I grew up in the heart of Georgia, in a subdivision of mass-produced tiny brick ranch houses. Apparently, either a Yankee or some Californian living in a dry place came up with the idea of building red brick ovens to put people in.
(Caveat: in case any Yankee or Californian is offended by my references to Yankees. First off, God loves all His children, even if they are born in the wrong half of the country. Second, technically, my children say that I am a Yankee. They are wrong, yes they are, but here's why: my Mama was born and raised in Illinois. She married a true blue Southern boy who came up there to get a job at the Caterpillar Tractor Company. See, it was a TRACTOR company. They had me. They lived there six more months and one day shook their heads and realized that God's country was indeed in the South. They had to get the heck outa there. So I guess you could say I'm a Yankee, since I'm half Yankee and lived there for a few months. But -- the Bible shows all the geneologies with the Father's bloodline....so since my Father is a Southerner, not to mention one of the bonafide Sons of the Confederacy, and I have lived here all but 6 months of my life, I submit that my Southern roots take the day.)
Back to the subject at hand: these houses were obviously not designed for the south. They were rectangular boxes with tiny windows. The ceilings were 8 foot high or shorter, so the heat had nowhere to go. There was no air conditioning, so they were more like large torture chambers that heated up early in the day and baked everyone inside them into sweaty, doughy, miserable masses.
When you look at old Southern homes, they were built right. The ceilings were 10-12 feet high, so the heat could gather way up there instead of at your body. The windows were sky-high and often opened all the way down to the floor, so you could open them and catch the breeze. There were porches everywhere, to bring shade to the house and also to have a place to visit and enjoy the outside without being in the sun. They knew to orient the angle of the home so that there would be cross-breezes when everything was opened up. When I was a child, we would occasionally visit old relatives out in the country who lived in those smart-Southern-built homes. The families were usually poor and there were pigs under the porch, but to me these houses were heavenly, even if they were humble and unadorned. And of course there were always screen doors, just waiting to be banged by us kids.
Whoever came up with the brilliant idea to put those masses of short, stout brick houses in Georgia surely is now in purgatory. Thankfully, along the way, air conditioning was invented. My parents eventually acquired a window unit for their bedroom, but you had to keep their doors closed because it wasn't powerful enough to keep anything else cool. My sister and I would take our bath right before bed and then talk and giggle far into the night, with the sheets kicked off. We only had the idea of curtains on the windows, so the breezes would be free to come in. I remember looking at the moon and praying to God, just talking to Him. He wooed me like a baby to Him.
Even though it may seem like summers were misery, to us kids they were not. They were heaven on earth. Even the heat did not really bother us. It was all we knew. And when you are young and slim, and there are lakes and fields and trees to explore, the earth was a sumptuous banquet of possibilities. We traversed our little world, stole horseback rides on the neighbor's horses (without the aid of saddle or bridle), fished for fish that didn't exist in the neighbor's lake, made trails all over the woods and fields around us. We rode our bikes all over the neighborhood, racing each other. When a summer rain would hit, we would peel off our clothes down to our underwear and play in the water-filled ditches. Our front yard was the neighborhood softball field. Home base was a crack in the driveway, first base was the first big bush on the right. Second base was a worn spot on the property line and third base was the water meter. We would play for hours and hours. With our house oriented directly on the right side, you would think there would be broken windows, but no, we just learned to hit away from right field (there was no right field). Our Daddy coached us at Powder Springs park for years and also coached his Post Office team, so we lived, ate and breathed softball. Mama would feed us supper then we'd head to Atlanta for his games, where us kids would play in the dirt and on the playgrounds. There was (and is) a park named English Park, off of Bankhead Highway in Atlanta. There was a spooky cemetery next door to the park and we would scare ourselves thinking about the ghosts that must be stalking us from there.
My childhood summers are a sweet, balmy memory to me. I think of creamy ice cream cones that we would stop and get on our way home from ball games. I remember the bittersweet bite of muscadines and blackberries that we gathered by the bucketfuls from the fields around us. The penny candy that we got from Reese's store around the corner. A frozen Snickers bar from Sun Valley Beach (Melanie and I rode our bikes to work there for many summers). Homemade vanilla ice cream, hand-cranked on the back porch. No wonder I have too much fat on my body....I'm trying to recreate those summers!
I would often think about "someday" and that when I had kids, I wanted them to have some of what I had as a child. It was important to me that they have fields and creeks and places to explore as they grew up. So when Ken and I married, it was our eventual goal to get out to the country. We bought and sold several fixer-uppers and eventually moved to five acres in the middle of miles of forest and land, moved a camper onto the land and took two years to build our dream home. We homeschooled our four children, so they had a lot of time to explore and enjoy nature, barefooted and dirty, without sunscreen or helmets. We had a TV, but not on Mom time. I rarely turned on the TV during the day. We did not have computer games or devices to distract them. Nobody had a cell phone until everybody was almost grown. We did this on purpose, not because we were poor or weird. Well, we probably are weird. I wanted them to think, imagine, play, use their brains and to not be entertainment-driven. Children need to have great capacity to entertain themselves and to come up with all sorts of things without outside stimulation. We are losing this in our society. So the beautiful, sweet summers of my childhood were passed to my children. They had an old-school upbringing. We had to be weird to make it happen, but now that they are all adults I think they all would say it was worth it.
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Wrasslin' with the flesh and the devil
So.....
Life goes like the seasons. Or the tide. Progress, regress, working, resting, happy, sad, good, bad, it swells then it dries up. But not nearly that regulated. You just can't predict what is going to happen. There is that principle of sowing and reaping, but then again there are tsunamis that throw everything off (or a double crop).
This morning I was doing my Bible study and it was talking in the Scriptures about a list of sins.... pretty serious sins.... and how that those who commit those sins will not inherit the kingdom of God. Kinda scary, if you think about it. Then the hope comes, telling that "and such were some of you" along with the promise that it is Christ who washes us, saves us, redeems us. It is not our own work, but His goodness and perfection that God looks upon. I became a believer at a young age and have walked with the Lord my whole life since. But I sin daily, if not hourly. My thoughts and inclinations lean to sin. My heart resists those thoughts and inclinations, because the Holy Spirit resides there and lives through me. How do I know it is He? Because I also still can see and feel my natural nature that resides in this body. I think I know the beast that would have been my lot had it not been for Christ. I am keenly aware that I am one of those chief sinners that He had to rescue early, to save me and others from what I was capable of.
I am wrestling with the devil and my flesh every day right now, choosing to eat the things that I should eat in order to put my body back into balance. Heck, it's been out of balance so long I don't even know what that means. Years ago, my doctor told me, "Rose, you need to quit trying to do this alone. You need as much help and support as you can get." I tried a couple of things, in particular a clinic that had me taking hormone shots every day and eating 500 calories a day. Sure, I lost weight. Who wouldn't? There was no instruction except a sheet with foods on it and a package of shots they sent me home with every week. People always say, "well, we all know what we need to do to lose weight." But I do not agree with that. It becomes such a muddle of brain vs. heart vs. body, so confusing and so disheartening that most of us give up. Why torture yourself, when the rest of the planet doesn't seem to be doing anything about it either? And it's so easy and quick to just live and eat whatever is there...
During this clinic phase, my left ovary blew up into the size of a cantaloupe (from ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome, caused from the hormones). I was having incredible pain and had to stop the program. Thank you Jesus. That whole plan was only a quick fix that taught me nothing. I had a brief window of relief from some of my fat symptoms, but then of course it began to creep back.
Fat symptoms? Yes, those are myriad, and people who are 20-30 pounds overweight don't really know about those. I'm talking about for those of us who are truly obese.... we have things going on that nobody wants to talk about. Like, if I run out of baby powder I am in really big trouble from all the chafing. Or -- when I bend over to paint baseboards and cut in low places on walls, my ribs hurt and I suffer for a week after a big job, just from the ribs (not to mention all the other places that are constantly sore). I don't have a lap for my grandbabies. They just slide forward when I'm trying to hold them. I often think I am having a heart attack, because in the evenings I get acid reflux. I have pain down my left arm, in my neck and in my chest, just like a heart attack. I have been thoroughly roto-rootered by the doctors and they assure me all that pain is caused from gastric issues. I have this gigantic tummy and apron, that started with my four gargantuan 11-pound babies and then was added to by cheesecake and loss of my core muscles. Do you think that is fun? No, it is the bane of my life. I am long and tall, so there are no shirts long enough or big enough to deal with that. I'm constantly neck-deep in paint, so I just have to not care about what I'm exposing people to. I work very hard, but getting up and moving is a giant chore. Once everything gets warmed up and in motion, somehow I can work like a Trojan, but then when I stop, or when I go to sleep, I sometimes think I'm not going to live much longer because everything sets up like cement. And there are so many more things that I can't tell here.... I am disclosing too much already.
I have no right to feel sorry for myself. I brought this on, all by myself. It didn't happen overnight or even in just a year or two. There have been plenty of decades of health warnings, meaningful interventions and tears, not to mention the many whispers from that still, small voice that lives inside my heart. It didn't just creep up on me. So, with all that, all those horrid symptoms that I live with every day, all that love from others, all those warnings, why would I continue to ignore them? Well, isn't that just a conundrum? And isn't that the 150,000,000 dollar question? Because if somebody could bottle or patent the answer to that, they'd be richer than Warren Buffet. Buffet. Now isn't that ironic?
The answer can't be bottled or patented. It is so complex, very few ever figure it out and work it out. Particularly in our grab-it-right-now society, it's just too much hard work to muster it out. Because it's individual, it's heart issues, it's physical issues. There is no one-size-fits-all answer. The weird thing is, we are so obsessed with what is on the outside, yet we are getting fatter and fatter. The models are getting thinner and thinner, the "ideal" is impossible to meet, most young girls feel completely inadequate and ugly, and the creekbed is getting more shallow by the day. The things that truly matter in life -- things like love, joy, peace -- are being left behind for a fragile shell that is not even based in reality.
Meanwhile, I am shackled by my body, by the excesses that I have enjoyed. I am 53 years old, for heaven's sake. I have no delusions of getting back that 20-year old body I used to have -- that would be silly. I have never let my fat body keep me from jumping in the ocean or wearing a bathing suit.... but there are many things that I simply can't do because I am shackled. There are many things I have missed because I was too tired to do them. I believe God gives us a certain amount of days. What we do with them matters. I could be hit over the head with a tree this afternoon, or I could live to be 93 and be fat the whole time....but with many physical sorrows if I don't whup the fat beast now. The Word says that we are either a slave to sin or a slave to righteousness. How true that is. How many times have I thought to myself, over a piece of cake or a whopping bowl of ice cream, "well, I am free to do this." Yup, free. You tell yourself that, and then you freely imbibe, but then you chain yourself to your fat hips. You chain yourself to the voice that says you are free. Then when you tell yourself "no" -- it's virtually like beating off a nest of hornets. It was in one of these moments last weekend that I realized how strong that beast is. I had eaten moderately all day, and was at a baby shower where there were a bowl of chocolate-covered almonds right by my seat, within finger's reach. I told myself I could have two of them, which rightly was moderate and allowable. So I ate the two, savored them meltingly in my mouth. Yum. So good. My hand reached for a third. I pulled back. I took my left hand and held my right hand down. My brain told me it was okay to eat more. Right there, in the middle of chatty and laughing ladies, I was quietly having a duel-to-the-death with myself. I wanted to eat those things until I was satiated with them. I wanted to eat the whole bowl. I told myself I would just have a blow-it day that day...and would start up again tomorrow. I told myself I was being legalistic. I told myself that this was all silly and I was being ridiculous about a few more bites. Who would care? I was going to fail at this anyway. Somehow, somewhere in there I breathed deeply and surrendered to the Holy Spirit. I won. He won. I was chained to Him, not my flesh. For that minute and that day.
Pray for me. I am down 20 pounds and have 100 more to go. Deeper than that, I have many more battles to fight and lots of chocolate to overcome.
Life goes like the seasons. Or the tide. Progress, regress, working, resting, happy, sad, good, bad, it swells then it dries up. But not nearly that regulated. You just can't predict what is going to happen. There is that principle of sowing and reaping, but then again there are tsunamis that throw everything off (or a double crop).
This morning I was doing my Bible study and it was talking in the Scriptures about a list of sins.... pretty serious sins.... and how that those who commit those sins will not inherit the kingdom of God. Kinda scary, if you think about it. Then the hope comes, telling that "and such were some of you" along with the promise that it is Christ who washes us, saves us, redeems us. It is not our own work, but His goodness and perfection that God looks upon. I became a believer at a young age and have walked with the Lord my whole life since. But I sin daily, if not hourly. My thoughts and inclinations lean to sin. My heart resists those thoughts and inclinations, because the Holy Spirit resides there and lives through me. How do I know it is He? Because I also still can see and feel my natural nature that resides in this body. I think I know the beast that would have been my lot had it not been for Christ. I am keenly aware that I am one of those chief sinners that He had to rescue early, to save me and others from what I was capable of.
I am wrestling with the devil and my flesh every day right now, choosing to eat the things that I should eat in order to put my body back into balance. Heck, it's been out of balance so long I don't even know what that means. Years ago, my doctor told me, "Rose, you need to quit trying to do this alone. You need as much help and support as you can get." I tried a couple of things, in particular a clinic that had me taking hormone shots every day and eating 500 calories a day. Sure, I lost weight. Who wouldn't? There was no instruction except a sheet with foods on it and a package of shots they sent me home with every week. People always say, "well, we all know what we need to do to lose weight." But I do not agree with that. It becomes such a muddle of brain vs. heart vs. body, so confusing and so disheartening that most of us give up. Why torture yourself, when the rest of the planet doesn't seem to be doing anything about it either? And it's so easy and quick to just live and eat whatever is there...
During this clinic phase, my left ovary blew up into the size of a cantaloupe (from ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome, caused from the hormones). I was having incredible pain and had to stop the program. Thank you Jesus. That whole plan was only a quick fix that taught me nothing. I had a brief window of relief from some of my fat symptoms, but then of course it began to creep back.
Fat symptoms? Yes, those are myriad, and people who are 20-30 pounds overweight don't really know about those. I'm talking about for those of us who are truly obese.... we have things going on that nobody wants to talk about. Like, if I run out of baby powder I am in really big trouble from all the chafing. Or -- when I bend over to paint baseboards and cut in low places on walls, my ribs hurt and I suffer for a week after a big job, just from the ribs (not to mention all the other places that are constantly sore). I don't have a lap for my grandbabies. They just slide forward when I'm trying to hold them. I often think I am having a heart attack, because in the evenings I get acid reflux. I have pain down my left arm, in my neck and in my chest, just like a heart attack. I have been thoroughly roto-rootered by the doctors and they assure me all that pain is caused from gastric issues. I have this gigantic tummy and apron, that started with my four gargantuan 11-pound babies and then was added to by cheesecake and loss of my core muscles. Do you think that is fun? No, it is the bane of my life. I am long and tall, so there are no shirts long enough or big enough to deal with that. I'm constantly neck-deep in paint, so I just have to not care about what I'm exposing people to. I work very hard, but getting up and moving is a giant chore. Once everything gets warmed up and in motion, somehow I can work like a Trojan, but then when I stop, or when I go to sleep, I sometimes think I'm not going to live much longer because everything sets up like cement. And there are so many more things that I can't tell here.... I am disclosing too much already.
I have no right to feel sorry for myself. I brought this on, all by myself. It didn't happen overnight or even in just a year or two. There have been plenty of decades of health warnings, meaningful interventions and tears, not to mention the many whispers from that still, small voice that lives inside my heart. It didn't just creep up on me. So, with all that, all those horrid symptoms that I live with every day, all that love from others, all those warnings, why would I continue to ignore them? Well, isn't that just a conundrum? And isn't that the 150,000,000 dollar question? Because if somebody could bottle or patent the answer to that, they'd be richer than Warren Buffet. Buffet. Now isn't that ironic?
The answer can't be bottled or patented. It is so complex, very few ever figure it out and work it out. Particularly in our grab-it-right-now society, it's just too much hard work to muster it out. Because it's individual, it's heart issues, it's physical issues. There is no one-size-fits-all answer. The weird thing is, we are so obsessed with what is on the outside, yet we are getting fatter and fatter. The models are getting thinner and thinner, the "ideal" is impossible to meet, most young girls feel completely inadequate and ugly, and the creekbed is getting more shallow by the day. The things that truly matter in life -- things like love, joy, peace -- are being left behind for a fragile shell that is not even based in reality.
Meanwhile, I am shackled by my body, by the excesses that I have enjoyed. I am 53 years old, for heaven's sake. I have no delusions of getting back that 20-year old body I used to have -- that would be silly. I have never let my fat body keep me from jumping in the ocean or wearing a bathing suit.... but there are many things that I simply can't do because I am shackled. There are many things I have missed because I was too tired to do them. I believe God gives us a certain amount of days. What we do with them matters. I could be hit over the head with a tree this afternoon, or I could live to be 93 and be fat the whole time....but with many physical sorrows if I don't whup the fat beast now. The Word says that we are either a slave to sin or a slave to righteousness. How true that is. How many times have I thought to myself, over a piece of cake or a whopping bowl of ice cream, "well, I am free to do this." Yup, free. You tell yourself that, and then you freely imbibe, but then you chain yourself to your fat hips. You chain yourself to the voice that says you are free. Then when you tell yourself "no" -- it's virtually like beating off a nest of hornets. It was in one of these moments last weekend that I realized how strong that beast is. I had eaten moderately all day, and was at a baby shower where there were a bowl of chocolate-covered almonds right by my seat, within finger's reach. I told myself I could have two of them, which rightly was moderate and allowable. So I ate the two, savored them meltingly in my mouth. Yum. So good. My hand reached for a third. I pulled back. I took my left hand and held my right hand down. My brain told me it was okay to eat more. Right there, in the middle of chatty and laughing ladies, I was quietly having a duel-to-the-death with myself. I wanted to eat those things until I was satiated with them. I wanted to eat the whole bowl. I told myself I would just have a blow-it day that day...and would start up again tomorrow. I told myself I was being legalistic. I told myself that this was all silly and I was being ridiculous about a few more bites. Who would care? I was going to fail at this anyway. Somehow, somewhere in there I breathed deeply and surrendered to the Holy Spirit. I won. He won. I was chained to Him, not my flesh. For that minute and that day.
Pray for me. I am down 20 pounds and have 100 more to go. Deeper than that, I have many more battles to fight and lots of chocolate to overcome.
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