#86: Remembering Big Daddy [101 in 1001]

Today, Anniston Runners Club had its annual remembrance run.  It's the final Saturday training run before the Woodstock 5k.  I've been going to these training runs since June.  I've not written about the training runs because they weren't worth mentioning since compared to last year,  my 5k times are horrible.  Anyway, the point of the remembrance run is to honor the memory of a deceased loved one, or to pay tribute to someone of influence. 

I chose my father, M. L. Maddox. The neighborhood called him Big Daddy.

My Dad & I in 1978

Daddy was born January 24, 1930.  His life of 74 years was full of hard work, 46 years of marriage to my mom, hard times, and a gaggle of offspring, of which I am the youngest (as far as we know).  Those years were also full of a lot of health problems.  Eating habits that caused heart disease and diabetes, along with a 62 year smoking habit slowly damaged his health.  On April 23, 2004, his body gave up the fight.

I saw Dad's grave the day he was buried.  My mom and siblings periodically asked me to go with them to visit the site, but I adamantly refused.  It wasn't denial; I just wanted to go alone.  Plus, Daddy didn't want us crying over him. I knew I would if I went there.  Since this was the 10 year mark of his death, visiting the burial site seemed like the right thing to do.  I started to go on Memorial Day, but I was afraid my family would be there and I didn't want to disturb their grief.  The same with Father's Day.  When the remembrance run came around, I felt like that was the right time.

I had a hard time on the Woodstock training runs.  Whether it was body pain, fatigue, water stations packing up before I could get to them, mp3 player batteries running dead, or not being able to keep up with Milford Smallwood (my 90 year old running hero and arch nemesis), I came home after every session feeling like I'd been hit by a truck with an hour plus finishing time to show for it.

Photo by Carla Willingham

Today's run was different.  From the minute I wrote "M.L. Maddox" on my race bib, I couldn't get him out of my mind.  As soon as they gave us the signal to go, I got ahead of Mr. Smallwood in the first five minutes and never looked back.  I did more running than I had all the other training runs.  I finished in 58 minutes, 40 seconds; having shaved almost 7 minutes off Thursday's run.  I hope my time is just as good, if not better at the real race next Saturday.  The triumph was bittersweet because I knew what was coming next.  After a few hugs, pictures, and snacks, I headed for the cemetery.

It's funny what kind of things stand out in one's memory.  Though I'd only been to Dad's grave once, I had no trouble finding it today--I went straight to it.  The plot of sorrow was a hard thing to see.  I know that only his bodily remains are there; his spirit rests in the arms of the Almighty.  However, seeing the grave not only caused the part of my heart that belongs to Daddy to squeeze in grief, but the guilt clamped around my neck and felt like I couldn't breathe.  It was like he died all over again.  Though the real Big Daddy wasn't in the box under the ground, I felt compelled to talk to it anyway.  I told him how much I loved him and how sorry I was for all the pain I caused the family:  all the time, money, shame, and attention that my existence cost him and mom.  I have no way of making amends to my father for it, but acknowledging it at his grave was the least I could do.  I hope that my health journey is an amends of sorts.  I'll keep working at it no matter what, so that I'll never be a sickly, damaged burden on anyone else again.  I owe my parents at least that much.  I owe the world that much more.

Guilty of Poverty

From memes that compare Food Stamp recipients to dumb dependent animals to hateful comments overheard at church suppers, rails against the less fortunate permeate the atmosphere.  I try not to respond to such venom, but I've been pimp slapped by one too many of them.  Although I cannot share every detail for fear of repercussions, I will attempt to succinctly tell my story.

I grew up with two very hard working parents.  They were not nameless, faceless lazy moochers, but two human beings with a tremendous work ethic that didn't garner them much money.  They raised their first 7 children in a 4-room shack (not 4 bedroom--4 room) with no indoor plumbing, no air conditioning, and heating only with the aid of a wood burning stove. 

By the time I slithered into the world, Dad was no longer able to work, Mom could only make so much as a housekeeper, and they were stuck with me;  a defective child who needed lots of medical help and at the time, had no future prospects of being able to bring any money or skills to the table to help.  So, they applied for Medicaid and Social Security Disability benefits, and when I was six years old, they moved me and two of my older siblings  into government housing. 

For those of you who believe in abortion, yeah, I know it should have been me.

Not only did my family have deal with my myriad of eye exams, surgeries, glasses, and apparatus, but various colds, flu, rashes, sores, bronchitis, knee injuries, back injuries, injuries from falling down, injuries from being beaten up, a scoliosis scare, and it was eventually discovered that I had contracted and was a carrier of tuberculosis.  With every need for medical attention came my parents having to spend more time, more money, and more dignity in having to ask for help.  My mom said she and dad took to heavy drink to cope.  I take full responsibility for the shame they felt.  Don't blame them; blame me.  I finally caught on that I needed to stop telling my parents when I was sick or hurt.  I still don't. 

Fast forward to adulthood.  I'm on my own, I've finished college, I'm still on disability, I've moved into my own government-issue apartment, and I head out to find a job. Three years later, I get a minimum wage job that lasts all of four months (got laid off), but I keep pressing on.  Over the years  I worked several long term jobs.  None of them paid well (or were in my field of study), but it was enough good steady work to get off of disability and government medical insurance.  Through a miracle of God, I just got out of government housing.  I've only got one bit of assistance to get off now.

I told y'all this much hoping to gain some understanding and to stop this ridiculous class bashing.  I definitely don't bash the rich; one, because they are the one's who buy things and hire (I've never gotten a job from someone who was broke), and two, because I want to be one of those rich people one day:  I want to own my own house, pick the car I want, buy new clothes and shoes instead of relying on people's cast offs to have anything.  Those are things most take for granted.  That is richness to me.

Yes, I know that poverty is a curse, and accepting help from the government enhances that curse and increases their power over my life.  Blame me for my parents' choice.  Fault me for my own.

Truth be told, the government makes it very hard for those of us who work hard trying to get off assistance.  They punish us for working and rewards others for laziness.   Government BS is why my attempts to sell my crafts failed the first time.  When I complained, their answer was that I needed to just go to "fill-in-the-blank" agency and try to "get a check."  No, don't work, don't use your skills and education to better yourself.  Sit in your substandard housing, do nothing and be nothing.  That's messed up!

I've tried to tell people that every poor person is not a lazy moocher, and that everyone is one financial disaster, one health crisis, one family emergency away from being in the same boat, but they don't believe it could ever happen to them.  I hope it doesn't.  I hope they don't have to endure well off people telling them that wanting better for themselves is materialism, yet at the same time complaining about the church wasting money on the poor. I hope they never have to endure the embarrassment of using a Food Stamp card.  I hope they never have to try to hide their financial status from their church family.  I hope they never get so low they have to pray for socks and underwear.  I hope they never have to; it sucks!

Please stop.  I'm begging you.  Please.

In"Spired" [30 Day Photo Blog]

Today's early church service honored our senior saints by featuring our "Sweet Spirit Singers" senior adult choir.  They did a great job.  The second service honored our young people by having our youth vocal ensemble lead worship.  Sorry I don't have a picture of the youth; I was playing bass guitar at the time.

 

If you've listened to my testimony, you heard that there was a period of time during my college days that I'd stopped going to church and had totally given up on God.  I had several classes at Rowe Hall at JSU.  Every time I walked to and from that building, I would see this church spire peeking up through the trees.  This wasn't even the spire of my home church (it was across town), but somehow God used it to speak to me.  I felt like He was telling me, "Just because you've given up on me doesn't mean I've given up on you."  After three years of God continuing to show me His love despite my rebellion, I went back to church and got back on speaking terms with the Lord.  I had no idea that more than 20 years later, that same spire would bring me to Celebrate Recovery and a wonderful new church family.  God's love is timeless.

After both church services, a nap, and praise team practice, I took a leisurely 1-mile stroll on the Ladiga Trail.

I started at the train depot today and headed south.  And yes, I AM going to sign the guest book every time I stop to go potty.  What?

Yes, that is a police car on the trail.  Somebody must have been acting a fool.  #SomePeoplesChildren   I actually saw two cop cars.  Sorry I couldn't get a better picture, but it was such a shock to be passed by something other than a runner or a bicycle.  Thanks JPD.  I actually felt better about being on the trail

 

Sunset through the gazebo by one of the flower gardens.  Another beautiful stopping place along the trail and a perfect end to a beautiful day.

My Recovery Story: An Audio Blog

Tonight, I shared my story with the Jacksonville, Alabama Celebrate Recovery.  I would like to share with you: 

https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/29899706/CR%20Testimony%202014.mp3

It may take a few minutes to load, so please be patient.  I hope it blesses you. 

Love,

Auntie

Tower of Babel: The Weekly Hodgepodge

Want to join the party?  Go on over to From This Side of the Pond  for the Hodgepodge questions.

What's the biggest change since your childhood in the way people think or act?

I was going to say that people are meaner than they were when I was a child, but that's not true.  It's just that people now have more avenues to be hateful and bully people.  All the various sources of social media and electronic communication are wonderful, but they can also be dangerously destructive in the hands of certain people.

The Olympic Biathlon involves cross country skiing broken up with either two or four rounds of target shooting. Which part of that would stress you out more? Or would you love them both equally?

I've never done either one, but I think the shooting would stress me out the most because it has to be so exact.  I would be one of those people who miss the target and have to ski extra laps.  I think I would like to learn to ski and to shoot.

February is National Canned Food Month...what is your most often purchased canned food item?  What was in the last can you opened?

I buy sliced black olives in a can all the time.  I put them in omelets and salads.

What river (anywhere in the world) would you most like to cruise?

I think I'd like to get on a river boat, cruise the Mississippi, sip iced tea, and read Mark Twain novels.

It's the middle of the night and you can't sleep...what do you do? Count sheep? Toss and turn? Watch television? Or do you get up and do something productive?

I don't count sheep.  If I'm really tired and just can't sleep, I'll just lie there and think about stuff until I can sleep.  If I'm tired, but not sleepy, I'll read, crochet, or watch something on the internet until I get sleepy.  If I'm wide awake, I get up and find something to do to make myself useful.

How important is keeping your cool?

I think I've kept my cool for too long and let people run all over me.  I do, however, think there's a way for me to express myself without being hateful or too crude.

I've got white stuff on the brain so why not run with it? White lie, wave the white flag, white knuckle it, white wash a situation, or white as a sheet...which phrase could most recently apply to your own life in some way?

I'm white knuckling some things so that I don't give up and wave the white flag.

Insert your own random thought here.

I'm taking a slow, leisurely journey through the Bible that may take several years.  Genesis 11:1-9 brought out something new--new to me anyway.

This passage really speaks to the power of unity.  I'm sure God did a facepalm when the people used that unifying force to do something selfish.  "Hey, let's make us a name so that we won't be scattered upon the earth."  So God confused their language and they ended up scattering upon the earth.

This passage also spoke to me about fear.  I think the people were scared of the unknown and wanted to stick with the familiar.  So, they wanted to make themselves great right where they were.  The tower is kind of like a hoarder's cocoon of junk that's supposed to keep them safe and secure.

What are my fears?  What is my "tower of Babel"?  Where am I trying to "make me a name" so I don't have to venture out of my comfort zone?

Of course, failure is a big one.  But isn't living a life afraid to move forward also a sign of failure?  I read somewhere this week that there are two kinds of people in the world:  those who are overcome by life and those who overcome and succeed.  Of course, you had to buy their book to find out how to be an overcomer.  No thank you, I have enough books.  I will find my answers elsewhere.

It's not simply failure though.  It's the prospect of failing alone.  I read in one of John C. Maxwell's books (I think it was Failing Forward) that at the beginning of the construction of the Golden Gate Bridge, the work was falling behind and that many of the workers fell and were injured or killed.  Finally some genius figured out that they needed a safety net.  After the net was erected, the work sped to ahead of schedule and there were fewer falls and injuries.  Everyone needs a safety net in life.  Where is the "safety net" for those who must go at it alone?  I guess I'll soon find out.

One Word: Metamorphosis

One of my fellow Five Minute Friday contributors, Annie Rim posted this question on her blog:

If you could choose one word for your coming year, what would it be?

I think my one word for 2014 would be "metamorphosis."  The definition of metamorphosis is "a profound change in form from one stage to the next in the life history of an organism; any complete change in appearance, character, circumstances, etc."

Of course, the best example of metamorphosis is the butterfly's transformation from caterpillar to pupa to adult butterfly.  I feel like a caterpillar that's been in the cocoon far too long.  It's time for the inward transformations I've been making to break out and soar.

I'm taking the first two weeks of the year to evaluate, regroup, and set specific strategies for bringing my inward transformation to the outside.  As I said in my post "Reflect:"

I would just like the image that is reflected back at me to be the image I see of myself inside.  In the mirror, in my external life, everywhere.  I want a better reflection staring back at me.  Not one of what should have been, but one that is all that I really am and really meant to be.

Notice I said specific strategies not "New Year's resolutions."  Resolutions statistically only last until around Valentine's Day.  The only benefit of that is the gym will only be crowded for about six weeks.

Look, let's be real.  I've put more than five years into my recovery, dealing with the internal crap in my life.  I've put in several years of exercising and trying to learn to eat right.  I've been job hunting (in the midst of a temporarily failed business) for nearly two years.  The results of all this effort are outstandingly mediocre.  SOMETHING HAS GOT TO GIVE!  The beauty of the butterfly has got to emerge.  It can't stay locked in the cocoon forever.  Let's get 'er done!

So, If you could choose one word for your coming year, what would it be?

Ride or Die!

There are different types of friends.  Friends run the gamut from mere associates to forever friends.  From Facebook friends to the kind of friend who would bail you out of jail (unless he/she was in the cell next to you ).  The best friends in the world are “ride or die” friends. Urbandictionary.com defines these individuals as “the people in your life who are there through thick and thin. They'll do what it [takes] to make it through with you. The ones that'll stick it through ‘till the end.’”  In recovery, as well as in any healthy life’s journey, we need ride or die type friends.

There came a point in my quest for total health where I found out who my real friends were.  I had been in recovery for more than three years.  I was still struggling, but still hanging in there.  I had a small circle of friends who I thought had my best interest at heart. Unfortunately, it took a special day in my life to find out the truth. 

 

I’ve always wondered why birthdays mean so much to me.  After all, it’s just the day I slithered into the world, the last of eleven children (we think).  Is it society that implants the subliminal message that people are supposed to give a rat’s butt about the day you were born?   Is it a subconscious need for attention?  I really don’t know, but unfortunately, I’ve never shaken it.  I can’t figure out why.  As a child, my parents couldn’t afford to have me a party.  Having food to eat and clothes to wear was a little more important (I’m not being snarky; it’s true).  The only birthday party I was ever invited to when I was a kid was a nightmare.  When I turned 15, I tried to have myself a party…no comment on what a catastrophe that turned out to be.  My mantra after that was, “screw this mess!”  I sincerely tried not to care about birthdays after that.  When I turned 18, it’s was only a few days after I graduated from high school, so I was still riding on that high.  Year 21 didn’t mean anything because I’d drank more alcohol before it was legal than I ever have since becoming “of age.”  Year 30 was a blur because it’s the same year I had my tonsils out (strep, surgery, and drugs, OH MY! )  But then last year came year 40.  Oh dear.

 

For some reason, I thought that year 40 would be my year.  I’d finally started making decisions that were more beneficial to my health.  Like I said, I was still struggling, but felt like I was on my way.  The day before my birthday, a friend from church took me out to an early dinner and I was to get together with some other friends afterwards.  Dinner was scrumptious.  As I headed out to meet with my other friends, I felt so special—like one of the cool kids.  Sigh.  Why do I do this to myself?

 

Have you ever seen an intervention?  No, I’m not talking about a Dr. Phil intervention; I mean a real one.  It is my understanding that an intervention is set up because a loved one (i.e.: someone you care about the health and safety of) is harming himself in some way.  Whether it’s an abusive relationship or some sort of substance abuse, an intervention is supposed to be a loving meeting to let the loved one know what harm their choices are producing, to instill in them that they need help, and to give them the comfort of knowing that they have people in their corner.  Kind of like Galatians 1:6 (King James Version) – “Brethren, if a man be overtaken in a fault, ye which are spiritual, restore such an one in the spirit of meekness; considering thyself, lest thou also be tempted.”  Well, that ain’t what I got.  What was supposed to be a joyous time of fellowship turned in to a cartload of crap!

 

First of all, I already knew and acknowledged that I was a food addict and was getting help, so I didn’t see the point of this in the first place.  Second, I found it rather tacky (that’s the nicest word I could write down) to mess with me the day before my birthday.  Third, their entire premise and motive was wrong.  Here’s how it went.  My “friends” gathered together to let me know that (1) they thought I was suicidal, (2) they didn’t support my being a part of Celebrate Recovery, and (3) I was too honest about my struggles and that my honesty was making them look bad.  Stop! Hammer time…

 

Now, let’s see, you don’t support my honesty about my struggles?  O…K.  Any of you who’ve read my blog since its inception know that it started out slightly different than its present form, but that I always endeavored to be open and honest.  Jeremiah 6:14 says (Living Bible), “You can’t heal a wound by saying it’s not there.”   These people took my honesty as a personal challenge instead of a real person with real problems working through real answers and helping others in the process.  I was told “You know, people will use what you’ve said against you to hurt you.”  But wait, isn’t that the risk you take with any relationship, cyber or not?  I needed to take the risk so that I would know that it was O.K. for my voice to be heard, and to know that it was being heard by SOMEBODY!  I’d gone through years of being the squeaky wheel that got no grease.  This was my out; this was my release point; this was a way that I knew the joy of helping or encouraging at least one person with genuine honesty.  But, that’s a no-no!  It’s a heck of thing to find out your friends are ashamed of you.

 

Next, you don’t support my being a part of Celebrate Recovery?  For those who don’t know what CR is (because I haven’t explained it very well, sorry).  Celebrate Recovery is a Christ-centered 12-step program that uses the same recovery steps as the various “anonymous” groups.  The difference is that our steps and principles are Bible-based, and we are allowed to openly worship God and acknowledge Jesus Christ as our higher power.  Now, if my friends had not been professing Christians, this revelation of non-support wouldn’t have been a shock to me.  I asked them why they didn’t support it.  Their answer?  “Well, I wouldn’t go.”  God didn’t tell you to go; he told me to go.  “Well, it doesn’t seem to be doing you any good.”  Now, you’ve lost your mind.  Do you know where I would be if it hadn’t been for CR?  Do you really?

 

Why do I get the feeling that I’m in the presence of Job’s counselors?  Now you know WHY they thought I was suicidal. 

 

I made the mistake of doing what many co-dependents do; I acquiesced.  The deal was that I would hang around long enough to get my 4-year chip in July and then I would totally walk away from CR for six months.  Then we’d reassess the situation.  The caveat was that they were to be there to fill what was lacking.  “Oh yeah,” they said.  ”We’ll be there for you.  We’ll love you and pray for you.  Sure, we’ll take good care of you.”  They promised they would be “ride or die” friends.  Anybody want to guess what happened?   They didn’t ride; they died.  Once I was completely out of CR, they had what they wanted.  They were even more distant than before.  It was three months of misery, loneliness, depression and emptiness. 

 

Again, I picked up the chant of “screw this mess!” and I made drastic changes.  I jumped back into CR with both feet and found me some REAL “Ride or Die” friends.  Now, it’s not that I don’t still love my other friends or that I don’t own my part of the collapse of our friendship.  It’s just that I can’t “do recovery” with them.  We can talk about surface stuff, but anything of a deep emotional nature must be avoided for my emotional health and to keep them from feeling ashamed. 

 

Today is my 41st birthday—exactly one year since this crap happened. I felt that I needed to talk about this because for one thing, somebody reading this may be going through something similar.  Yes, it’s hard, but you are worth having people in your life who have your well being in mind and who will also get in your face and tell you when you’re wrong or need to change.  I also needed to talk about this because I’m dealing with fear today.  My new “Ride or Die” friends have gotten together to take me out for a birthday dinner tonight.  I’m very afraid that I’m going to cause a repeat of last year.  This has NOTHING to do with my friends.  This has EVERYTHING to do with me.  I suffer with waiting-for-the-other-shoe-to-drop syndrome.  Y’all pray now.  I want to enjoy this birthday.

 

UPDATE: The birthday dinner was great.  Laughter, Mexican food, and cute guys singing to me in Spanish...oh yeah!

 

 

 

 

A Different Kind of Running.

I was going through and organizing some of my old files when I found this post from an old blog I had:

12/31/10 – Lesson in dead plants

I had a day off today, so I just tooled around the apartment. I finally dealt with the thing I had been ignoring. It’s been staring me in the face for weeks; all the dead plants on my porch. If you know me at all, you know I love flowers and plants. Every change of season for the past 15 years, I have painstakingly brought the ever-increasing menagerie of flora inside and placed them in strategic (and not-so-strategic) places in the apartment during the cold months, then bring them all back out again when the weather warmed up. This year, I was so worn out at beaten down that all but a few choice plans were left out to dry up and die.

Today, I dumped out all the dead plants and old dirt (most of this was yard clay, not potting soil), cleaned the porch, and cleaned out the pots in the yard where I plant annuals (petunias and impatiens in the summer; pansies in the winter). In the midst of spring cleaning in January, it hit me. The state of these plants represents my life for the past year (no, I'm not getting into tree hugging, so relax). All the things that I once cared about, the things in my life that were beautiful, the hopes and dreams I’ve carried for years; I’ve left them out in the cold to dry up and die. I’ve only saved a few choice good things in my life to care about and even they don’t get enough attention (like the few plants I did bring in). But just like the buds coming out on my Christmas cactus, God is showing me that all is not lost and I can recapture the life He intended for me.

This spring, I will be starting over with my plants. I won’t have nearly the number I had before, but they will be well cared for and flourish. They will be things I like, not just other people’s cast offs (which isn’t bad——that’s how I got the Christmas cactus). I’m sitting down now setting real goals for this coming year. I didn’t set any last year; I just didn’t care and I let life just happen. So, for 2011, there will be fewer things to crowd out what isn’t important. I will live with purpose and on purpose.

My theme for this year is RLH –– Run Like Hell! Sounds kind of crude, but I’m running way from all things, people, and places that aren’t conducive to my spiritual, physical, mental, and financial health. Running towards what is productive and beautiful. If I don’t make these changes, I cannot effectively help anyone else.  It will be a challenge and a drastic change from the way I have been living. I hope you all will join on this journey with me. I hope you will all remember that I am NOT perfect (and for the record never said I was). I will make mistakes. I will fall down, but I need you all to be there to help me up. I don’t want to be the person in the fourth chapter of Ecclesiastes : For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falleth; for he hath not another to help him up (Verse 10).

It’s taken a couple of years, but since I wrote that, I have made several changes and continue to uproot the bad in my life and try to replace it with the good, the beautiful, and the loving.

I share this with you because I’m about to make more changes; some small, some not so small.  Just like before, it will take time.  Please be patient as I may not be spending quite as much time on social media as I once did.  Not a total disconnect from it, but just stepping back a bit.  I’ve got establish a life where I am in face-to-face contact with real people more than waiting for the ping of a tweet or e-mail to be human.  Social media is wonderful and I’ll probably never give it up, but it is not a substitute for the real.  Getting a hug through e-mail is not the same as getting a real hug from a flesh and blood person.  Actually, this stepping back will probably mean more consistent blog posts from me.  Yeah, I know that sounds backwards and weird, but for me it makes perfect sense.  J

Mind Your Business!

Matthew 7:1-2 - Don’t pick on people, jump on their failures, criticize their faults--unless, of course, you want the same treatment. That critical spirit has a way of boomeranging. (MSG)
 

Pulling into the parking lot, I see the nice cars lined up in the spaces; some with the little stick figure family decals (which I think are tacky simply because they are of no use to me).  Many of the vehicles even sport a bicycle rack (oh hoity toity).  I gaze at the well manicured grounds, smell the fresh paint, and hear the music coming from inside.  I think, “Oh Lord, what am I doing here?  I don’t belong here.”  Hesitantly, I step through the front door.  I’m greeted in the foyer by faces; some smiling, some looking like they’ve been sucking on a sour pickle for 14 years.  “Sigh.  I haven’t even said good morning, and the analysis has started already.”  Timidly, I go into the crowded main room.  Those familiar with the routine are exchanging pleasantries, giving a quick smile and nod my way.  A few more “pickles” are puckering up and nodding my way as if to say “What is SHE doing here?!  This is OUR place!  Who does she think she is?!”  I try to ignore their stares.  With shaking hands I hang up my jacket, pop in my headphones, and step onto the treadmill.  And so, the fight begins.

I’ve often heard it said that a church is the most judgmental place on earth.  Unfortunately, that is true in some cases.  However, I believe that the gym is an even more judgmental place.  Why?  Many of us grew up hearing others constantly tell us that we didn’t match up to their standards of physical perfection (classmates, teachers, parents, siblings, etc).  Hollywood parades the perky, perfect, plumped up, painted up, air brushed, photoshopped, surgitized, digitized models of “natural” perfection.  All this while trying to convince us that these people look and stay fabulous by eating cheese curls, drinking beer, and taking Viagra (pass the Cheetos please.  You can keep the rest of it.  J).  We’re used to that constant barrage of judgment.  Now, let’s add to that our inner dialogue of relentless self scrutiny.  Let’s go even deeper still, and add to that our own guilty pleasure of picking apart the moves of others at the gym.  See if any of this sounds familiar:

What the heck is she wearing?

Man, I’m a girl and I can leg press more than that!
Quit laying all over it; it’s a treadmill, not a Lay-z-Boy!
Oh, please.  If I can run, I know you can walk faster than THAT.
Clean up after yourself; your mama does NOT work here!

And on it goes until we’ve successfully torn everyone in the room completely apart. Feel superior now? 

Why do we do this?  Why is it not cool to be judged so harshly, but we feel perfectly justified in looking down on others?  Because deep down, we are really trying to stifle our own screaming shortcomings and failures.   If we can convince ourselves that others are not doing as well as we are, then we can hide our own defects and give ourselves the grace that we also need to freely give to others.  Another reason we do this is because we secretly think that others are thinking the same things about us.

What do I mean?  Well, let’s analyze a couple of my examples from earlier:

What is she wearing?  If I judge someone else on what she is wearing in the gym, then I don’t have to look at my own shabby, old as dirt, too big to be wearing outfit with embarrassment.

Man, I’m a girl and I can leg press more than that!  Yeah, Wonder Woman’s legs look super pressing 130 pounds (insert athletic grunt here), but they don’t look so hot trying unsuccessfully to figure out Zumba moves (insert cuss word here).

Clean up after yourself; your mama does NOT work here!  OK, OK, OK, people really SHOULD clean up after themselves, but in all honesty, giving them the stinky eye is not going to make them pick up a towel and clean their sweaty ooze off the machine.  Just go to the machine, say “eww” (no, don’t do that J ) and clean it up…and then be sure to be a good example and clean up your own ooze.

Second Corinthians 10:12 says, “Not that we [have the audacity to] venture to class or [even to] compare ourselves with some who exalt and furnish testimonials for themselves! However, when they measure themselves with themselves and compare themselves with one another, they are without understanding and behave unwisely” (Amplified Version).  So, what’s the cure for the judgmental/critical thought pattern?  Three little words:  MIND YOUR BUSINESS.  The owner of the hair salon I used to frequent used to say this whenever any of the “Sister Bucket Mouths” started gossiping—a bunch of women gossiping, imagine that.  Anyway, wherever someone started to spout off some not-so-kind and usually not-so-true words about anyone, she’d stop them in their tracks and say, “Now, mind your business.”  Even the Bible tells us to mind our own business in First Thessalonians, chapter four, verse eleven.  When I find myself turning into the gym’s “Sister Bucket Mouth,” I say to myself (sometimes out loud—yeah I know I’m weird) “Hey, mind your business!”  Works every time.

In what areas do you need to “mind your business”?

Freely Give, Freely Receive: Maundy Thursday Musings

Matthew 10:8 - Heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, raise the dead, cast out devils: freely ye have received, freely give.

 

If you read my last daybook entry, you remember that I was pondering over attending my first Maundy Thursday service:

I am pondering... on the upcoming Maundy Thursday Celebration. This will be the first time I’ve ever celebrated Maundy Thursday (the commemoration of the Last Supper and Jesus washing the feet of His disciples). I am thankful to be learning more about the holy days of the liturgical calendar (I’m still really foggy about Advent, but there’s always next time). However, the only thing bothering me about the celebration is that the leadership of the church is doing the foot washing. Now, we had foot washings at my home church, so the concept isn’t new. But, I really feel uncomfortable with having the leaders of my church wash my feet. My friend, Angela, told me it was a pride issue. I don’t see how. I don’t think that I’m too good to have them was my feet. Quite the opposite; I feel that they are too good to be washing my feet. Position wise, it feels all wrong. I should be washing their feet; that is my place. I should be serving them, not them serving me. I don’t know how (or if) I’m going to do this. I don’t see how that is pride……

 

I was in such a quandary about this that I e-mailed the Pastor about it.  He suggested that I read the Gospel of Saint John, chapter 13 before I came to the service.  I did, but I still wasn’t convinced this was the right thing for me to do.  Then the thought came, what would I have done had I been at the Last Supper with the other disciples?  Well, for starters, I wouldn’t have let Jesus wash my feet UNLESS he commanded me to.  I felt as if He were saying, “Well I am ordering you to do this.”  So, last night I got in the car and headed toward the church. 

 

When I got there one of the lead ministers at the church greeted me, gave me a paper with the order of service on it, and said that if I wanted to, I could start with him washing my feet.  Everything inside me screamed NO!  But I said (only loud enough for him to hear) “sure.”

 

Along with running for five minutes straight for the first time, this was the most difficult five minutes of my year so far.  My hands were literally shaking as he washed my feet.  I was so embarrassed for him that I couldn’t even look at him.  Then the tears started.  I finally started getting an understanding of what this all meant.  When he finished, he actually thanked me for giving him the privilege of serving me in this way.  All I could do was hug him and tearfully say thank you. 

 

I moved on to the prayer station where I was to read several scriptures from the Psalms, John, and I Corinthians 11 and to pray and prepare my heart to receive Holy Communion.  I read, and cried, and prayed, and cried, and took Communion, and cried some more.  I was “all tore up” by the time I finished up and went to the parking lot.   As I was driving home, I got the answer to why this ceremony was so emotionally intense for me.

Matthew 23:11 says, “But he that is greatest among you shall be your servant.”  I’m so used to serving that it has become a point of pride for me.  From the very beginning of my walk with Christ, I was taught how important service is, but not taught so much about how important being a gracious receiver is.  Luke 6:38 says, “Give, and it shall be given unto you; good measure, pressed down, and shaken together, and running over, shall men give into your bosom. For with the same measure that ye mete withal it shall be measured to you again.”  I’m really good at doing the first part, but lousy at receiving the second part.  Why?  It goes back to an old attitude I still haven’t conquered;  I don’t feel comfortable letting people love and help me.  I don’t feel worthy of their love and concern.  It’s like I haven’t done enough to earn it.  It’s a combination of pride, false humility, and low self-esteem.  Weird combination, I know, but the position of gracious receiver feels wrong.  It's because I’m the one on my mind instead of God or others.  My attitude is: surely God wouldn’t have me receive service.  My only place is to serve.  However, I’m not fulfilling God’s call if I never allow myself to receive.  Being one who constantly gives yet never graciously receives leaves me empty, alone, and depressed, which, in turn, prompts behaviors that lead to self-medication and relapse.  Not good.

 

So, I guess my next step is to continue to learn to be a gracious receiver, be honest about what I need, and not be afraid to go for what I want.  Thank you, Lord, for this wonderful lesson.

 

Little "Buts" Turn into Big "Butts."

Luke 14:18a – “But they all alike began to make excuses…”

“Excuses are like armpits; everybody’s got a couple and they stink.”  Mike Warnke, comedian.
 

One of the biggest enemies to establishing and maintaining total health is excuse making.  For more than 30 years, my excuses slowly took pieces of my life away.  Here are my three most used excuses.  Can you relate?:

“BUT I‘ll start tomorrow/Monday/before swimsuit season/New Year’s…”  I know that old adage, “Why put off ‘till tomorrow what you can keep putting off ‘till tomorrow?”  Second Corinthians 6:2 says “Now is the day of salvation.”  The word salvation (soteria) doesn’t just mean the “save me from hell” salvation.  The definition of salvation also embodies health and healing.  Now is the time to care about your health.  Why?  To be fully equipped to do and be everything God called us to be.  Waiting for a perfect time to start never comes!   Ecclesiastes 11:4 – “He that observeth the wind shall not sow; and he that regardeth the clouds shall not reap.”  Think about it.

“BUT it’s so hard…”  When people talk to me about turning their bad health habits around, they usually end with a sigh and say, “But it’s so hard though” and they give up before they even start.  I was trapped into that mode until this thought came to me:

Which is harder; the temporary soreness of well-worked muscles, or the daily stinging pain of the prick of lancet and a syringe of insulin?  Which is harder; sewing seeds of health so that I can be here for the kids in my family, or the pain of leaving them before they graduate high school? Which is harder; my stomach growling for ice cream when I feed it fruit and yogurt instead, or being unable to speak or walk because of a stroke or incapacitated because of a heart attack?

I think you get the idea.

 

“BUT it’s 'the time of woman.'”   (Alright fellers, don’t go to sleep during this part, y’all use your woman's monthly as an excuse to act a fool too.  J)  OK, I know how it is; you feel cranky and tired, you’re really hormonal, and you’d eat wallpaper paste if it tasted like chocolate.  You’ve got premenstrual syndrome, mid menstrual syndrome, AND post menstrual syndrome.  I get it, but let me give you some tips to help you through it:

• Sleep more – go to bed earlier and take naps.  This will help. 
• Drink more water.  Helps with the bloat.
• Talk to a trusted friend when you feel the hormonal rush of wanting to commence to perpetrating violence upon someone.  Deal with the emotions, then you won’t want to eat them away.
• Pray for Divine guidance.  God designed the human body.  God knows your body inside and out.  He knows what works for your body and what doesn’t.

You know, I wasn’t going to tackle this one, but ladies, we have been sold a pack of lies.  We CAN lose weight and maintain health during hormone week.  It just takes diligent effort…a LOT of effort.

So, why am I talking about this anyway?  Because I know that little things matter to my health.  I’ve had the experience of small steps leading to big positive changes in my health.  I’ve also seen little compromises lead to big disappointments on the scale.  I don’t want our little “buts” to turn into big “butts.”

Am I a Hoarder?

I had the fun privilege of house/dog sitting for some friends of mine a while back.  Along with wifi access, I was able to watch TV shows that I had only heard about (I don’t have cable at home).  One of those shows was Hoarding: Buried Alive on The Learning Channel (TLC).  They had a show marathon, and I watched as much as I could stand.

Hoarding is a reality show about people who cannot stop collecting and storing items.  Their homes slowly deteriorate from piles of items in one room, to multiple rooms being used as storage closets, and ultimately ending up a dump that houses mounds and mounds of debris, some valuable, some filthy junk.  By the time the camera crews show up, the homes have become unlivable, and some have literally become dangerous health hazards.

I saw many similar character traits in each hoarder:

• Fear – They were all afraid to let go of anything.  They felt like their stuff was a cocoon that protected them, when in fact, it imprisoned them.
• Isolation – They did not let anyone come to their houses and many did not go out in public unless absolutely necessary. 
• Shame – They went to great lengths to protect their secret from their loved ones.
• Despair and Depression - Most of the hoarders I saw were depressed; some were even suicidal.

After watching these shows, I had to ask myself the question:  Am I a hoarder?  Not a hoarder of material things (no, my apartment does not look like that, thank God), but a hoarder of body clutter.  I saw my excess weight and self-destructive thinking were parallel with the mentality of the hoarders on the TV show.

I was fearful.  I didn’t want to let go of the weight for a while because I thought it was a cocoon that protected me from other people’s bad feelings and lecherous men’s unwanted advances.  I didn’t want to let go of the negative thinking either.  I believed that if I could  think and say it about myself first, it wouldn’t hurt to hear it from anyone else.  First John 4:18 says that “perfect love casts out fear.”  The reverse is also true; fear casts out love.  Pastor Rick Warren said, “Any barrier you build around your heart to protect it from pain also blocks out love.”  I saw this in my own life.  My fearful heart had no room to love anyone, especially myself.

My fearful heart isolated me.  I thought being away from people made me safe, but there is more safety in numbers.  I Peter 1:8 says that satan “as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour.”  What kind of prey do lions seek?  Prey that is injured or alone because they are easy pickings, won’t put up much of fight, and are unprotected.  In Ecclesiastes 4, King Solomon points out that life is better when not lived in isolation.

Being isolated lead to feelings of shame.  I was ashamed to be around anyone, ashamed of what I looked like, and ashamed of the failure that I had become.  I didn’t want my hoard of pain to be seen anymore.  My days consisted of going to work, going home, and going to church and that was it.  If I had to leave the house to shop for groceries or anything necessary, I went during off peak hours to avoid running into anyone who knew me.  I stopped wearing makeup, doing my hair, and considered any extra care I took of myself a waste.  I was a mess…a hot mess.

Well, at the worst of it, this hot mess was so depressed and so full of despair that she didn’t want to live anymore.  I wasn’t really living anyway.  I was just existing; surviving from one crappy moment to the next.  What difference did my body dying make?  I didn’t have the balls to just off myself, just to slowly disappear from life and hope to die alone in my sleep.  After all, that was the death I felt I deserved. 

So how do any of us hoarders get free?  One statement I heard from one of the hoarding/OCD experts on the show was, “Clear the clutter inside or risk losing your home forever.”  Some got the message; some didn’t.  Whether it was the psychologist who made them make quick decisions about what to keep and what to throw away, or a moving crew with a semi to pick up the items and hall them away, each person who got the message had lots of people to help. 

Wow, I think God was talking to me.  I got the message and started doing the same things to clear my life’s clutter because I wasn't ready to give up my home—my body, mind, and spirit.  I got a lot of help.  I’ve talked about accountability before, but I also had to clear some clutter through talking about it and dealing with it through prayer, hearing God’s Word, and confessing my faults and sorting them out with someone I trust.  I’ve been an active member of a Celebrate Recovery support group for several years, which is also a big help.  I’ve chosen to let go of some junky things to gain something better.  I now have people in my life who keep me on the path of clearing out the hoard and not letting me collect new junk…none on my body and none in my mind.  It has been a tedious process, but my “cleaning teams” are very patient with me, even when I am not patient with myself.  I never want to be a hoarder again!

Are you a hoarder?

Who can you get to help you clean up?

I Can Eat it All.

I Corinthians 10:23 - Everything is permissible (allowable and lawful) for me; but not all things are helpful (good for me to do, expedient and profitable when considered with other things). Everything is lawful for me, but I will not become the slave of anything or be brought under its power. (AMP)

 

I can eat it all; whatever I desire.

It’s fat that I require.

‘Cuz I’m a butter ball;

I’m wider than I’m tall.

I’m pure cholesterol.

I can eat it all.

--Mark Lowry, Comedian

The above song lyrics are funny, but did you know that God had given us the free will to chose what we put into our bodies? In Mark 7:19, Jesus declared all foods "clean." In First Corinthians 6:12, the Apostle Paul re-emphasizes that freedom, however, he asks us to stop and think of our relationship with food. If we are binging on things that are "permissible" but not "helpful," we can become a slave to that particular food. If we have a poor self image and see food as the enemy, we may deny ourselves what is "permissible" and "helpful." Also, what is "permissible" and "helpful" is different for different people, despite what the health gurus say.

God has called us to have a healthy view of food. Jesus said in John 10:10 that He "...came that they may have and enjoy life..." We can enjoy eating, but we must stop and think about what we eat and why we eat it.

What situations or emotions lead you to choose foods that are "permissible" but not "helpful"?

Hey, is This Thing On?!

Job 7:11 - I cannot keep from speaking. I must express my anguish. My bitter soul must complain. (NLT)
 

Psalm 39:2 - I was dumb with silence. I held my peace, even from good; and my sorrow was stirred. (KJV)

Have you ever felt like you weren’t being heard? It’s a miserable place to be. Both Job and King David knew the feeling well. Both were in anguish over pain and hopelessness. Job knew that to be free, we must express our anguish and soul pain, while David showed us what happens when we cannot freely express what is in our hearts–we are overcome with sorrow and we become so closed that we cannot even see or speak of good things.

 

We must have at least one person in our lives who can lovingly keep us accountable. A good accountability partner will hear your heart and let you be free to be yourself. A great accountability partner will hear your heart and then ask "Now, what are you going to do about it? If you can’t do anything about the situation, what healthy steps are you going to take to heal your hurt or conquer your habit or hangup?"

Finding a good accountability partner is sometimes difficult, but it is worth it. If you ask Him, God will guide you in the process. Don’t get discouraged, and don’t give up before the miracle happens!  

Do you have at least one good accountability partner? 
 Why or why not?

The Little Voice in Your Head: The Stinkin' Thinkin' Challenge, Week 1

Before I dive into this subject, I thought I'd share a funny clip with you.  Pay special attention from 3:20 to 3:35.  Enjoy.

Funny huh? My personal favorite was the Weed, California joke.  But anyway, time to get serious.

Let's talk about the "little voices in your head" and what they mean to us.

I was watching a documentary on youtube about a young girl in a group treatment facility for anorexia.  I was fascinated by a statement one of the girls made: 

There’s someone who lives in your head, but she’s moved the real you out of your brain and just sort of left a tiny bit of it and she controls your brain and everything you do.

First, this quote answers your question:  Why is she watching videos about anorexia?  She's fat.  I watched them because  1) I envy these girls for their appearance of discipline to simply not eat and/or to exercise excessively (I said I envy the discipline, not the disorder) and 2) because I wanted to understand the mentality of someone who was dangerously thin, yet still thought they were fat.

I have found that in my case, the mentality of the obese and the anorexic is shockingly similar.  I have often felt that I was under the control of an "alternate" me.  No, not disassociation or demon possession, but a fracture between the outside me and the inside me.

The outside me is the one people see; the people pleaser, the chameleon fueled by the fleeting strength of the false bravado of someone without a care or need.  The real me, the inside me, is the me I one I want to see when I look in the mirror and I'm shocked when I don't. She is strong and healthy, has friends and is free to express needs

Then there's "HER": the mediator between the inside me and the outside me.  "HER" is the taskmaster who yells in my head:

"unworthy of love" 
"fat, ugly, lazy, disgusting slob!"
"Only a two pound weight loss, that's not good enough!  YOU'RE NOT GOOD ENOUGH!"
"FAILURE!"
"Who do you think you are?!"
"You might as well give up and eat. EAT! EAT! EAT!"

"HER" propels me toward junk food like a junkie toward crack, all the while soothing me with the lie of, "It will get better.  This is the last time you'll have to do this."

In all this, the real me gets lost; locked deeper and deeper into a prison cell--a limited space with no prospect of escape (much less thriving).

So, how can we heal?  First, it cannot be done alone (I don't care what the self-help books say).  There are steps we can take, but we must have help, support, and accountability.  We need help to completely change our minds.

Romans 12:2 says, "Do not be conformed to this world (this age), [fashioned after and adapted to its external, superficial customs], but be transformed (changed) by the [entire] renewal of your mind [by its new ideals and its new attitude], so that you may prove [for yourselves] what is the good and acceptable and perfect will of God, even the thing which is good and acceptable and perfect [in His sight for you]."  (Amplified Version)

III John 1:2 says - Beloved, I pray that you may prosper in every way and [that your body] may keep well, even as [I know] your soul keeps well and prospers. (Amplified Version)

Our soul is our mind, will, and emotions.  Our spirit and soul must be well and balanced in order for our bodies to be well and balanced.  Only when we use God's Word to begin to think of ourselves the way He thinks of us, can we really be free from the taskmaster that destroys our mind, crushes our will, and mangles our emotions.  This changes aren't instant.  They happen one day at a time, one thought at a time.

Rodney Holmstrom, the National Encourager Coach for Celebrate Recovery set up a "Stinkin' Thinkin'" challenge earlier this year.  I would like us all to participate in it.  All you need is index cards or pieces of paper and a pen.

Write on Side 1 of your card/paper:   "Yet to all who did receive Him, to those who believed in His name, He gave the right to become children of God." John 1:12

Write on Side 2: I am a child of God!!!

Read over this several times a day for the next week, and let God speak to your heart.  Please feel free to share any insights, questions, or prayer requests you may have in the comments.  Let's do this!

(Good body image begins with a good state of mind.  Warped thinking produces a warped body image.)