about leaving them because it could never be easy; whether illness or accident. I was it seemed, all they wanted too. Flaws and all.

The world makes it way too easy to explain our faults away to addiction or illness or rotten childhoods. We long for someone or somewhere to point a finger at and lay blame. It has to be someone or some "things" fault that we are essentially flawed human beings with addictive personalities and fragile bodies. Surely, it can't be because of choices we ourselves have made. Surely, the finger shouldn't be pointed at us…. should it? When are we delivered? When are we healed? That was what my pastor was saying this morning when he stated we shouldn't be telling people we are alcoholics if we are Christians that don't abuse alcohol anymore. What have we been delivered from if not all those old things that chained us down? How can I still suffer from depression and an eating disorder after that "A-Ha" moment with God in a hospital room? Isn't that a slap in His face if I still see myself the same old way? Is the reason we don't claim deliverance and healing because it is just so much easier to lay the blame on those things instead of where it really lies? Are we really sick or are we just too lazy to run the vacuum cleaner? Is it easier to hang onto the hurt of abuse than forgive and move forward? Do we use that hurt as a shelf for our excuses? You are probably saying that I don't understand but sadly; I do. The battle begins and ends in our emotions. I have fought it and still fight it; almost daily.

This chapter in MTC was about replacing our cravings with good things. Lysa used prayer as her replacement and stated that brick-by-brick she laid a path of prayer where her old eating habits once were; while some people use exercise or healthier choices like vegetables or fruit as their bricks. For me, it is just more basic than that. For me it's about that first wrong choice that triggers that craving and that culprit is carbs. If I start my day with a carb (sweet or unsweet) of some sort, then I start a landslide that follows me most of the day. If I pair that carb with some protein, I do much better- like whole wheat toast and peanut butter for example. I know what my triggers are and it's up to me to change the chain of events. You better bet I pray about it too. I really do. But the initial choice is mine to make and like so many people have been so gracious to remind me, there are so many more important things than worrying about weight and what I am eating every day, so if I can start my day off better then hopefully I will have a leg up mentally too because I will know I did what I could to stop the cycle. After all I am not bulimic anymore; I have been set free. That old habit is dead and buried and full of maggots, and that is where it needs to stay. If I keep re-animating it my life starts to look like an old black and white re-run of Dawn of the Dead and even though I love old horror films; that is a not a side of me I delight in resuscitating.

It stinks and I don't want to go back there…. now THAT would be really depressing and since I have been delivered from that too- the maggots will just have to wait.

MTC: Chapt. 1 What is Really Going On Here?

We crave what we eat. Case in point: the last 16 or so hours.

Yesterday was Valentine's Day and I wanted to make something special for Brian. We are going out of town this weekend and I knew we would be eating out and spending money so, I planned a nice evening in with candle-lit comfort foods, slow dancing in the living room and decadent dessert. It was so great! So wonderful in fact that beside the point that I had to make everything and clean it up- it won hands down over going out for an over-priced, crowded dinner at a restaurant. I really didn't mind making everything and cleaning up just not sure I want to do it every year.... but we both really enjoyed it. I had taken a recipe off the internet several months ago for Rigatoni with Chicken Sausage and Spicy Vodka Sauce and was holding onto it for a special occasion because it had heavy cream and cheese and sausage and it was well... "special" since I really try to feed us healthy most of the time, but I thought "hey it's V-Day, so why not??" and it was DELISH!! Well worth the wait. Only one problem; I havent been able to get my eating back under control since we ate it last night at seven o'clock.

I couldn't stop eating it. The whole time frame I was cleaning up, putting the left overs in the frig, ect ect..I was picking at it. Then at 10 pm it was calling my name so I heated up a bowlful and ate it again. Even this morning I was seriously contemplating over whether I should eat it for breakfast.... (really)... instead I ended up eating two pieces of thin pumpernickel bread with whipped butter. That sounds like victory but it is only 11:30 a.m. and I have also eaten a piece of homemade pumpkin- cranberry- sunflower bread and a bowl of Weight Watchers Spicy Mac and Cheese... so yeah, I didn't really gain an ounce of victory over it. I am thinking in hindsight that I should of just ate the stupid pasta that I originally wanted and been full.....

*Insert heavy (no pun intended) sigh here*

Thankfully I am headed to Turnstone to chase preschoolers for 3 hrs so it should break the cycle and I have Zumba tonight so I am hoping to burn some extra calories off BUT the fact of the matter is that carbs are a HUGE trigger for me. HUGE. And if I am going to indulge I have to get a different strategy for how I am going to handle the following 24 hrs. because I am NOT a believer in never enjoying the things I like ever ever again just because I am constantly in a battle with my blue jeans- there has to be a balance. But I can't deny the fact that what I eat certainly triggers a chain of events that can lead to disaster. Like gaining back the one pound I actually lost last week and between you and me: I was not brave enough to get on the scale this morning. I just couldn't do it.
In this chapter, Lysa talk's about triggers and what some of her battles have been, and she can certainly relate. She states that Dictionary.com defines the word "craving"  as meaning something you long for greatly, desire eagerly and beg for. I have to admit that in light of that particular definition, it makes my last battle with the pasta, pretty pathetic- even to someone with Italian blood in their veins.

Psalm 84:1-2 says "How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord Almighty! My soul yearns, even faints for the courts of the Lord; and my heart and flesh cry out for the living God" now THAT is the kind of yearning I want to have and brag about... not some creamy, spiced up Valentine's dish. (Even if it was utterly divine) I want to crave, yearn, long for the things of the Lord instead. Beg to be in His presence. Hunger for His word. I do get there sometimes. Especially when I am having a crazy busy week and my devotional time is brief or non- existent- I will actually long to come into the presence of my Saviour and just relax in that moment. I know some of you have been battling with that too- just missing your devotional time with Him. It's something that can easily get overlooked because we are so busy in this life and I get that.... I am guilty of that too and I don't work or have little ones around every day. But the fact of the matter is that we will only crave what we have tasted; just like me and the carbs. It's impossible to miss something you have never experienced. This is why it is so hard to explain Christianity to anyone who doesn't confess to be one or hasn't had the experiences with it that we have had... there is nothing to compare it to. It starts out as a longing for most of us or a feeling that something is missing (often referred to as the God Void). People want to say, "Well that is fine for you but I don't need that to live a happy life." The only thing is that really experiencing God in all His fullness is like getting that very first taste of something decadent. You don't know how really GOOD it is because you have never tasted!! And having a regular devotional time to sit, reflect, pray and read is like getting another bite. It's when we say, "Oh- now I remember why I love this so much! It is just so DELICIOUS!" So sweet. So comforting. So satisfying. And just like that cold bowl of leftover pasta called my name at 10 o'clock last night- the Holy Spirit will whisper into your spirit filling it with the longing that only one thing can satisfy.
Oh, we can sometimes silence those longings too... just like deciding to stay away from sugar while you try and get healthier. We stay home from church because we don't need a building to be a Christian. We stop reading our bible because all in all most of us have read it through at least once or twice. We stop having a daily quiet time because we are just too busy and then soon... we loose our craving because the taste has gone stale in our mouth. Do you have to do those things to be a Christian?? Of course not, but it sure makes it easier. Think about this. If you desire to pursue a relationship with someone what do you do? You spend time with them and you learn their interests. Why? Because that is how you get to know what means the most to them and caring about that is caring about them. You get to know their family because that is where they come from. Their family usually knows what makes them tick and you are interested in that because you are interested in them. You are right about the church. The disciples didnt belong to the First United Church of Tyrus.  And they were too busy writing and living out the bible so they most likely didn't have a daily devotional time either. But for us. YOU and ME. Jesus wasn't born in our family's lifetime and babysat our kids. We have to seek out information if we want to have a relationship with Him. We need to attend church, not because it is full of perfect people that have all the answers- but because it is full of imperfect people that are striving to find them, just like we are. You see, we weren't created to do anything alone. God set it up so we would have to form realtionship to form a family. I used to tell the youth group that God could have chosen any way He pleased to repopulate the earth- He CHOSE the family unit. Parents, kids, grandparents, cousins. Why? So we would practice all the ins and outs of relationship and eventually pursue one with Him. He loves relationship! Even wolves mate for life and look how much your dog loves you. I feel like this is one of the strongest proofs of creation versus evolution- though I do believe that there were some things that evolved over time. You can Big Bang an atom into existence but not a personality. You might be able to create an embryo in a petri dish but where did the way that little fella loves his Mama come from?? Things can be created but feelings, emotion, compassion... THAT is an entirely different story. Those could only come from the hand of a God that knew we would need them. A God that created us to want relationship with others and with Him. The very one that put inside us that ability to crave. Desire. Long for. Beg for. He was just hoping beyond hope that we would choose Him to turn that craving towards, and it's that sweet choice that seperates us from all other living things, because we are the ones He wants relationship with.
One of my all time favorite scriptures is (New Living Translation) Psalm 27: 8 "My heart has heard you say-Come and talk with me! And my heart responds, Lord I am coming."
The biggest difference is that the essence of my God craving comes from my heart- and the essence of my pasta craving from my stomach.... or something like that. My heart craves for its time with God, but I have to willingly make the choice to give in to that and I am not proud to confess that at times that craving isn't as loud as the other one and often it is because I don't readily feed it.

We have these DVD's in the house that the little Grand Girls just love. They are called Praise Baby . They are a series of worship songs set to fun music with lots of pictures and activity of things that little ones like. Even our oldest granddaughter; Lucy, will dance and sing if there is one playing. The youngest, Leah is now getting to the age where she knows what the box looks like and she will waddle over to the shelf and get them out and bring them to me. Among all the other dvds, she knows them. I have tried to presuade her otherwise and it doesn't work, believe me. What is the draw?? Jesus. It is IN us to worship. The bible says that God has to be worshipped and if we didn't do it, the rocks would cry out. You should see the little girls faces when the familiar music starts; they LIGHT UP!
Sage (the 2 yr old) will clasp her hands together and say "Here it comes Gigi!! Here it comes!!" How happy those words from an excited toddler must make a God who longs to be craved by us.

Thanks to Praise Baby-in this house at least, the rocks don't stand a chance.

Psychological Problems Now Seem Insane

Well, I started the week off talking about the intro to Made to Crave and also about a book I am reading on my Kindle right now that is called "Swallow" and Oh Em Gee… I am even more convinced that you have to read it! For one thing, I never thought that the content would coincide so nicely with the beginning of MTC like it has. I won't give away any huge secrets but like I said last time this young woman has a psychological ball in her throat that interferes with her eating and breathing at an alarming rate of intensity. The author does such a great job of describing it that I have a hard time eating breakfast when I get home from the gym, which is unusual because I am usually starving when I get home (ok, I can always eat- let's just be honest. It's the Italian in me…) I can't tell you exactly what happens because it is a huge direction changer in the story but let's just say- I said, "NO way! You have got to be kidding!!" when it happened; right out loud in front of all the other elliptical users. It really was a surprise and genius that the author placed it in just the right spot- and here is one of the reasons why.

I have gotten some flack about writing about my eating disorder and my own struggles with food and self-image. I am almost 50 and there are WAY more important things in the world than food-slash- weight issues- I know this. I also know that I am not morbidly obese (never said I was) and that I have a very sweet husband and a loving family that loves me exactly as I am; to a fault usually. The actual food part of my eating disorder was mostly over with by the time I was 30; that's not saying I wasn't purging anymore-but it had clearly peaked and then trickled by then. I am one of the lucky ones. I was hospitalized once for depression and was also in counseling for several years to deal with some stuff in my past but even at that I have had a very blessed life. God has been SO good to me and there aren't many things I would change if I could. I say ALL that because I want you to know that I DO get what is important in life and what I see in the mirror is not the focus of my every waking moment. There was a time when it was though, and I remember what that was like. It was a constant conversation inside my head- much like the heroin in the story Swallow. She soon finds out that her "problem" is much deeper than the ball in her throat and she deals with many issues that people with eating disorders have. Even though the symptoms she presents aren't typical of an eating disorder they certainly are symptoms that are in direct correlation to food and eating. After the direction changing "event" that happens about 80% of the way through the book, the heroin Sophie gets an email from her psychiatrist that he isn't going to be in his office but she can email him if a "crisis develops." In response, she makes this statement that in light of current happenings "Psychological problems now seem insane". That is it in a nutshell and what a powerful statement.

When I was homeschooling and doing lesson plans and trying to teach my kids long division- what I grabbed to eat didn't take much thought, it also didn't carry much guilt. I was too busy to think about it.

When my son overdosed a few years later, what I weighed didn't matter as I looked at all the machines he was hooked up to and prayed. I know what it's like to feel like nothing else matters in a moment but the miracle you need.

The day my grandbabies are born I don't count the calories in the cafeteria food. When I go on vacation, I don't plan my meals out in my head like I do most other days. I know how to relax and have fun. The days I have my little girls here; I eat hot dogs and chicken nuggets and bake cookies. I am really able to stay balanced most of the time. My husband and I's favorite date night is a Redbox movie and our favorite thin crust Hawaiian Pizza!! I drink wine and love thick, dark beer. I DO know there is more to life than calories, scales and pants sizes- I DO get it…. But…

The 2011 October issue of Time magazine reported that in 1950 22% of our personal spending was on food (meaning groceries only), 10% on clothing, 13% on housing, 3% on healthcare and 3% on financial services and insurance. In 2010, that had changed to 7% on food, 3% on clothing, 18% on housing, a whopping 16% on healthcare and 8% on financial services and insurance. I find the fact that our grocery bills have gone down and our healthcare bills have gone up- hard to ignore. What it didn't account for were meals eaten out in either fast food establishments or in restaurants; but it doesn't take a professional economist to know that we eat out more now than people did in 1950. I know that the rise of two income families makes it hard for home-cooked meals to be prepared in a lot of houses, but what we have to realize is that there will be a price to pay for all of that in our health. There is no way that most (I said "most" don't blow a gasket…) restaurants can cook as healthy as we can at home and stay affordable. We have got to start taking more time to plan and cook meals if we are going to reverse the effects of what our crazy busy life styles have done to us. Not to mention the fact that our kids are growing up around restaurant booths instead of family dinner tables. I used to LOVE sitting down with my kids and I saw them all day every day for the 7 years we home schooled and I can tell you the secret to a happy 30 year marriage, or at least one of them: I FEED him. Brian will tell you today that he looks forward to coming home each and every day, and having dinner either waiting or relatively soon after he gets there; is part of that. I have a saying that I used to tell my own daughter and I have told young wives too "Feed them and they will come home!" It sounds so basic to us as woman, but it will do wonders in your home. It doesn't have to be home cooked cuisine every night but on the flip side; not many of us have an excuse for eating out every SINGLE night either. Start small by cooking twice a week. It will make a difference in your family. If you don't know where to start; there are so many cook books about cooking quick meals with few ingredients. Need your husband to help you? Try the cook book "A Man, A Can and A Plan" it is a really fun but realistic approach to a man in the kitchen.

Valentine's Day is coming up… how about planning ahead and cooking a special dinner?? I am making Chicken Sausage Rigatoni with Spicy Vodka Sauce, Caesar salad and home-made vanilla ice cream with hot fudge J… and Yes, I am lighting candles. Do I deserve to go out?? Probably. But Brian deserves to be somebody's Valentine too…. Just a thought.

Anyway, there really are more important things in the world than weight. People are starving. The unborn are in a constant battle to survive the womb. There are bombs, wars and ridiculous health care plans to worry about; but we have to take care of ourselves too. I've said it before and I will say it again- I am trying to keep my husband around for a really long time, which means I plan, shop and cook most of his meals paying attention to fiber, fat, salt and calories. There is nothing psychological about that but in today's world….it may be psycho not to.

Body of Death

As you know by now if you have read any of my bloggings, I am an avid reader and I usually have 2-3 books going at the same time. Right now I have "Swallow" on my Kindle that I read on the elliptical at the gym 4-5 times a week. (Interesting fact: I can't read an actual book while on the elliptical because the motion makes me sick-but I can read a book on my Kindle just fine. Now, figure that one out…)

Swallow is a novel about a young, new lawyer that has a psychological ball in her throat that interferes with her eating and breathing... I think it was a freebie for my Kindle and it has been pretty good so far. The second book that I read in the morning during my devotional time is normally more spiritual so I am currently reading Pope Benedict's book "Jesus of Nazereth" along with my bible. Our church is reading through the gospels together this year so it has been a perfect companion. It is really good but very heavy, so I can only read a couple pages at a time- more of a book to be savored than gulped down; I am also re-reading Made to Crave for the blog so yeah- my reading "plate" is pretty full.

Since for most of my life now I usually have had several books going at once- I have developed some not so great habits along the way. One is that I sometimes read so fast I miss important parts of the book and have to go back… ("skimming" is what this is formally called. Terrible thing I do when the book is boring me a little) or I may read too fast and too long if I am really excited about a book and can't wait to see what happens next. I have actually read books so fast that I forgot I read them. Until I get them home from the library again and start them again…. BUT the one thing I do that I am really trying to change is that I don't read the introductions. That is until my brother started writing books. I wanted to read every letter, word and punctuation he put on paper so I read his introductions and I discovered that introductions often lay some ground work or thoughts that the author has about the book that aids in the telling of the story. I am so glad that I read Jim's books before Made to Crave, because I learned the value of a good introduction just in time to read Lysa's. If you have started reading MTC with me, I hope that you will go back and read her introduction no matter where you are because she is just so real. Just a simple woman learning about herself along the path of Life- or as she calls herself, "a Jesus Girl on a journey to find deeper motivation than just a number on my scale for getting and staying healthy."

See, it HAS to be about more than that- we all know it and even if we don't know it yet, we sense it. I have lots of knocks against me in the weight department. Genetically I am not going to be skinny. I love to cook and then eat it. I am a wine drinker and I enjoy that part of my life. AND I had an eating disorder for 12 years that screwed up what was left of my metabolism. I have been accused of being obsessed with weight but I am not really obsessed with the numbers anymore as much as with the way I feel at a smaller number. My lower back has been a problem for me for about the last 10 yrs. I carried my babies everywhere (still don't like babies carried in car seats…); now I carry their babies and I was a nursing assistant for several years. I am also not good at asking for help, which means I push, pull, move and carry WAY more than I should ever attempt on my own. I am a true pear shape and carry most of my weight between my belly button and my thighs and stomach fat is extra hard on your lower back (remember pregnancy?) SO when my stomach is smaller- my back feels better- plus I have 3 (working on the fourth) little grand girls that I have to keep up with!! I want to be a partaker in their lives not a bystander. I still cook full family dinners for my WHOLE family- I don't intend to stop. Not to mention that I want to be the healthiest, sexiest wife for my deserving husband that I can be!! Who doesn't want that?? If you say you don't you are either in denial or just plain crazy…. I want my husband thinking about me when we are apart and I mean in the BIBLICAL sense. Sorry if that is TMI but hey, it's the truth and even if he does love me exactly the way I am and I know he does, I have to feel good about myself in order to feel good with him BIBLICALLY and I don't think I am the only one. When my man comes home and says he has been thinking about me all day…. Pure MUSIC to my ears, Baby… Sweet music…. and I plan to keep it that way at least until we are 80- then it may be open for discussion. Maybe.

As long as we are being real, I want to say that I am starting my journey at 162 lbs. and it's not easy for me to admit that. I won't even go to the dr, because I don't want the nurse to see that number and it is 7 lbs higher then I was when I GAVE BIRTH. Now how many of you can say that?? I will say though that I am slowly coming down since I started at 167 myself (same as Lysa when she wrote the book) so even though I am making slow progress, the numbers are moving in the right direction and I am dealing with it. I have been much smaller at 112; the height of my bullemia-and a tad bigger at 172 ish about 10 years ago. Healthy, I have only been able to get down to 125 but I couldn't maintain it for very long and a few years ago I was at 142 which is where I would like to be again. I felt good there and I looked pretty good for a post-menopausal grandma. After all I am 48 and I am not trying to be 25 again. I like 48 actually- I love my life (even in the biblical sense)

All in all- just like Lysa says in the introduction; getting healthy isn't just about losing weight. It's about recalibrating our souls so we want to change. Spiritually, it's about putting everything in its proper place. We were never created to live to eat, only to eat to live. As Christians with all of our taboos- some real, some imagined- we center so much of our meetings, outings and social gatherings around food. I am guilty of this as much as the next person…. Not saying I don't enjoy it but it would be quite a challenge wouldn't it? To have a seminar without refreshments…..how would we feel about that? Lysa also points out that the first sin in the garden centered around food with the temptation of Eve. Wouldn't that be an interesting bible study? How many significant things happened in the bible that included food? I can think of two right away as I write this.- Abel was killed because Cain's offering of food from the garden wasn't pleasing in God's eyes or how about the children of Israel with their manna obsession? It wasn't really about the food in any of those examples per say- but then again, it never really is.

Physically, I already mentioned my back and my libido, but there are a host of other physical reasons to be healthy. I am not a complainer. Some people may think I am weight obsessed but many others are ailment obsessed. All they want to talk about are their aches and pains. I see managing my weight as a no brainer when it comes to that. I feel better and my joints don't hurt as much when I am at a reasonable, healthier weight. I was taking ibuprofen every day for my left elbow, right shoulder and back, before Christmas. Since I started back at the gym- it has all stopped hurting. I don't even like exercising but I can't ignore the difference it makes in my body and since I don't see myself getting any younger, I drag my butt out of bed at 5:30 a.m. and go to the gym. Thank God for attached garages and heated seats. It sure makes it easier in Indiana winter!! Not to mention working out and eating right helps fight diabetes and heart disease. I may not be perfect and I may not be a super model, but mama didn't raise no dummy either.

Lastly, Mentally- and this is HUGE for me, if not the biggest reason for getting and staying healthy. My mind is a battlefield and my self-worth is the P.O.W.... I may not be sticking my fingers down my throat to purge anymore but sometimes I don't think my head has healed a whole lot. I often tell Brian that I wish for one day that I could see me like he sees me. Just a glimpse. What my head tells me that my eyes see is so screwed up. The other day I was talking to an old HS boyfriend of mine of Facebook and he was saying that he thought that I "still looked so good." I was floored. I mean I am used to Brian telling me I am beautiful and I usually justify it by saying he is so used to me or has been married so long his gage for "beautiful" is off. Also, I know that Brian sees the whole package and not just the physical me. I am the same with him even though he is still so stinking cute; but alas- I regress…

My eyes never see what other people do but if I am at least trying to be healthy and make better choices I FEEL better about WHAT I see, even if it is still more of me then I would like it to be. Does that make sense? I owe it to myself, my family and my God to do the best I can with what I have to do it with. No complaining and no compromise-no more excuses. I want the best quality of life that I can live while on this quality challenged Earth. Makes me think of a t-shirt I saw on someone not too long ago- I really want that shirt too because in more ways than one, so often it is the cry of my heart; it said, "Lord- save me from this body of death!!" Great huh? A mouthful.

Pardon the pun. Read the intro to MTC you won't regret it- talk to you in a couple days

Cloud Burst

I guess it is politically correct that I should issue a warning that this blog is about to turn towards the more "spiritual" aspect of my life. I hope that doesn't make people not want to read my blog, but if it does I guess that is a chance I will take. It is almost impossible to know me and not know that I am a Christian. I don't think I am "preachy" (I hope not anyway- I have been told that I am not) but I also know that if you are close to me long enough you will get side-swiped by my beliefs which are born-again Protestant with strong Catholic overtones- essentially I am a redeemed human working constantly towards conversion; whatever that journey involves. I don't want to debate my stand it just is what it is, which
is that I am very serious about my Jesus- end of discussion. If you don't believe there is an afterlife, well… I guess we will both find out in a little while; won't we?? I just know that I want to live a grace and mercy filled life that involves my Jesus. To me there is no other way to survive. No other life worth living. If you think this makes me weak than you don't know me every well. Stick around and you will find out that I am more than the sum total of my beliefs- I am a survivor. If I am wrong about heaven and hell and you are right… than I have lived a wonderful, charmed life and I have no regrets. If I am right and you are wrong, things are a little more complicated for you. Just sayin'.

Tomorrow is Feb 1^st and next week I will be starting the Blog Book Club on the book Made to Crave, by Lysa TerKeurst. (refer back to my first couple blogs for more info) The plan right now is to read one chapter a week and I will blog about the "personal reflection" questions at the end of the chapter at least a couple times a week. I have spent the past month or so letting you into my personal life, food issues, ect- to lay a little foundation that I hope you have enjoyed and gleaned truths from. I have been accused of putting "my whole life out there on Facebook!!" because of the blog. This is just who I am. I am real and I have nothing to hide. I don't hold people at arm's length; I draw them in. And from what I can gather from the responses to my blog so far- a lot of you needed the blog "hug", so I am happy so far with the way things have gone. I am excited about reading Made to Change with you (for me; second time through…) and even if you don't have the book and are reading along, I think you will still get something from our "discussion". Feel free to comment or message me on Facebook. I will respond to you promptly.

Life is about growth and change, isn't it? Change is often needed and often painful, even if it is necessary. I think of when my boys got braces and went through those first few painful appointments of tightening screws and adjusting wires… or starting a new exercise program … or having a baby. All things that have a good outcome, but require pain and growth, both personally and emotionally. So much of the time that is how God deals with each of us and He gives us lots of examples in life to learn it, stretch us and grow us into the people that He always knew we could be; what He planned for us to be. I have been personally going through this stretching and growing process for the last 8 years. It began with the split of the church we belonged to and raised our children in and is continuing with the move of our only daughter with her family to Indianapolis to help with a young church body there. Sometimes when I have mornings like I had today, when I am just crying with God during my devotions- I wonder how far I have really come and have I learned anything at all? Often I feel like I am one of the Israelites walking around the bottom of that same mountain over and over again (40 years to be exact) because they never learned the lesson God was trying to teach them and continually rebelled against Moses's direction- with the Promised Land within walking distance! Sometimes you just gotta walk in the right direction- it's just that simple. When the church was splintering in a million pieces I would often just sit and cry during what was left of the services. All my old insecurities about being displaced, abandoned, unloved- raising their ugly heads. My church "home" and "family" were shattering right in front of me and it was just about all I could take. In those moments I would feel God not so gently nudging me out of my seat and down to the altar to meet with Him there and reluctantly I would go; crying my eyes out; down to the front. I wasn't alone, there were lots of hurting people then but when I would reach the altar; it was a mystical experience that felt like only me and Him. True to His prodding in my heart, God would whisper words of comfort to my soul- reminding me that church wasn't about a building or the people in it as much as it was about Him and I; and that "we" were good. "We" were solid. "We" would not change, as long as I could hang in there with Him alone. It goes back to that old saying that you shouldn't throw the baby out with the bathwater- God isn't the congregation, the pastor or the building. He dwells there, but they aren't Him. Humans and governments falter, only God remains the same. I needed to turn my trust from the physical church back to Him. I wish I could tell you it was the first time I had walked around this mountain but it wasn't… I had been there before.

I have been with my husband Brian for 30 yrs. I met him at 17, I moved from my mom and dad's house to the camp (Bible College) than directly into my home with Brian. Life with him is all I know as an adult. We have grown up together and I trust him with everything in me. That is good and that is bad. For years my biggest single fear was losing Brian. Anytime the subject about fears would come up, without hesitation that would be my answer until one Sunday the Pastor asked us to write down our biggest fear during one of the Sunday sermons. When I wrote down "Losing Brian" I just stared at it. I had never realized how unbalanced that was until that very moment. There is no way Brian can be my all-in-all. He was never meant to be that, he CAN'T be that… if you don't believe me just ask him. The other night we had sort of a "fall out" where I broke down emotionally and he didn't know how to console me. He wanted to talk about it the next day but God had already talked to me about it that morning, so I knew what was coming. I was upset because Brian didn't respond to me the way I thought he should have but he just looked at me helplessly and said, "I didn't know what to do… I wanted to, but I didn't know how." Of course he didn't, he can't read my mind let alone my crazy, strung out emotions. There is only one person that can console me fully and that person has nail prints in His hands. Brian doesn't have those and at some point he will probably leave me in this life because he isn't eternal either… (just so you know) and it's not fair to ask him to be my God.

Neither is it fair to ask that of my baby girl- and I am finding out this week as her move edges closer to reality that once again, I have put my misplaced need for security on another person.

Cherith is my only girl. Because of that, I think we have a special bond. Not only that but she is such a wonderful woman of God that her life constantly reminds me that I may have done something right along the way. It's not that she has this extreme devotional time or prayer life but she WALKS the TALK…

Every. Single. Day.

I am so tired of Christians (and I use that term lightly) that brag about their devotional or prayer life while verbally abusing, being rude or being judgmental of the very people God puts in their life to be Jesus to. I am weary of that. Cherith is real, kind, thoughtful and trustworthy and also has become one of my dearest friends. I am grateful for our relationship and I know those things will never change but in light of the impending move- I find that I can barely function without breaking down in tears. I so want to be strong for her and for the family, but my heart has been so heavy that I find myself again at the base of that same mountain, asking God for help. Begging actually.

Here we go again.

See, Cherith has been a rock for me during some very hard times. I trust her, which isn't the easiest thing for me to do- so because of that I may have leaned on her more than I should have. God reminded me of that this morning. It seems like the last 8 years for me have been all about losing everything I thought would never change and learning to trust God even when reality doesn't look like I thought it would at this stage in my life. I thought we would attend the same church our whole loves (from marryin' to buryin' as the saying goes) that all our kids and their families would attend with us, and that we would all stay right here in Fort Wayne and watch the new little crop of Federspiels grow up around our feet. So far none of that has been the case and believe me I have had many conversations with God about it. It just doesn't seem fair that I have to give up yet another thing… that I can't jump in my car and drive across town so I can be there when Sage wakes up from her nap all sleepy and warm. That she won't come into my house and fly into my arms as often. That somebody else gets to babysit for date nights. That I can't just call and say "what are you guys doing tonight? Want to come over for dinner??" or that they can't meet us downtown for music this summer or that family dinner nights will change and the boys can't pick on Cherith for the way she laughs or talks too loud or something else silly. Honestly- I am struggling with all of that. In my head I know that she is only 2 hours away. But in my heart it's still too far.

This morning while I was crying through my devotional time, God gently nudged me that once again… I am not trusting Him to be my all and all. My best friend. My confidant. He reminded me that it's not really fair to expect so much from my daughter because it isn't her job to be my friend at all. Sure it's a nice perk, but she isn't supposed to take care of me and my feelings, I am the Mama and I have to take care of her. Even when I am feeling selfishly like I can't give her up- can't see my little Roo and my son-in-law, BJ as often. We will both grow from this experience and even though it will be painful, the results will be wonderful.

My sweet girl. This is exactly what I told her tonight when she texted me and said she was feeling sick to her stomach thinking about the move: It WILL be
wonderful. They are doing what they are called to do; born to do- DESTINED to do. She doesn't belong to me after all, she is just a gift from the hand of a very loving Father and just like her two brothers, I need to step back and let her live her life- whatever that may be and trust God with the results.

Besides, God never promised us a Rose Garden. And like that old song says, "Along with the sunshine- there's gotta be a little rain sometimes…"

Because without rain there are no roses of course-and that is my prayer for all of us tonight as our little bit of family "Sunshine"; our Cherith, moves a little further South and Indy gains an anointed, destined family. That because of this little cloud burst, we all grow: closer as a family and more sensitive to the calling of God on our own lives, as we watch them grow in ministry and be blessed in theirs. We won't see them as often but when we do it will be even sweeter than before.

I do trust you Lord. With all my secrets and with all my babies; just like I have from the day You gave them to me.

Guard them safely through the night- and wake them with the morning light. Amen.

I love you Cherith Brook, you ARE my sunshine.

The Tidy Bowl Lady

My sweet husband has quite an array of pet names he uses for me ranging from Lou (my middle name) to the normal, Honey-Baby-Sweetie stuff. He probably calls me Honey the most which would be evident in the fact that my youngest Luke refused to call me anything but "Honey" at 2 years old, which was pretty darn cute unless he was whining for something and then his sweet "Honey" turned into "Hhhhooonnneeeyyyy…. I want some juuuuiiiccee…" or "Peeeeaaaase Hhhoonneeyy; hold you!!!" –with his arms straight up in the air, because "hold YOU" meant "hold ME"; which I usually did.

(Thanks for the bursitis in my shoulder Lukie- every bit of it is worth it. Anyway, I still get to call him "Baby" at 23- so it's a good trade-off)

One of the most unusual names Brian calls me is "Tidy Bowl" "T.B." or the "Tidy Bowl Lady. He gets this from my need to clean, straighten and organize-obsessively. He has learned the hard way to warn me when he isn't done with his coffee cup, to hide clothes he wants to wear one more time and to not set a plate down and walk away unless he means it because if you have to pee before you grab "seconds" your plate will be swept away into the dishwasher or sink faster than you can say "Please pass the butter" (my kids are chuckling right now because I think I have done this to every one of them). I cook with a sink full of hot soapy water so I can put everything I use directly into it as I use it and I follow a list of housework that I do every week, on the same days- just like I have done for probably at least 20 of our 30 years together. We were having this discussion with some friends that we haven't known a real long time and the woman made a comment about how I probably did things much differently when the kids were small or I was working full time. Brian told her the biggest difference is that now I do it before 10 o'clock at night. She looked at him like he was joking but sadly, he wasn't. When the kids were babies we lived in a 2 story house so once everyone went to bed, I cleaned whatever needed done downstairs and did laundry. During their naps, the only bathroom (which was upstairs) got cleaned and I dusted our bedroom. Then the kids played during vacuuming and cleaning of their own rooms- I just moved them room to room. I even went to the grocery late at night, so to Brian and the kids- the maid and grocery fairy visited during the night filling the cupboards and frig with delicious treats and leaving the kitchen floors sparkling clean. Was it fun? Not really. Was it necessary? I thought it was at the time. It kept me sane. I had vowed to myself that I when I got married I was going to have a house that anyone could walk into at any time and my husband would be proud, and I busted my butt to make it happen. It was important to me then and it is now. Is it overboard? Definitely.

Starting when Luke was 6 months old and lasting until he was 6 years old, I attended a parent support group which was really more of a glorified group counseling session. There I dealt with many things from my past that I didn't want to drag into my children's present. The woman that led the group was a bonified Saint and it didn't take long for her to see through my neat, tidy, controlled house right into my crazy, scattered, emotions. Keeping my house clean and tidy was the way I controlled my environment. When I felt like I had no say, I knew that the house was where I had an opinion. When I was overwhelmed by some emotion either real or blown out of proportion- I picked up a rag, got a bucket of hot, soapy water, got on my knees and scrubbed floors. I could control that. It was predictable and manageable- and I got rave reviews from my husband which fed my fragile self-worth. He has always been a "Thank You Guy". Thank you for dinner. Thank you for cleaning out the frig. Thank you for bleaching my underwear. Supper was delicious, Baby. The house smells SO clean, …. ect ect. Tell me thank you a couple times and I will do it a million more; that is just the way I am. I love being appreciated, but appreciation like that is shaky and my counselor knew this, so she started asking questions…

"What if you are sick and can't do laundry, then what happens?"

"I am never sick."

(Still mostly true. I have great Fields genes. The last time I had the flu, I couldn't make either end of my body happy for 5 straight hours. When that was over, I took a nap, got up and got dressed- and promptly cleaned all 3 bathrooms so Brian wouldn't get sick. Then I made dinner. I have dusted an entire house with a blaring migraine- stop to throw-up, pick up the Pledge and not miss a beat.)

"But just what if? What if laundry doesn't get done the day it's supposed to… or dinner doesn't get made, then what?"

"That never happens, I have a menu on the refrigerator… besides I have to do laundry or it piles up."

"So, let it pile up."

"I can't."

Even sitting here writing this, I remember how painful that conversation was for me. (Sitting here, I am also acutely aware that I still have a menu even though it's not on the frig anymore) You see, most of the girls in group had trouble keeping their houses clean, dishes done and laundry caught up. As we would go around the room after a session, "homework" assignments were as follows: "Do the laundry" "Dust one room this week" "Plan and cook one home-cooked meal; no carry-out."

Until she got to me- then it was this: "Leave your dinner dishes in the sink overnight and stay in the bath tub for more than 15 minutes."

Brian always says that I take a bath so fast that the water is still hot enough for 2 other people to bathe after me. Gross but true; and I was probably 40 before I mastered the dishes-in-the-sink -overnight thing and I wish she had been alive for me to brag about it to her. I don't think she knew that she changed my life during those sessions. She changed all of us. I remember the day one of the girls called me and told me she had finally passed away after a long battle with breast cancer. I went outside on my back steps and sobbed deep in my belly. The keeper of my secrets was gone. The one that told me that I could forget to dust every single surface and the earth would not quit spinning on its axis. That I was beautiful, strong and capable and that I was a good mom and a wonderful wife even if dinner was late or we had no milk for breakfast. They were lessons I still repeat to myself on the dark days and whenever I leave dishes in the sink, I smile to myself in her honor.


That said-I am much better about those things now. Maybe because at 48 I have learned there is so much that is out of my control. Oh, I still have a list of chores and most of the time I do the same chore on the same day every single week (working or not)… only now, if something comes up- most of the time I can change days without panicking or even skip it (gasp) for a day or two, or even a week!!! A rare treat I allow myself once in a blue moon. I still have a menu that has shrunken to "dinner only" with the kids married and gone (as opposed to choices for breakfast, snack time treats and lunches- don't know why my middle son has a thing for predictability…) and I still have a house that on most days, you can walk into with minimal obstructions. It's still clean and tidy (esp. the bathrooms) and dinner is usually per the "menu" and on time; but hear me when I say to you-I AM NOT BRAGGING, so before you kill me let me explain….

The other night, I was in a bubble bath talking to my daughter Cherith on the phone (trying to break the 15 minute record). Now, even though there are lots of ways that Cherith and I are alike, cleaning is not one of them. It is a source of contention between her and BJ and a soft spot for her. She really works at it and is doing better but a hospital atmosphere just isn't high on her list of priorities. She is musical, theatrical and confident. I learned to shut her bedroom door and forget about it when she was 15 or 16 because there were just other things that were more important to me about her character. She would do whatever chore I had her do in the house at large, completely, accurately and without complaint but her room was her space and I tried to leave it to her without coming unglued to often. Maybe that wasn't the right choice, but it was the one I made at the time. I was saying to her during our conversation that I often wasn't sure how BJ felt about me. He has only been in the family about 5 years and we can be a little intimidating with all of our touchy, feely, kissy stuff. BJ is a quiet, serious thinker type- which does nothing to help little old insecure me feel like a good mother-in-law. Not his job to make me feel secure, but that is what I was feeling in that moment of our phone call.

Cherith quickly replied, "OH NO! BJ thinks you are perfect. In fact, he wants me to be like you in every way, nothing would make him happier!"

She giggles brightly, but I feel like someone just hit me with a bowling ball.

See, I know what happened during all that vacuuming, dusting and laundry folding madness. I know what precious moments escaped when instead of watching a few minutes of television with my young husband, I was doing just one more task that couldn't wait.

"Cherith, you don't want that. You don't want to be like me." I reply.

"Of course I do Mommy- don't be ridiculous!" she is still giggling.

"No, honey- what I mean is… you play with Sage. You aren't missing a thing. You get on the floor. I didn't do that. You do puzzles and read endless books. I rarely allowed myself that luxury except books at naptime. I never stopped long enough, and now you are all gone. It goes by so fast! Don't wait until your grandbabies until you decide the dinner dishes can wait a few minutes like I did. It's just not worth it. You are wonderful just the way you are."

We both stop for a few breaths and think. "Well, thanks Mama." She finally says.

The conversation changes course and soon we have to hang up because my water is cold and my feet and hands now look like they belong to a hundred year old woman. I guess nobody can take a bath after me this time and I am a little bit farther removed from the neurotic Tidy Bowl Lady and a little more like her more relaxed sister, Tidy-But-Not-Too-Uptight Tina. I am no longer under the illusion that I can control my world by scrubbing the floor on my knees and WAY more aware that the parts I can't control are better handled on my knees in prayer, given to the only shoulders that are really big enough to carry them anyway.

The shoulders of the Master Secret Keeper.