Losing Those 15lbs

15lbs. It’s the average weight most people would like to lose. I know I would. Ten pounds gets you to a healthy weight, but fifteen gives you room to wiggle. You know, the old gain-five-being-bad, lose-five-being-good routine. It’s been said the average person gains fifteen pounds each decade. Yikes. If you’re not aware of the gain, cognizant to stop it, that’s how you end up seventy years old, overweight, and with joints so old you’re unable to move and drop the weight faster like you could in your youth. It can be done, it’s just twice as hard to do. I want to stop the weight gain before it gets to the point where it’s too hard to do or more difficult than it needs to be.

But weight loss is NOT easy. At 40, my metabolism decided to get even slower than it had been in my thirties. I’ve been on a personal health journey for 15 years. I know way more now than I did then, but my clothes size doesn’t necessarily reflect the knowledge. Why? Because we live in a world of instant results, instant gratification, instant coffee, and microwaveable life. And knowing all the right things isn’t the same as doing them. Every day. Every minute of the day. Every second.

True weight loss and then weight management begins with daily, lifelong choices. Hourly choices. Minute-by-minute, craving-by-craving choices. I want sugar! Nope. You need to drink more water. Salty snacks!!! Nope. Try an apple or hummus first. I’m SO tired. One more TV episode. Nope. Let’s go for a quick walk around the block. Do you see the battle here? Constant desires of feeling good, tasting good, being comfortable—this is called temptation. It is constant. The barrage of temptations doesn’t quit in this world. It’s actually quite exhausting and no wonder why most people just keep gaining those fifteen pounds every decade. To fight off temptation can be a full-time job all in itself!

The same is true in your walk with the Lord, only the temptations come in the form of voices in your mind, lies that have been building since you were a child. Lies once whispers in adolescence are full on bull horns in adulthood. We ignored the whispers but cover our ears in pain at the bull horn. I don’t know about you, but I’m done with the bull horns. I want the voices silenced, and if they can’t be erased this side of heaven, I at least want them back to a whisper for goodness sakes. Those bull horns are heavy, and I want to drop some serious spiritual weight. How?

True weight loss and then weight management begins with daily, lifelong choices. Hourly choices. Minute-by-minute, craving-by-craving choices. I want recognition! Nope. You need to drink more Living Water. Influence!!! Nope. Try scripture memory and meditation first. I’m SO alone. No one even cares who I am. Nope. Let’s go attend that Bible study. Do you see the battle here? Constant desires of feeling not enough, wanting more, being discontent—this is called temptation. It is constant. The barrage of temptations doesn’t quit in this world. It’s actually quite exhausting and no wonder why most people just keep gaining those fifteen pounds of bull horns every decade. To silence them is a full-time job all in itself!

When I try to manage my weight loss, of any kind, on my own, I fail miserably every day.

I am in constant, desperate need of a Savior, an accountability Partner, a Source of Life and meaningful motivation. God the Father is all those things and more. Jesus provided direct access through His sacrifice. A direct intravenous (IV) line to the hydrating Living Water of God. Then when He ascended back to heaven to prepare eternity for His loved ones, Jesus left behind the Holy Spirit—His Spirit—to fill and guide His children, to provide a constant source of nourishment. As a child of God, I’m never alone. I’m always enough, never too much, perfectly content, fully satisfied and filled to overflowing in all the things of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit. That is who I am. (John 7:37-39, John 14:16-27, Psalm 103:4-5)

If you don’t observe me living like this is true, it’s because at some point in time in my journey with the Lord, I messed with the IV needle. I might have even yanked it out, or maybe someone else bumped me and dislodged it, or maybe something done to me even yanked it out. Regardless, my source of nutrition, wellness, fullness, help—it’s come loose. It’s not in place and flowing like it should.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I hate needles, and if my IV has been dislodged, I am not about to even try putting it back in place. So, from my place of weakness, need, and/or discomfort, I cry out for my Great Physician, and He comes and puts me back together with as much care and gentleness as He can manage given the circumstances. He is patient and gracious with me, not condemning or withholding. (Psalm 18:6, Hosea 6:1, Matthew 7:11)

He freely restores my Source of constant Help—His Spirit—as soon as I confess I need it. (Proverbs 28:13, 1 John 1:9, Acts 3:19-21, 1Peter 5:10)

I think that’s the weight loss tip I have yet to master. I need help. Every day. Every hour. Every minute. Every breath. I need help. I need Jesus. I need His Holy Spirit connection to enjoy lasting results of any kind, physical or spiritual.

In Matthew 26 verse 41, Jesus is pleading with his disciples to “watch and pray,” so they wouldn’t fall into temptation because “the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.” Don’t I know it! To watch means to be aware. To pray is the act of seeking support from Someone higher than you. Whenever we fall to temptation, we’re either unaware—whether innocently or by our own choice—or we are refusing to seek support from someone Who knows more than we do.

Friends, I want more victory in my life! I want to shed these fifteen pounds. For good. God has increased my awareness for decades, now I pray He increases my faith to pray, to take courage, to access the power of the Holy Spirit readily available to me (2 Peter 1:1-4). This weight is coming off, friends, and it won’t be my doing. If you see me fifteen pounds lighter in the days, months, years ahead, let it be a testimony to my Helper, my Savior, my Personal Trainer. He prompted, led, guided, encouraged, and fueled the journey. And if I’m not, grace please. It’s so easy to forget we need the IV connection and try to live without it for a while.

We are all a masterpiece in progress, a world-class athlete in training. In progress. In training. There’s still a work in us to be done. A work our Jesus is faithful to perfect (Philippians 1:6). He’s doing His part all the time. Our part is simply to let Him do His. Believe, trust, obey, follow, have faith. Love Jesus in word and deed more than anyone or anything else. And when you mess up and miss the mark, forgetting His plan is better than your own, take some time to confess and return to Him once more.

I’m learning confession in all areas of life really is the best way to lose weight. Repentance—the returning—is the best way to keep it off. Confession keeps my proud heart in the right posture before God—humbled, aware of my great need that only He can meet. Repentance opens my heart to be filled by the Spirit once again, to live from the Spirit instead of just for Him. These small nuances make all the difference over time, like logging your meals or choosing fruit over ice cream. Confession and repentance are our reset button, like a daily cleanse for your gut.

When’s the last time you hit the reset button with Jesus? Not just a quick “I’m sorry,” but some time in prayer, on your knees, getting it all out there in the open? There’s so much more here I’m still learning to unpack. I’m learning to practice what I preach even today. So, I think I’ll stop here today and go do just that.

 

Forgiven, Not Perfect

There’s a misperception about Christ-followers that we are perfect people with perfect lives. That joy flows from our pores; unicorns and rainbows our constant companions. Even as a Christian, I often feel I have failed to represent Jesus well when these are not my realities or outlooks on life. But that’s not truth. Truth is I am a broken woman even after 35 years of following Jesus. I live in a broken and hurting world, and I am just as affected by the marching beat of its sin as the next person.

The difference is I choose to look to Jesus to save me—not myself, a job, a calling, a passion, or another person. Even in pursuit of Him, I fail.

Truthfully, I haven’t spent much time in God’s Word these past few weeks, not with the regularity that saved me and kept me sane during quarantine, not daily. Since the move, I’ve been low, down, fighting feelings of uselessness, worthlessness, and meaninglessness. I know all these feelings can be combated with time in God’s Word, allowing Him to fill my heart and mind, but the depression begs me to sleep.

It beckons me to stay in bed and pretend another day doesn’t need my presence a little while longer. It is a sneaky, difficult foe to fight. The worship music I play around the house is a soothing reminder of my Jesus keeping the darkness at bay.

I always wonder why I allow myself to fall into this trap. Why don’t I make time to fellowship with the Lord? Why do I allow myself to neglect time with Him when I know it only helps and never hurts? When I reflect, I come up with three deeply honest answers…

One, I silently, secretly blame God for putting me in this season, in this waiting room. In response, I think I can “punish” Him by withdrawing my fellowship. What a fool, I can be in my own pride. As if the Creator can be punished by the created. The truth is I only punish myself because fellowship with Him is the breath I breathe, the very air in my lungs. (Job 33:4) Not to mention, what a petty, vindictive way to treat the Man who wants nothing but the best for me; Who’s sacrificed everything to prove His love for me and asked only for my trust in return.

Second, I’m tired. I’m sad. I’m in the process of healing. It takes time to recover. It takes energy—heart, mind, body, and soul—to recuperate from a hard hit. Big life changes are hard hits. Even the ones you see coming, the ones for which you think you’ve prepared, still hurt on impact. My Jesus knows this, and He gives grace to the weary. I may not be reading His Word the way I know I should, but I also know He’s pouring His grace out over me and into my life. I can feel it when I close my eyes and give thanks for the small things. He never leaves me.

Third, like most people I know in life, I hate admitting when I’m wrong. There are days I willingly choose not to engage in God’s Word. I choose television, tasks, chores, phone calls, word games, internet scrolling, shopping, sleep, or even exercise, but I won’t choose time with my Jesus. Because I am stubborn, and I know meeting with Him requires a humbled heart willing to confess my sins and ask for forgiveness. It requires a willingness to let go of what I want in life, so I can receive what He wants to give. Sometimes, my stubborn, prideful heart just wants to hold on to what I want a little while longer. Yet, I cannot receive more of Him while also holding on with both hands to what I want.

Right now, when I do read my Bible, I’m reading through Acts. This past week there was one verse in the chapter that has held my mind’s eye ever since, even on the days I’ve chosen not to engage in His Word.

Acts 3:19: “Therefore repent and return, so that your sins may be wiped away, in order that times of refreshing may come from the presence of the Lord.”

Isn’t my Jesus precious? Isn’t He gracious and good? When I read this verse, when it replays in my mind, it is not the voice of a sidewalk preacher. It is the voice of the Lover of my Soul pleading with me to come home and be with Him. Not begging as if He needs me but pleading out of love and concern because only He knows what is best for me, and He wants me to choose what’s best. He wants me to choose Him. To repent of my pride and foolishness and stubbornness, and simply return to His side where He promises my weary, hurting, healing heart, mind, and soul will be refreshed by His presence.

This friends, this makes all the difference. Christ-followers aren’t perfect; they are forgiven, and when we’re doing it well, when we’re living in the freedom of that forgiveness, there is a peace and joy and love that flows from the Holy Spirit dwelling with us. Emmanuel, God with us. You see Christians mess up just as much and just as badly as anyone else in this world, sometimes worse. But we’ve learned the art of admitting/confessing our mistakes, owning them, asking for forgiveness, and moving forward with another clean slate in the eyes of our God because of the shed blood of Christ. His mercies are new every morning and great is His faithfulness to His children (Lamentations 3:22-23)!

“Father, forgive me for my childishness. Forgive me for thinking I could punish You, Creator of the Universe. Forgive me for leaning into my weariness instead of leaning into You. Forgive me for my pride. Thank You for always being with me. Thank You that You never leave or forsake me no matter how often I leave and forsake You. Thank You for the promise of refreshing in Your presence. I’m here, Lord, with open hands. Fill me with more of You.”

Confessions of Lifelong Christian

The Christian life is not for the faint of heart, but then again that's also exactly who it's for. It's not easy or idyllic, but it is fulfilling and rewarding. I'm sorry folks, but you don't get to have your cake and eat it too this side of heaven. It's just not going to happen. Christian or non-Christian, this life is going to take its toll and throw plenty of punches, you better have a sure-fire way for experiencing deep, soul joy this side of heaven, or you're just going to burn out.

I found myself recently in a state of utter depletion. It's been a heck of a nine months so far; heck, it's been a roller coaster of emotions for quite some time. If you were to judge my life based solely on what you saw outwardly, our life is pretty idyllic. No arguments. Praise Jesus, my marriage is rooted in Him, my children love Him, and the company my husband works for seeks to glorify God in all they do. That's pretty idyllic, and we take very seriously the job of being good stewards of all the blessings entrusted to us.

But for me, that's always the outward representation of my life, for which I'm deeply grateful, but often feel deeply alone in people understanding the inward, unseen battles that weigh on my heart and mind most days.

Recently, I've fallen off the path a bit. There are no real excuses for why I stopped reading my Bible over  the past three months or so. Nothing that holds water at least. Yes, I'm busy. Serving. Someone. All the time. Yes, I'd rather sleep than wake up early to meet with Jesus. Yes, I have pockets of 10-20 minutes in my day where I could open my Bible, but I'd rather numb out scrolling my phone. Yes, sometimes I have just a few quiet moments in the evening right after the kids have gone to bed, but again, I just want to stare at a screen and let my mind go blank. These are real choices that I choose to make. No excuses.

And since I'm being super honest, I know what I'm choosing not to intake. I know Scripture pierces the heart. Time in God's word often provides insights, enlightenment, and understanding to life. Such knowledge often has a piece to it that requires response or change. I'm tired. All the time. I don't want to change, to respond, to be taught, or to be responsible for whatever information I may intake. So I choose not to take the small moments of time in a day I might be afforded to connect with the Lord. I make that choice.

But I'm also not happy. I feel blah and dead inside. I confess my sins in small prayers throughout the day, praying God will pour more grace and help me. The Spirit is still alive and well inside because I feel deeply convicted all the time for not stopping to spend time with my Jesus. I'm a walking guilt zombie, self-inflicted. It's that feeling of purposely choosing not to take that phone call or answer that text because you think you know how the other person is going to respond. I also have stashed away enough scripture in the recesses of my brain that I can call it to mind as needed, in moments of parenting or downward spiraling when I need a life preserver back to the surface. I listen to nothing but Christian music in hopes it will sustain my mind just enough to keep me moving forward. 

If this sounds like a deeply depressing way to live, it is.  It's miserable. Why don't I just pick up my Bible and spend time with Jesus, you ask? I. Don't. Know. I just don't. Maybe because the few times I have managed to open the pages, the words fell flat or it felt forced or I actually fell asleep in the middle of my Bible! Maybe because when I close my eyes to pray, my mind is bombarded by everything I could be doing instead of this, and I can't switch my brain off, so the frustration of silencing the voices in my head becomes too overwhelming, so I give up, get up, and get moving again.

Don't get me wrong. I love Jesus, and I love my Bible, but I realize how hypocritical that statement sounds when I'm not actually living like I love Jesus and my Bible. What does a person do when you're keenly aware of everything you're doing right and wrong? When you know you are making the wrong choices? When you make the right choices, but feel and experience nothing? What do you do?

Me? I have to confess my sins and ask for help. It's an anti-pride thing that is incredibly humbling, which is probably why it takes so long to break the cycle. Asking for help and support is So. Terribly. Humbling. Embarrassingly humbling. Letting the people I serve on a daily basis know I'm struggling feels very wrong. Why would they let me continue to serve if they knew how deeply I was depleted? If I lose their trust and respect and the blessing of serving them, then what do I have left? I have to be ok. I have to present like I'm ok. Fake it, til you make it, right? 

Jesus says, "Wrong." Not to mention, I'm not fooling anyone, least of all myself. I might can fake out others for a while, but eventually my own knowledge of how I'm doing keeps me ensnared, and confession truly is good for the soul. So in small bits and pieces, I've let the cat out of the bag. I've mentioned my struggles to a friend here or there, finally admitted my negligence to my husband, and if I'm not honest with my small group of high school students when given the chance, they smell a fake from a mile away. Most importantly, I have to take time to confess to my Jesus, and sit in His presence and let Him restore my soul.

And He meets me right where I am every time. He draws close and the Spring of Living Water He offers begins to fill my empty well once again. Why, why, why do I wait so long to confess? Because pride is a powerful force, more powerful and convincing than most of us are prepared to admit and face.  Don't we all try to hide the imperfect, the ugly, the not-good-enough parts of ourselves? And pride looks like all those things; it's the shameful thoughts, attitudes, and choices we knowingly make that we don't want anyone to see or know about us, which means pride inevitably is the true source of what makes us fake, insincere, and unrelatable.

Oh how confession sweeps away pride! I think we don't confess our sinful thoughts to those closest to us because it means showing our vulnerable and often unpleasing, soft underbelly to a could-be wolf. We all know the sting of rejection, the betrayal of our vulnerable self by the voiced disapproval of those closest to us. To confess is to face fear head on, to open up your true self to someone and say, "Will you love me anyway? Will you support me? Forgive me? Encourage me? Take me just as I am?" That's a scary place to stand, even with your most dearest people, maybe especially with your dearest people because their rejection will most definitely devastate the most.

But Jesus never rejects. He always forgives an honest heart and true confession. He draws close where others pull away. He fills what others drain. He gives where others take. He disciplines your actions without piling on disapproval of you as a person. As soon as you confess and repent and turn around to head back to the path, He's already there. He draws close and it's like no time has passed and no distance lost on your journey.

Nothing about the circumstances in my life magically changed when I confessed my sin, when I stopped to actually include my Jesus in my conversations with Him instead of just talking at Him. Literally nothing changed except my perspective and a sense of cleanliness on the inside. The guilt lifted, the unhappiness faded, the misery dissipated. Just like that.

And the dearest people in my life? I took a chance confessing small pieces to them too, and they all responded with support, encouragement, and understanding.  That's how I know they're my dearest people. They nodded heads in understanding and laughed at my brutal honestly (in a good way.) They offered to come along side me and help hold me accountable.  If your people aren't doing that, they may be good friends, but they're not your dearest people. To be able to show your true self to the ones you hold most dear is a treasure, but for me it has required risk, trial and error, and a willingness to be vulnerable and honest, airing my needs and shortcomings even when I'm unsure of how others might respond. The people who need to be your dearest people show their true colors in those moments. 

The hard lesson to learn is that how a person responds to you is not always a personal reflection of you; it is more likely a reflection of that person's own heart and motives in the moment. Jesus' response to my confession is always perfect--perfectly tailored to my needs in the moment, laced with the exact balance of grace and truth and love.

Today I finally gave in. God created a space for me in my busyness to connect with Him alone--no kids, no husband, no plans. I had no more excuses, so I sat with my Bible in front of me in irritation and desperation and asked the question out loud, "Lord, why don't I want to read Your Word?" It's the first time in months I'd actually asked Him a question expecting a response. Nothing. So I took a deep breath and I confessed and let go. I confessed all the wrong thoughts and actions, all the poor, purposeful choices. I just confessed all the ways I know I had screwed up, and I was sorry. Somewhere in the middle of that confession the tears had begun to pour down my face. I picked up my devotion, opened my Bible, and began journaling some answers to questions.

And it felt good. Nothing life shattering was learned or revealed, but I simply enjoyed the act of reading God's Word once again, and when I put the pen down and closed my Bible, it's like all was right with the world again. My empty cup was overflowing once again. Suddenly, I looked forward to tomorrow's devotion. I've been a Christian long enough to know this would happen, but pride doesn't go away with longevity. One might even argue it only increases with age (that's a blog for another day;) Pride and Fear are the root of almost all evils, I'm convinced, and the longer you are a Christian, the stronger you become in the Lord, the harder the Enemy fights using those two minions, He sends stronger waves of Pride and Fear your direction to keep you immobilized.

Three months is a long time to be immobilized, but maybe next time it will only be two ;) Because there will be a next time, but I'm grateful I'm in a relationship with a God who forgives seventy times seven and beyond. He will always be right there when I turn to come back because He never left my side in the dark to begin with.