Remix: Out of Control

This is a remix of “Laundry Ruminations: Control or Out of Control?” (Summer 2008).

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One day as I was doing laundry, I started thinking about cake, frosting, cookies, chocolate and other delicious gooey things.

Then I thought about the passage I’d read in the book of Romans about a month before. In it, Paul said we should give our bodies to God as a living sacrifice. To me this meant (among other things) I should let God control what I eat. This lined up with what I’d felt God saying to me for awhile. Thing is, I hadn’t been sure I wanted to give Him control, because He wouldn’t want me to eat cake with two inches of frosting. (Maybe occasionally, but not 2-3 times a day as I’d prefer.) This irritated me. Why shouldn’t I dang well eat whatever I want? Why doesn’t God want me to have any fun?!

So I’d rebelled. I didn’t quit going to church or anything; I just started eating like a pig. I couldn’t bear the thought of God saying I couldn’t have a Sonic Fried Ice Cream shake, so I shut off my filter and ate as I pleased. I wanted control of what I put in my mouth.

One day someone brought brownie bites to class. When I saw them I said, “Aw, who did that? Oh well, I have no choice …” A classmate said, “Yes you do have a choice!” I quickly popped one into the mouth. “Oops, too late!” I joked. But it was true: in the face of brownies, I didn’t feel like I had a choice. After class I took two more on the way out.

So that day as I did laundry, indignant with my Father over cake, I had a ridiculously obvious revelation: I didn’t have control. I’d been so determined to have it, but I’d given it up to brownie bites and things of that ilk. BROWNIE BITES. How was I in control if, whenever I saw cake, I had to eat it? If I was so much in control, then what happened to my ability to choose, to say no?

Then God asked me why I was I fighting Him so hard over garbage? It looks and even tastes good, but it’s not good. Seriously, whose health has ever been vastly improved by cake? Has anyone lost weight on the Cake and Frosting Diet? Whose cholesterol level has dropped thanks to sugar? I’d fallen for old lies: my way was better than His, and He wanted to ruin my fun. The result was an old deception: I was out of control because I’d willingly given it away.

FRICK’N DEVIL!

Junk food is a huge temptation, putting a wall between me and God. So I can tell myself I’m in control when I’m not, or I can let God handle it. When I crave junk, it helps to remember that it’s garbage. (“Filth” as Dr. Rubin calls it.) My Father wants what’s best for me. It’s stupid to put garbage ahead of life.

And that lesson applies to much more than junk food.

Laundry Ruminations: Control or Out of Control?

This is a post about overeating. But it applies to lots of things. My husband pointed that out.

A few weeks ago I was doing laundry, and I was thinking about cakes, and frostings, and cookies, and chocolate, and other delicious gooey things. As I had done many times over the past several months, I felt resentment toward God when I thought of these foods. Why? Because why shouldn’t I dang well be able to eat whatever I want? Why doesn’t God want me to have any fun?!

Let me explain: In May I was reading the book of Romans, and I had just read the part where Paul encouraged us to give our bodies to God as a living sacrifice. I reacted to that passage in my diary, interpreting it to mean, among other things, that I should turn over control of what I put in my mouth to God. I wrote that I wasn’t sure I wanted to do that. (I was just being honest.) Because then He won’t want me to eat cake with two inches of frosting. Well, maybe occasionally, but not 2-3 times a day like I want to.

Thereafter I’d been rebelliously eating like a pig, because I wanted to eat whatever I wanted, without anyone–not even God–telling me otherwise! I couldn’t bear the thought of God saying I couldn’t have a Sonic Fried Ice Cream shake. I didn’t want to deny myself. I wanted control of what I put in my mouth.

A few days before the laundry ruminations, I’d gone to my counseling class and there were brownie bites on the table. When I saw them I said, “Aw, who did that? Oh well, I have no choice …” One of my classmates said, “Yes you do have a choice!” I quickly popped the bite into the mouth. “Oops, too late!” I said it all jokingly, but I felt like it was true: I had no choice. They were in my face! After class, I took two more brownies on the way out.

Back to the laundry. As I was putting the detergent back on the shelf, filled with indignation toward my Father, I had a ridiculously obvious revelation: I didn’t have control. I’d been so determined to have it, but I’d totally missed out on the clear truth that I’d given it up. And worse, I’d given it up to frickin’ brownie bites and things of that ilk. BROWNIE BITES! How am I in control if, whenever I see cake, I have to have it? If I’m so much in control, then what the hell happened to my ability to say no?

Then God asked me a simple question: Why was I fighting Him so hard over garbage? Those things look good and taste good, but they’re NOT good. Yet I’d fallen for the lie that my way was better than His and that He was just out to ruin my fun. The result was that I was out of control, having given it away to a deception.

FRICK’N DEVIL!!!

The fact is, I cannot control myself when it comes to junk food. For me, it is a HUGE temptation, and it has the potential to put a barrier between me and God. So I have only two choices: Tell myself I’m in control when I know dang well I’m not, or let God control it.

Plus it’s been very helpful to remind myself when I crave garbage, that it is–in fact–garbage. My Father wants what’s best for me, and in asking me to eat better (which, if I never clarified, He has) He’s not trying to ruin my fun, but vastly improve my life.

See how that applies to more than overeating? Thanks, Derwin, for pointing that out.

Why Does Food Taste So Good?

I read this awesome book by C.S. Lewis some years ago called “Perelandra.” In it, the main character had traveled to a heaven-like planet. He discovered a fruit and ate it, and it was delicious. But unlike on Earth, after he ate it he was satisfied–not necessarily full, just satisfied. Though he could’ve eaten another, he had no desire to. The character found the sensation strange; I found the passage profound. (C.S. Lewis will blow you away like that if you’re not careful.)

Why aren’t I satisfied when I eat?

I’ve been “changing my eating habits” (the politically-correct way to say “dieting”) for about a year and a half now. It started with my place of employment offering to pay half our gym membership. It got kicked up a notch when I read Dr. Jordan Rubin’s “The Maker’s Diet.” My goal was to lose 30 pounds and become superbly healthy in the process.

To date I’ve lost anywhere from 16 to 21 pounds (depending on when you ask). I’ve just come off another eating binge–this one was about a month long. It consisted of me waking up and saying to myself, “It’s a brand new day, another chance to make good eating choices,” then going to bed some 12 hours later saying to myself, “Stupid, stupid, STUPID! What is your DEAL?!” Yet no amount of self-cajoling or self-flagellation could stop me from stuffing my face with cake. Or beef. Or whatever I felt like eating at the moment.

Why does food taste so good?!

Meantime, a friend and co-worker has been losing an obscene amount of weight. She’s working really hard, and she’s made an art form of it. She weighs and measures her food, does research, works out twice a day–and she’s doing a triathlon next year. Amazing transformation! She looks phenomenal, and she’s growing spiritually too. I interviewed her for our church newsletter last month, and she said some really cool things. I finished writing up the article on Friday, and one thing she said grabbed my attention: She didn’t believe in herself at the start.

Now, as I mentioned, I’ve lost (up to) 21 pounds. So, that’s pretty good, right? Obviously I can do it. Right? I know, that’s what I said! But yesterday when I weighed myself and I’d gained over 2 pounds (adding up to over 3 pounds in two weeks), I had to have a chat with me. I had to recognize and acknowledge two things: I’m an emotional eater; and I don’t believe in myself.

Truth is, there’s a “magic number” on the scale that I’ve never breached. Every time I get to that number, I stop losing weight. More than that, I start gaining again. When I get to that number, I expect things to go wrong. I expect to gain, and then I do. There’s some mental block that I’m allowing to stop me from losing just 9 (+/-) more stinking pounds! What is the DEAL?!

I never thought about it until yesterday. The deal is, I really am afraid I can’t do it. So I don’t try. Seriously, I can see that pattern weaving through my entire life: I avoid things I don’t do well.

(Side-note: Jesus doesn’t let us wallow in our character flaws, does He? Crap.)

So … I’m back on the wagon. Back to telling myself “no” when I’d like to stuff my cheeks like a rabid squirrel. I know I can get back down to the magic number, but when I hit it, I’ll have to do something differently. I’ll have to think differently. I’ll have to be transformed by the renewing of my mind.

Fun times, people. Fun times.