Today is "Fat Tuesday." The day before Lent. Mardi Gras parties are happening in my children's classrooms. I celebrated with Girl Scout cookies for breakfast and am thinking about a big, juicy cheeseburger for lunch. Eat and drink up today -- get the gluttony out of our systems, for tomorrow it abruptly ends.
"Fat Tuesday" could just as easily describe my last eight months. The near twenty pounds I gained confirm it. I slipped into a cycle of managing my emotional life with food and drink. Bored? Eat a cookie. Angry? Eat two cookies. Still angry? Eat the box of cookies. Tired and sluggish? Drink a pot of coffee. Frustrated by the stress of the day? Drink a beer. The cycle triggered shame -- eating in secret with hopes that even I would not notice what I was doing. But I began to see it. I knew I was out of control. I could not deny that my pants stopped fitting. But knowing and doing something about it are two different things. For the last few months, my life has been full of good intentions but no discipline. A few days of clean eating soon gave way to the cravings of comfort foods. A green smoothie in one hand and that blasted cookie in the other. I have been ambivalent -- desiring change, but lacking the endurance to face the days of a processed food detox.
And if I am truly honest, I will tell you it is more than the endurance and the detox. It is fear. Fear regarding what will take the cookie's place. Fear wondering what will bring me comfort. Fear wondering what, if anything, will meet my needs. For a few minutes, maybe even a few hours, food and drink silences these fears. I do not have to hear the echos of my emptiness, but rather let it be muffled in the cream of a double stuff oreo.
Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, the start of Lent. The liturgical season of reflection on our sin nature -- a time to address those barriers that stand between us and God's graces. It is a season of examining our conscience and confessing our sins. It is a season of reconciliation -- of making things right.
Lent is a time to sacrifice and fast. Two weeks ago, my super annoying husband declared his Lenten fast -- 3 days of only water, then 6 weeks of no caffeine, alcohol, and only raw eating with exception to one cup of coffee, one good beer, and a fish meal on Sundays. I hated him, even though this is not far from what he does every year and I should have expected it. My competitve side started showed its ugly head -- if he can do that, so can I. Real spirituality here! But when I really started thinking about it the mere thought of it terrified me. I started a list of excuses why I could not join him in a similar fast -- I am training for a half marathon, I have low blood sugar, blah, blah, blah. But when it came down to it, I realized I was too afraid of what I would discover in myself if I took away my food and drink. A few days later I knew this was exactly what I needed to do.
I no longer want to fear my perceived emptiness, but rather I desire an increase in my faith that God is indeed my first provider and source of comfort. Faith and trust have never come easy for me. I have a history of relying on my own strength, knowledge, and independence. I have been saying I am tired of this, that I need to change, but I have not done much to address it. Now it is time to take action. I do not know where this will lead, but I do know it is the path I need to take.
Lent is also a time to add something to our lives. I am choosing to add writing and prayer. To write, I must create space to think, ponder, and contemplate ideas. Over the past several months, I was spending so much energy trying to deny my food addiction, there was little left for writing. I also knew that in taking time to pray, I would have to face my fears, my anger, and every other emotion I was trying to suffocate. And to really pray how I need to, I need to surrender my independence and let down my guard. The word "terror" comes rushing back with the thought of letting go. But, I am committed to going there.
This year, I will blog my Lenten journey -- maybe not every day, but I will do my best. Today, I come out of my cave of shame. I invite fellow sojourners in my Lenten walk.
"Fat Tuesday" could just as easily describe my last eight months. The near twenty pounds I gained confirm it. I slipped into a cycle of managing my emotional life with food and drink. Bored? Eat a cookie. Angry? Eat two cookies. Still angry? Eat the box of cookies. Tired and sluggish? Drink a pot of coffee. Frustrated by the stress of the day? Drink a beer. The cycle triggered shame -- eating in secret with hopes that even I would not notice what I was doing. But I began to see it. I knew I was out of control. I could not deny that my pants stopped fitting. But knowing and doing something about it are two different things. For the last few months, my life has been full of good intentions but no discipline. A few days of clean eating soon gave way to the cravings of comfort foods. A green smoothie in one hand and that blasted cookie in the other. I have been ambivalent -- desiring change, but lacking the endurance to face the days of a processed food detox.
And if I am truly honest, I will tell you it is more than the endurance and the detox. It is fear. Fear regarding what will take the cookie's place. Fear wondering what will bring me comfort. Fear wondering what, if anything, will meet my needs. For a few minutes, maybe even a few hours, food and drink silences these fears. I do not have to hear the echos of my emptiness, but rather let it be muffled in the cream of a double stuff oreo.
Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, the start of Lent. The liturgical season of reflection on our sin nature -- a time to address those barriers that stand between us and God's graces. It is a season of examining our conscience and confessing our sins. It is a season of reconciliation -- of making things right.
Lent is a time to sacrifice and fast. Two weeks ago, my super annoying husband declared his Lenten fast -- 3 days of only water, then 6 weeks of no caffeine, alcohol, and only raw eating with exception to one cup of coffee, one good beer, and a fish meal on Sundays. I hated him, even though this is not far from what he does every year and I should have expected it. My competitve side started showed its ugly head -- if he can do that, so can I. Real spirituality here! But when I really started thinking about it the mere thought of it terrified me. I started a list of excuses why I could not join him in a similar fast -- I am training for a half marathon, I have low blood sugar, blah, blah, blah. But when it came down to it, I realized I was too afraid of what I would discover in myself if I took away my food and drink. A few days later I knew this was exactly what I needed to do.
I no longer want to fear my perceived emptiness, but rather I desire an increase in my faith that God is indeed my first provider and source of comfort. Faith and trust have never come easy for me. I have a history of relying on my own strength, knowledge, and independence. I have been saying I am tired of this, that I need to change, but I have not done much to address it. Now it is time to take action. I do not know where this will lead, but I do know it is the path I need to take.
Lent is also a time to add something to our lives. I am choosing to add writing and prayer. To write, I must create space to think, ponder, and contemplate ideas. Over the past several months, I was spending so much energy trying to deny my food addiction, there was little left for writing. I also knew that in taking time to pray, I would have to face my fears, my anger, and every other emotion I was trying to suffocate. And to really pray how I need to, I need to surrender my independence and let down my guard. The word "terror" comes rushing back with the thought of letting go. But, I am committed to going there.
This year, I will blog my Lenten journey -- maybe not every day, but I will do my best. Today, I come out of my cave of shame. I invite fellow sojourners in my Lenten walk.
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