Victory in Jesus

Ice cream has held me hostage most of my life. Any and every kind holds its own special kind of place in my heart. I don't know why, but my Daddy could eat it every night and not get fat. If I just think about it, some kind of demon fairy plasters the extra onto my waistline. Some folks struggle with alcohol or drugs or cigarettes. Ice cream has been my drug of choice. Now that may sound funny or bring a scoff, but it just about dragged me down into the river. That and all the other sugary goodies that assault Americans at every corner. At least with the other substances, it's a yes or no question. With food, it's yes, no, how much, how often...and we have to eat. There's no getting around that one.

Last September, I was about at my wit's end. I weighed an ungodly amount, was having severe and dangerous bouts with a monster of a belly-button hernia, and should have already been on insulin. I was avoiding the doctors and avoiding the hard questions. I had tried every diet known to mankind but kept rolling right on back to the trough, all the while denying that I was a food addict. A food addict? That just sounds silly...

I knew that the odds were against me. 90-something percent of people who lose weight will gain it back, and then some. So why try again? But one day, on one of the myriads of Facebook pages that I subscribe to and never read, there was a lady telling her story: she had lost 230 pounds 19 years ago and kept it off. Now that was someone I wanted to talk to. I friended her and then saw that she was going to an upcoming food addicts conference in Houston. I was in so much pain, so sick and tired, and so hopeless, I asked Ken if I could go. Without knowing much about it and without knowing anyone, I squeegeyed my fat self between two poor folks on the plane and prayed I wouldn't die before the weekend was over. They were probably praying the same thing.

The long weekend was filled with meetings, testimonials, prayers, and lots of strange behaviors. These people carried little scales and measuring cups in their purses, hauled them out at every meal and measured their food. I thought they were out of their minds and I didn't see any possible way for me to follow the goofy plan they were on. But their words and their lives rang true to me, as they threw out their pride and their troubles for all to see. I snuck goodies all weekend, thinking that I knew better than them and that I would come up with my own plan when I got home. One lady came up to me the second day, kind of like an old sage hidden in the woods. She said, "What are you doing here? Where did you come from?" As I explained that I was just checking out the program, she bodaciously said, "Oh, so you think you are better than us and that you're going to come up with your own plan?" Being old has its advantages. You lose your filters. That made me madder than fire and I knew then for sure I was not doing their plan. 

God laughs at our plans. I don't know if you know that or not. The last morning of the retreat, I went down early and ate all the contraband from the buffet before the rest of the folks came down. Then I headed back up to my room to read my Bible, so very holy was I. I read the Scriptures and there was some noises in there about being obedient and then something about the temple of the Holy Spirit. So I abandoned that whole track and opened my emails. I had signed up for a daily devotion that was the first one there. As I read it, in a nutshell it said, "If you are thinking about doing something that you know God is putting His finger on, you need to just jump in and do it. Obey and then you will understand." I didn't like that either, but I was pricked for sure. I sauntered downstairs and sat with two of the ladies. They asked me what I was going to do with myself when I got home. I hemmed and hawed...then for some reason pulled up that email and read the whole thing to them. I started crying as I knew I had to do something or end up dead or worse. I told them "I surrender." So I did. I've had eight months of abstinence from sugar, wheat and flour, and have stuck like glue to my food plan. Every morning, I get down on my knees (sometimes it's not actual, just in my heart) and tell God "I can't do this. But You can." I report my food every day to my sponsor. By God's grace, I'm walking in victory. People used to tell me that I needed to just be moderate. I don't have a clue what that means. In my universe, more is better. And a lot is fantastic. I'm about halfway to my very big goal and feel so much better I might just bust. I'd appreciate your prayers.