The Struggle Is Real

I could hear the nurses puttering around in the adjacent room as I waited for my appointment. My thumbs seemed to have a mind of their own --finding a rhythm of nervousness and twiddling away--until I couldn't take it any longer and asked her to tell me what the scale had read. I knew I didn't want to know, but I was like a month to a flame...I'm surprised I held out the five minutes I lasted. But as soon as the words were out of her mouth, I knew felt my heart plummet to the floor.

There had to be a mistake. She tried to console me saying it was likely a misread so we should take it again. And again I got hit with the cold, hard reality of failure. I knew I had gained weight (it was either that or I suddenly shrunk all of my clothes), but I didn't know it was THAT bad. How could I be HERE? How could I have crossed the imaginary line that I had made up in my head--the line between the weight that you are and the special weight that you've identified as "You Know You've Gone Too Far When"...the point in my brain that separated me from just being fat to morbidly obese. (To be clear, that number doesn't match the body mass index that doctors use because ...well...I obviously like to live disillusioned. Hey...we all have our flaws.) It's like I have a thinner woman trapped inside of me who is simply aching to get out. It's hard to preach to people about their issues when mine are staring them right in the face on my hips and thighs.

So today I crossed the line and it really didn't feel good. I cried in the doctor's office in frustration for what has proven to be a lifelong battle. And then somewhere in the middle of my supreme pout, I remembered God. I can admit that those first thoughts were more asking why I got the fat genes in the family and why others eat and eat and don't exercise and have metabolisms from heaven. Meanwhile I am dealing with everything from motivation issue to thyroid glitches and can't seem to catch a break. Woo woo woo...whoa is me and all that jazz. I'm a pastor but I'm also human. I'm a multidimensional missionary and truly still a work in progress.

Once I got past all of my vanity and self-righteousness, I began to remember that 'I war not against flesh and blood' and that there has to be a better way. Yes there are physical things I need to do, but it would stand to reason that if I can trust God with my soul, then my body should be a piece of cake to him. He's probably just waiting for me to turn it over once and for all to Him. He said we could bring it all to him.

Easier said than done, but I'm surely gonna try.

Blessings, MinD