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.

Sometimes God’s in the Dark

In my last EMT post I shared how the Holy Spirit invited me to walk down the dark tunnel. I feel like talking about that some more.

When I got saved, I was already a wife and mother, so I was pretty set in my ways. I’d gone all my life knowing little or nothing about Jesus or God. I had prayed before; I believed in God; I just didn’t have a relationship with Him. After I got saved, I had this rosy picture of who He was and of what life would be like from that moment forward. All daisies and skipping, la la la. (I stole that from Prodigal Jon, it makes me laugh every time.) This picture, of course, is inaccurate.

I don’t mean to say that the daisies are all dead or something. They’re there, but sometimes you can’t see them because it’s pitch black where you are. And God is there too. Daisies and God, in the pitch black darkness.

I maybe know what you’re thinking, because I thought it too: God is light. He’s good and holy and perfect. He cannot exist in darkness. The darkness gives way to the light. Et cetera. And these things are true. So when He said I would find Him in the dark, I was in quite a conundrum. My body was at odds with itself: My mind argued convincingly that it wasn’t God, that self-preservation was my highest priority, that the hell I was living was better than walking into a dark unknown. But in my heart I knew it was God’s voice I’d heard, and I knew exactly what He was asking me to do: Trust Him … with no reassuring daisies and cheerful sun to tell me I was going the right way.

Seriously, it was one of the most scary, gut-wrenching decisions I ever made, but I chose to follow His voice into the dark. I was terrified. But God really was there, and He took my hand and led me through the dark to the light on the other side. Today I’m living in a future that wouldn’t exist had I gone the other way. I mean, my marriage, my children, my husband: Our lives aren’t perfect, but they’re so good, so much better than they were. What if I’d said no to Him? Man … our lives would suck. I mean it.

So, sometimes God’s in the dark, and if you want Him you have to just go there. Okay?

Catch-Up

Hey y’all. W’sup.

I know I’ve been underground lately. Sorry. Life has been sort of marching on, and I’ve felt like I’m working too hard to keep up with the daily grind to dedicate any brain power to blogging. Sad, I know. Forgive me.

So here’s what’s been going on:

1. My oldest son graduated from high school. I know, right? I’m way too young to be the mother of a high school graduate. (Anyway, that’s what I keep telling people.) When it was Kyle’s turn, I remembered a moment from when he was about 18 months old. My mom used to get him ready for me before school and send him out when she was finished. On this particular day he strolled out of my mom’s room (with his cute little baby legs) wearing a little white turtleneck and bright blue overalls. His hair was freshly brushed and his face freshly lotioned, so he was all shiny and clean and adorable. And to top it all off, he was carrying a huge Red Delicious apple that was too big for his little hands. I took a mental picture of him that morning, and that’s the picture that popped into my head as my GROWN MAN bopped across the stage and took his diploma. Sniffle.
2. My mom and dad just left from a week-long visit. They came down from Massachusetts and enjoyed the freakishly hot Carolina weather. They also spent an inordinate amount of money on their kids and grandkids. I also had a rather frightening realization while they were here: They’re getting older! My dad drives like an old man with a hat. (Everyone knows if you get stuck driving behind an old man wearing a hat, you might as well take your foot off the gas and add 15 minutes to your travel time. I thank my aunt, Gilli, for this proven wisdom.) ‘Course, he does wear a hat … and he’s got grey in his mustache and beard. What the! They’re not allowed to get old. I’ll have to send them a memo.
3. My parents are now Wii-addicts. I never thought I’d see the day my parents would station themselves in front of the TV and play video games as the day wiled away. But this day (and a couple more like it) arrived this past Wednesday. Like any good dealer, I offered to let them test it first. “Just try it; I think you’ll like it, but if you don’t, we’ll turn it off.” Suckers! Within 15 minutes my mom was like, “This is FUN! We need one of these for the boys!” [i.e. the grandkids back home.] Meanwhile as my mom’s playing tennis, my dad’s all, “You’ve got to use your backhand,” etc. I just sat back and watched as he was sucked into the allure of Wii Sports Tennis. Before long he too was a Wii-head. The best part was making their Miis. They looked just like them!
4. In fact, I’m addicted to making Miis. I’ve made Miis of all my co-workers. I’m having trouble with April’s, but everyone elses look just like them. Giggle!
5. I’m taking this ministry course that at first I wanted no part of. It’s about joining people in their pain so you can minister to them. It’s also about recognizing our own junk and learning how to unravel it. Now, I’m no counselor and have no desire to be, so I didn’t want to take this course. But after the first class I was blown away by all I learned and very excited. However, after the second week I’m ambivalent again, though for a different reason: I have junk. I’ve worked very, very hard to avoid that junk. I built a fortress around it, locked it up and hid the key so carefully even I didn’t know where it was. And now, with this course, God is like, “Oh wait … here’s the key! Yeah, I’ve had it all along, by the way. And … we’re tearing down the fortress.” Greaat.
6. We went to see Kung Fu Panda. SEE IT! It’s hilarious! Plus I love Jack Black, so.
7. We went to see the new Indiana Jones. Um … wait for Network TV on that one.
8. We went to see The Incredible Hulk. Um … wait for it to come to the dollar theater.

Anyhoo, I’ll write again soon, promise!

“She Baw-heh”

Okay, this might be a black thing. I don’t know.

But yesterday morning, my husband and were lying in bed making stupid funnies about my “baw-heh,” (or “bald head” in the King’s English).

I made a joke at my husband’s expense (those are always fun), and he retaliated with, “So, you baw-heh.”

I laughed. “Baw-heh? You sound like a little kid on the playground!” Then I became that little black kid on the playground, retaliating from a remark some other kid made with, “So, I don’t care, you baw-heh!’”

We giggled. Derwin came back with, “So, yo’ momma’s bawl-heh!”

We guffawed! I responded in the classic childhood taunt song, “Yo momma’s baw-heh, yo momma’s baw-heh!” (To the tune of “I Got Some Ice-Cream” by Eddie Murphy.)

Now we’re cracking up.

I like acting stupid with my husband.

Un-encouragement

So maybe you didn’t know I’ve been sort of discouraged lately. (Understatement.) More to the point, I’ve been sad, depressed, angry, cynical, resigned, bored, confused and exhausted. I wrote a little about it in another post called “She’s Come Undone.” (That was just the tip of the iceberg.)

Yesterday I had lunch with a friend, and I walked away from it encouraged. Later I wondered why other friends had tried to encourage me, but it wasn’t nearly as effective as a 30-minute lunch conversation. The more I thought about it, the more I recognized some traits. I call these traits “un-encouragement,” because they undermine true efforts to encourage. See if you can relate.

Disclaimer: I’ve been guilty of these same tactics, so I’m not passing judgment! I love and value my friends, and I know their intentions are pure.

UN-ENCOURAGEMENT 1: You’re a Liar

Sometimes when we’re sad or upset or whatever, a loving and well-meaning friend will tell us all the reasons we shouldn’t be. You might say, “I suck as a Christian and as a human being in general.” And your friend might fiercely object. “What?! That’s ridiculous! You are the kindest, most generous person I know!” The result: Now, in addition to feeling as if you suck, you also feel more lonely and misunderstood than ever. After all, you know you suck. You know the ugly, dark thoughts in your heart. When your friend objects, it just shows how your friend doesn’t know you … how no one knows you. It also makes you feel your friend doesn’t believe you. If you honestly share your feelings, and your friend responds by basically calling you a liar … well, you do the math.

UN-ENCOURAGEMENT 2: You’re a Bad Christian

Sometimes when we’re sad or upset or whatever, a loving and well-meaning friend will direct us to scripture. You might say, “I feel like God’s so far away from me right now.” And your friend might respond, “What? That’s ridiculous. Haven’t you read that God will never leave you? Listen, read Deuteronomy 31 tonight. And read the book of John. Yes, the entire book, because God’s love is written all over it.” The result: Now you feel like an even worse Christian than you did five minutes ago. You already know what the Bible says! Reading the scriptures isn’t going to help! … Wait a second … shouldn’t it help? Maybe your faith is too shallow to let the scripture “drop from your head to your heart.” Maybe God really has abandoned you! Et cetera.

These forms of unencouragement cause many people to keep their feelings to themselves. We don’t want pat answers and easy 3-step solutions, because these things are useless and condescending. So we close in on ourselves, and our situations seem increasingly impossible and hopeless. Who knows how that will end?

REAL ENCOURAGEMENT

In my opinion, real encouragement involves listening and sharing. It’s saying to a friend, “I’ve been there.” Or if you haven’t, it’s being honest about it rather than behaving as if you’re dripping with answers. I’ve found that when people are able to honestly relate what they’re feeling (and unencouragement is avoided at all costs), God’s really able to get His foot in the door. (You must also be determined not to have a pity party.) You begin to dialog about your thoughts and experiences, and somehow, amazingly, you begin to remember God’s character–as revealed not only in the Bible, but in your own life. It’s like your soul shakes off its amnesia and you begin to remember how good He is, how kind and loving He’s been. You remember the lessons He taught you before, and you recognize how they’re still applicable to this situation today. You wind up encouraging one another.

It’s also helpful to talk because nine times out of ten (I don’t have any research to back up those statistics) you realize you’re not alone. Your friend has either gone through it before, or is going through it right now. For some reason it helps to know you’re not the only Christian on the planet who has doubted God’s decision to choose you as His own.

She’s Come Undone …

It’s late (early). I’m not tired, but I’ll pay for it later today. It’s been a while since I’ve been awake enough in the middle of the night to actually get out of bed… And it’s been a good while since I’ve posted anything. I feel detached lately.

I think of my life–the business of being me–and I’m frustrated. I feel like I’m standing in the middle of 9,546,241 very tall piles, and I’m busily moving them and rearranging them. I make some of them shorter by adding to other piles. I make some of them taller by taking away from other piles. But the piles aren’t really going anywhere.

I know these feelings reiterate everything the Bible has always said about life on Earth. More and more I see the truth: This world has nothing for me. Life, as seen through the lens of “achievement” and “success” and “democracy” is empty. Everything is vanity, grasping at the wind. In other words, who gives a crap? Why do I?

But here’s what’s really bothering me: I think I know what to do. I think I know what God wants from me. But I don’t know if I have the courage to do it. It seems impossible, and I’m a chicken. I’m a lazy little chicken, moving piles around because that way it looks (to me, and to everyone except God) like I’m doing something. Moving piles because I know how to do that. I hide behind my 9,546,241 piles, whether I want to or not.

Do I derive some strange comfort from being in this place? Omigosh, I think I do. I guess that’s the price melancholies pay. Here’s something funny: Because of my natural bent, I resent this box called “personality” (specifically the box called “melancholy”) because it means I’m a slave to some prescribed notion of who I am. “YOU DON’T KNOW ME!” I rage at the machine! Yeah. Typical melancholy.

I have to break this cycle. And I know, I really do, that the answer is found in my relationship with God. I’m actively, aggressively being passive with Him. I love Him so much, but I just feel like being in my shell right now. I’d like to pretend He can’t see what I’m doing in here. I know, at least, that He’s waiting for me to poke my head out. I think He’ll smile at me when I do. Like the way my mom smiled at me when I was 3, and I packed a jar of peanut butter and a spoon into a hobo bag and “ran away.” I was gone all of five minutes. And when I came back, my mom smiled at me, and we went on with life. She told me later she’d watched me the whole time I was gone, when I thought I was alone.

I’m going to bed so I can move piles in my dreams.