Tuesday, October 13, 2015
Tuesday, September 29, 2015
Happy Healthy Birthday!
So this year I really didn't even think about the food problem. I made this decision to celebrate my special day with people, not food. So I got up and celebrated with a strength training workout that I really enjoyed. I added 10 reps to every set in collusion with my Marine recruit. Then I went to work and was confronted with--eegads!--brownies! Homemade brownies! One of my dear friends made them for me and left them on my desk. A few years ago this would have been a real problem but today I was sincerely delighted! I cut piece after piece and walked them around to all of my friends in the building. I watched with delight as their faces lit up, and then I went back to my desk and worked. Giving really is better than receiving!
I am continually fascinated by the way our culture puts food on a pedestal. Every "important" event must be celebrated with a feast. I am planning a large meeting at work and the company hosting the event explained to me that the food "must be very special." Meaning, the food must not stink or there might be mutiny! Since I don't want to be pelted with iPhone cords, we have worked diligently to make the food an event in and of itself. Wow!
As for my birthday, I feel like I'm making progress with my friends. Today only one person chided me for not chowing down on the brownies. And while I always scratch my head a bit at this, I didn't obsess. I just let it go. I have come to know my body very well over the past few years. And since I don't want to feel like crud, I generally eat foods that don't wreak havoc on my cells. Today I had lunch with my friend Robin at Nourish by Hollyberry. It is this fabulous little eatery on Manchester Road. I had one of the best Greek salads I have ever eaten and a delightful raspberry tea. Even better, I got to visit with one of my dear friends. It was such a great time. I did not eat pizza or french fries and I was happy!
So how nice for you, Margaret. I'm so glad you wrote a blog on how diligent you are with your diet. Whoopee doo! As if I needed another lecture on what a fat slob I am. Sheesh!
Okay, let me clarify...I didn't write this to talk about how great I am. To the contrary. I actually wanted to emphasize that living a healthy lifestyle makes me so happy. I have the freedom to not eat sugary stuff and not feel deprived. In face, I really only shared all of this to encourage those of you who feel like a birthday without a gorge-fest is not possible. Maybe you've fallen off the healthy lifestyle bandwagon and got stuck under the wheel. Maybe the horse even kicked you in the head. Hey! I get it. That's why I'm here to encourage you. Grab that horse by the ankle and yank yourself back up. Shoot, phone a friend if necessary. Just don't stay under the wheels. It's messy down there. Take my word for it. Climb back up. Seriously, the view from the top of the bandwagon is, well, grand!
Living a healthy lifestyle shouldn't be painful. If one makes a routine of eating well and exercising, it's really quite awesome. Even better, tomorrow--the day after my big day--I don't need to worry about buying bigger pants. Truthfully, I didn't eat a lick of sugar today. And you know what? My birthday was so awesome I hardly noticed!
Monday, September 28, 2015
Week One
"Wolfinbarger, you can do it! Push up that hill. Move! Move! Move!" These are the words I spoke to myself this morning as I jogged up a steep hill. My thoughts were more nimble than my feet as I considered my son at MRCD-SD(Marine Corps Recruit Depot-San Diego). I imagined the drill instructors and their words of motivation. I imagined my son coping with Incentive Training even as I remembered how I tried to help him prepare physically. I also thought about all of the wisdom my parents tried to impart on me when I was 18 and how much of it went in one ear and out of the other.
Marine Corps training is tough. It is designed to weed out weaklings and produce highly trained individuals who protect American freedoms. The drill instructors motivate recruits into a frenzy by way of unreasonable demands, exhaustion, and hunger. As a parent of a recruit, my first inclination is to think of the drill instructors as bullies. They scream. They inflict punishment. They restrict personal freedoms. They demean and demand. The truth is, however, drill instructors are not bullies. They are supremely disciplined men and women who teach young people a tremendous amount of information in a very short period of time. The entire boot camp experience is orchestrated to make men of boys, and women of girls. Those who survive the experience are empowered because they accomplish something many consider impossible. Thus their mantra, "OORAH!" is particularly potent. They have earned the right to shout because they triumphed in the face of incredible hardship.
But on mornings like today, I am overwhelmed with the enormity of my son's training. As a mother, I think only of his weaknesses, his failures, and his rebellious inclinations. I wonder if he is hungry and tired, or considering that he was crazy to enlist. He is after all, a human being, and completely entitled to those feelings. Even worse, I long to run to him and provide help but I am not allowed. My longings blossom and wither as each passing minute blends into the next. I feel helpless, as from nearly 2,000 miles away my son endures the rigors of the most intense physical training he has ever received.
It would be easy to get lost in the emotionality of the situation, but I choose instead to focus on what I know and can control. This morning I considered my own journey and how I have learned and flourished through it. I lost 140 pounds through sheer discipline. I have endured hunger, aching muscles and innumerable hills I thought unclimbable. So while I ache to remove the hardship from my son, I am also acutely aware of the importance of personal adversity. Practically speaking, hunger forces the mind to focus. Physical exasperation compels us to probe our minds to produce desired results regardless of feelings. Harsh conditions cause us to butt up against our perceived limitations and make a decision to quit or keep pushing. Consider this; drought strengthens weak roots that in turn build a strong tree.
The inexperience of youth breeds insecurity, but time—and a mind that is ready and willing to learn—builds solid character; a sure and steadfast foundation for life.
I have the unwavering perspective of a mother, with all of its love and mercy, joy and grief, long-suffering and hope. As such, I still see my little boy clinging tightly to his younger brother's hand in order to protect him as they crossed the street on the way to school. I see the firm grip he has on his hand and the look of sheer determination on his 9 year old face. He doesn't look back at me or wave. Instead he presses forward, ensuring the safe delivery of his brother on school grounds. I see the little boy in his Army uniform, running around the corner of the house with a fake rifle in his hand and the rat-a-tat of imaginary bullets exploding from his mouth. I hear him shouting orders as they play. My own words echo in my head, "Be nice to your brother."
"But Mom," he says, "we're playing soldiers!"
He outgrew the uniform. In fact, he grew taller than me. But my handsome son still has a noble heart. While I am certain he has many lessons yet to learn, right now he's on a path to conquer discipline. And I am confident in the drill sergeants to impart in him every ounce of knowledge they possess in that regard. And while I can't be there to watch the transformation, I’m praying for him every second I'm awake. So get at it, Recruit Wolfinbarger! Move! Move! Move!
Thursday, September 24, 2015
The Best Cure for Lonely
I never knew lonely could tear you in two
I never loved someone like I love you
I never knew lonely til you.
Vince GillLoneliness is the ache that comes when the crushing weight of emotional and physical isolation wraps a person in a cocoon and squeezes. It is a relentless pressing the searing heat of an iron against the silken soul; the dull echo in a heart that longs to be touched. Loneliness is that blister that never heals no matter how much salve we put on it. It rubs and rubs no matter how we try to loosen the shoe. We can find reprieve in the company of friends or the distractions of modern media, but this disease begs for a permanent cure. Who can provide it?
I had lunch with a friend recently who described to me this bitter ache. A divorce has rendered him powerless over the cacophony of loneliness and regret that relentlessly pummels him. He has taken refuge in friends and ministry--even God--but the pain continues in the quiet of his home, late into the night when there is no one close. He longs for the touch of a human being. Someone to hold him, tell him he is loved. In those moments, regrets pour in through his windows like acid rain and eats at his bones. Where do we turn when we feel the physical longing to be held but no open arms await us? I felt my own tears close at hand as I listened. I have been to that dark place and know all too well its horrors. When we give a piece of ourselves to someone else, we invite the possibility of pain. For that reason, some declare a mantra of independence. Another close friend of mine has had such rotten luck with relationships that she swears them off forever. She prefers to date, and bolt at the first sign of "crazy" or "controlling". She gladly pours her life into her children, but even she has confided in me the loneliness that comes amidst the busy events. She longs for security in the form of true love she can trust. But the sheer volume of evil that has assaulted her in the guise of care has given her cause to build a moat so wide and deep it is nearly impenetrable. Where is her knight in shining armor? Years ago I fell in love with a song by Vince Gill, which I have quoted above. His haunting melody and words put a voice to the lonely highway he traveled as a musician. That road eventually led to a painful divorce. I remember my naivete about divorce when I was young. It seemed common enough because its waters had never reached my shore. Therefore I never thought about it. But one day it alighted near my beach and that long, lonely echo rang in my ears like a gull circling bleached bones. Then it wasn't just something that happened to other people. It was my pain, my agony to bear. I remember the sleepless nights, the chattering teeth, the tremors that came and went. I couldn't eat, couldn't stop my mind from churning. It was a feeling like no other; the kind of emotional pain no human being should ever have to bear. I felt like a bug pinned to a board with no means of escape. I do not say this lightly, but I longed for peace in the form of death. I am grateful for the friends who surrounded me during that dark time and pulled me out of it. Not the least of which was my Savior. He redeemed my story and quite miraculously reconciled my marriage. But many of my friends have not experienced such relief. My male friend expressed to me that from his perspective it is apparent that I take my spouse for granted. I quickly denied this when I should have been silent. That old wound left a terrible scar, one that could never be erased. I am imperfect, but I will never forget. For that reason I know how enviable my position is. When one is single and gripped in the arms of loneliness, despair pounces at the most unlikely moments and devours like a hungry panther. Be it a song, a television program or a familiar scent. Pain is the downpour that washes reason away. I have a friend who has stuck close to me over the years, of whom I cannot proclaim loudly enough. Becky has expressed to me how helpless she felt when I was gripped by torment, but she--more than any other living human being--bound up my wounds with her feisty love. She refused to abandon me, clung to the tattered remains of my heart with her care, and enveloped me with truth. She listened when I raged, clung to me while I cried, and covered my wounds with her tears. But more importantly, she reminded me of the great love that heals all of the injuries of the heart, the love of Jesus. I know. There I go again. Religious rhetoric of the finest sort. Forgive me. I write what I know. Jesus is a great mystery to me--his life and ministry baffle the senses. What I do know is that he is real. He was present in my pain then as he is now. He is the balm of Gilead. He is the saver of souls, the healer of the broken, the forgiver of sins. He triumphed over the grave and stooped low to speak words of peace to the poor and forgotten. He knows my pain intimately because I am his child. Who else could offer the salve that soothes the blistered heart and provide the eternal fix for our chronic problem? One of my favorite verses in the Bible is one that Jesus spoke, "I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world." (John 16:33) Reading those words I am reminded that my friends who have battered and broken hearts have hope. Yes, the pain of loneliness will come. Regret. Remorse. Agonies of the soul. Their pain reminds me this world is broken and we are waiting for a Savior to redeem it. I hurt with them, even as I long to take their pain away. But I am only Margaret.
Tuesday, September 22, 2015
The First Goodbye
His voice barked out through the phone, "Hello, this is Recruit Wolfinbarger. I have arrived safely at MCRD, San Diego. The next time I will contact you will be by postal mail so expect a letter in two to three weeks. I love you. Good bye." 
I am not the first mother of a Marine to say goodbye to her son, nor will I be the last. As I process this next chapter in my son's journey, I have cause to reflect on my own. It is only human to look back and wonder who I would be today had I made different choices in my youth. I have yet to encounter the person that said, "I did everything I planned to do and my life turned out exactly as I had hoped." I'm sure such people exist, but our paths have not yet crossed. I now consider the extravagance of my youth will only be balanced by the wisdom gleaned with age. Meaning, I will forever be in debt to my expenditure of foolishness! 
Yesterday I said goodbye to my boy as he stood at the edge of our nest. His take off was a little rocky. After all, leaving home for the first time is just as scary as it is exciting. He stood in a room full of other chicks, each with his or her hand raised as they pledged to honor and serve this great nation. I, for my part, stood with all the other parents; my camera in hand and my heart thumping in my chest. This time there were no goofy faces though. No bunny ears. No refusal to cooperate for pictures. There was simply my son and the course laid out before him. He has no doubts. His path is crystal clear. I held my breath as he spread his wings and jumped. For one terrifying moment I began to worry. A thousand things ran through my head, none of which I will mention here. "My baby bird has left the nest!" I thought with trembling lips and tears close at hand. But then my face lit wide with a smile. "Look!" I wanted to shout. "Did you see that? He can fly!" 
I will not bore you with all of the stupid mistakes I made chasing after the wrong things. I'm certain, dear reader, that you have enough of your own. If not, please feel free to stop reading now. You have officially arrived and have nothing left to learn. What I do know about myself is that by some miracle of divine intervention, at 22 years of age I was given a 6 pound baby boy who—in my humble opinion—had the most perfect face this first time mother had ever encountered. Have I resorted to sentimentality? Absolutely. My baby just left home to be a solider.
This morning I rolled out my yoga mat and began—with intense rigor I might add—my strength training regimen, all the while thinking about my son. I began with a series of crunches, followed by arm and leg lifts that target specific areas. Finally I came to the most dreadful part of my workout, the dreaded planks. Every time I "plank" I fuss internally. They are just really tough. They push me mentally and physically and don't produce very visible results. Still, they are probably one of the most important exercises I do and I used to dare my eldest son to do them with me. This time, he wasn't there to show me how I was doing it wrong. You see, he was already training with the Marines and their standard of excellence is far beyond my own.
Still, I pushed myself. I figured if my son can endure the rigors of boot camp, the least I can do is a good sympathy workout. Besides, I'm used to pushing my boundaries. Early in my journey to better health I encountered some very big hills both physically and metaphorically. Lifting each foot and pushing up actual hills was extremely challenging. With every footfall I wanted to quit. I would scream at myself, "How did you let it get this bad? You'll never make it! Losing weight is impossible!" Then I would pray for God to help me and counter my perceived inability with, "I think I can, I think I can!" Just like the little engine that could. After repeating that mantra and praying like crazy, I learned that mental toughness is just as important as physical toughness. Mental toughness pushes past pain, past despair and into the territory of resolve. Resolve says "even though I feel like I can't do this, I will try." Resolve conquers challenging mental hills much the same way a fly swatter kills vermin; one at a time.
I was 36 years old before I learned this lesson. As far as I'm concerned, that is far too late in life. In my youth I adopted the attitude that the world revolved around me. My reckless whims took president and I applied no strategy other than, "If it feels good, do it." I gorged myself with worthless ideas, nurtured fleeting emotions, and gave little thought to the way my actions affected others. Only through intense pain, brought on by the disappointments in life, did I begin to change my thoughts and behavior. Pain sharpened me. It taught me to survive and trust God, even when I was very angry with him. Now, when I read the scriptures, "For the Lord disciplines the one he loves, and chastises every son whom he receives,” and "For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it." (Hebrews 12:6, 11) I now understand hardship is meant to drive us to Christ. He means to teach me that all I really need is Him, even when it is a lesson I don't want to learn.
"Why were you thinking about all of this while you were doing planks?" you ask.
In many ways I feel that I failed my son by not teaching him discipline earlier in life. He spent the most time with me in my pre-healthy state. He was the beneficiary of countless cookies, cakes and tragic emotional outbursts. The parenting regrets stack up like a brick wall between he and I. And even though I bloodied my fingers trying to tear it down, it was too solidly built. In fact, I felt as if I had completely failed him. So you can imagine my shock when he approached me and said, "Mom, I want to serve my country by joining the Marines."
Say what? Where did that come from?
My son, who previously refused personal discipline at every turn, has chosen an encounter with the crucible of discipline in its rawest configuration. He will face himself and make decisions about the man he will become. As I sit here typing this all I can think is how thankful I am that he is clearly as stubborn and hard-headed as I am. That's the only way he'll make it through. Still I asked him before he left, "Are you afraid?" He had a very simple answer, "No." Age and experience tells me that answer may change in the next few weeks, but there is nothing I can do for him now. For that reason and many others, I have no other option but to fall on my knees and pray.
Over the years my children have frequently expressed to me their frustration about my healthy lifestyle, my eldest is not the least of these. They wished to eat all the things we ate before and felt quite deprived when I began using honey instead of sugar, whole wheat instead of white flour, and--gasp--brown rice! They're argument was fairly rudimentary, but wholly naive, "Mom, we're not fat like you!" Ah, the blissful ignorance of childhood. It denies any sense of culpability. Still, after my son's recent decision to serve his country, I can't help but think maybe I'm doing something right.
Thursday, September 17, 2015
I was So Annoyed!
Annoyance → Rebellion → Anger → Regret = Loneliness
I have also been on the receiving end of this cycle. My friend has preferences that collide with mine. When I don't perform as anticipated, BLAMO! When I am in the right frame of mind—not tired, and perfectly mentally tethered—I find it easier to comply. But I'll be candid, I'm Margaret, and this almost never happens. Henceforth this relationship is producing a fair number of black spores in the form of frustration, anger and indignation. And if you know anything about mushrooms, they have a tendency to reproduce tenaciously.
Many years ago a good friend of mine asked me to lunch. At the time my ideal lunch was Taco Bell or an establishment that made French fries. French fries were fairly integral to my diet at the time so when she suggested a restaurant that did not involve tacos or fries, I tried to reason with her. I really wanted to go and visit with her but the food was a major hindrance. She tricked me into going by saying, "Oh, we'll figure it out". She then proceeded to drive me to The Bread Company(my very first experience with that restaurant). I was held hostage by hunger and forced to eat, gasp, a turkey sandwich. Looking back I realize her utter contempt for my size manifested in a desperate attempt to make me eat something "healthy." It was a disaster. I never ate lunch with her again. Seriously folks, do not interfere with a fat girl and her fries.
If you are still reading my blog at this point you are probably bored. I’m sorry. I just really love this person and want to fix the problem we are having…this battle of the wills per se. I want a Band-Aid for our boo boo. But the last time I was at Wal-Mart, they didn't have anti-annoyance pills. For that matter, maybe I should invent them. I'd make a fortune! I'd lobby the government to pass legislation requiring American citizens to take them, and then sit back and watch auto insurance companies cry because I'd eliminated road rage. Attorneys would cry because lawsuits would decline. But seriously folks, I don't think anyone would take them. We are all so in love with our opinions and preferences that divorcing ourselves from them would probably wreak havoc on our current society. In case you hadn't noticed, our sense of self-importance is very grand.
For instance, I was in a meeting at work recently. As most do, my company likes to set deadlines. That's generally how businesses accomplish objectives. The people I work with are very busy—often to their detriment. My leader gave a deadline and one of our associates balked at it. His response, "I don't know what to tell you. It is what it is." Or, as Larry the Cable Guy would say, "Get 'er done!" The bottom line argues with no man. Profit is the ultimate measure of success and—like it or not—success is usually the fruit of hard deadlines. I could tell the associate was annoyed. She looked like a pot of soup with steam hissing out from under the lid. A casual observer might ask whose personal preference takes precedence in this scenario? However, it is generally accepted that if one wants to keep ones job, they will do everything in their power to meet to the deadline.
Humility is painful. It looks so noble when the hero of the movie makes the victim's needs more important than his own. I'll never forget that picture of Tobey MacGuire as Spider Man, holding onto the train as it raced toward a broken section of tracks. He was straining and groaning—stretched to capacity—to the point that right as the train stopped, he collapsed in exhaustion. It had taken every ounce of strength afforded him to save those people. But even as I applauded his courage, I walked outside and let a friendship die because I wanted to eat French fries and my friend didn't.
I'm annoyed when my children don't eat all the dinner on their plate. I'm annoyed when my neighbors keep me awake by playing loud music. I’m annoyed when my dog gets sick in the house. But these are all minor inconveniences. One of the most beautiful things a human being can do is lay down his life for his friend. So why can't I just boil the spaghetti noodles a little bit longer because my husband likes it when they turn to mush?
It is so challenging to set aside our feelings and put someone else's needs before our own. Yet I would propose that what appears at first glance to be a weakness is actually a great strength. Some might even call it heroic.
Real hero's come in all shapes and sizes. Be it the dog who dives into icy waters to rescue her master or the man who left his job and drove to New York City to participate in a 9/11 rescue effort. What if I told you that every day we have the opportunity to be a hero to someone close to us? I realize it's easy to be annoyed. It's easy to get carried away and destroy relationships. But it's painful too. And lonely. Justifiable anger can feel really great in the moment, but it can cast a long shadow not only on those we profess to love, but also on our own heart. Wouldn't it be wonderful if we were able to set aside our personal preferences and put someone else's needs and wants before our own? How would it change the relationships we have with people close to us? How would it change us?
Humilty → Selflessness → Grace = Love!
No one ever said loving others is easy. Obviously I have a rich history of "epic failure" in this respect. But today I resolve to practice this discipline. Yes, it's probably going to sting a bit at first. I might even have to sit in silence while I watch my friends eat Pizza Hut, rather than lecture them on sugar, calories and fat content. Oh the horror! But when it comes to disciplines, I propose nothing is more beautiful or heroic than a humble heart.
Tuesday, September 15, 2015
Club Misfit: Join Now With No Membership Fee
I was up very early this morning hiking the hills of St. Charles, Missouri. It was chilly, but I opted out of wearing a jacket because the cool air felt nice on my hot skin. The stars were in full splendor, shining down on the lonely street as my sneakers popped on the pavement. I wanted to run. I wanted to breathe hard and dash through the trees with my arms pumping. But I couldn’t. My faulty body sags, like an old horse whose swayed back can't carry a rider any longer. So I limp, and hobble, and exhale my disappointment. 
I was not alone for long. Runners with headlamps and flashlights dashed around me as if to shame me with their speed. Because it was dark, I shouted greetings only to be rebuffed by silence. "Go in peace," I thought to myself. "Enjoy it while you can." Running is a great grace that was given to me for a while. Now I must settle for a brisk walk, Kung Fu arms, and stealth. Yes, stealth! That great art afforded to Ninja warriors and mothers of mischievous children. 
Today I encountered a woman in the Godiva Chocolatier shop in the mall. She overheard me inquiring about sugar free chocolate and inserted herself into the conversation I was having with the clerk. "What do you mean you don't eat sugar? Life is not worth living without chocolate." I explained that many companies make sugar free chocolate and it is actually very tasty. I gave her the cliff notes version of my story and her eyes grew big. "Good for you!" She said, with this look of utter bewilderment. Then she just stood there and stared at me with this amused look like I was the drunken squirrel in that video floating around YouTube. That was when I realized I probably shouldn't wander into chocolate stores and start flapping my gums about weight loss. So I ambled out without making a purchase, fully aware that yet another stranger thinks I’m a weirdo. 
So if you are my neighbor and you accidentally catch a glimpse of me working out in the basement, those twisty, hand-standy things are called planks. I realize it looks different when the "professionals" do it. I don't care. I’m doing the best I can. And no, I’m not constipated, I’m doing crunches. And yes, those big metal clutches are hand weights. They make me strong. Come to think of it, misfit is not the right term. Actually, it's Miss Fit!
I saw a very slender person walking towards me at a distance and waved. "Good morning!" I shouted, as if I was in a parade and he was the paparazzi. He waved back and said, "That's what I say every morning I have the good fortune to wake up." As I got closer I noticed he was advanced in years and moving very deliberately. "You are doing GREAT!" I said, as if I was his personal motivational coach. He chuckled and carried on. As the distance between us grew, I considered that those of us who can't move as gracefully as we might like belong to a very special club….
The Persistent Hobbler's Club should not be confused with The Determined Gobbler's Club(of which I am a former member). Hobbler's around the world unite! Lock arms and wobble in unison. Can't bend your knee? Lurch in the general direction of the group. Can't wiggle your toes, stomp and moan! Is your arthritic elbow giving you fits, flap like a bird instead! I promise no one will hold it against you. We are all in this together! But all kidding aside, it comforts me to know there are others who are dealing with chronic body issues and still refuse to give up.
I often find that by living a healthy lifestyle I am a little at odds with the general public. I don’t fit in with the super fit crowd and I don't fit in with the unfit crowd either. Does that mean by all intents and purposes that I am genuine misfit?
If being a misfit means shopping almost exclusively at The Salvation Army because my weight fluctuates and I don't want to spend a fortune on clothes…
If it means dousing my veggies in apple cider vinegar and making whole wheat pizza crust…
If it means avoiding foods in cans and manifesting genuine contempt for soda and fast food restaurants…
If being a misfit means my husband sticks his nose up at the dinner I cooked and flees the house for Steak N Shake…
Well then, Margaret Wolfinbarger, you just might be a misfit.
So what if Richard Simmons is my hero? Who cares if I have a little bit of cellulite? Does it really matter if a trip to Sports Authority makes me giddy? This Miss Fit is one happy camper. So if you'd like to join Club Misfit, sign up now. Membership is FREE!
Thursday, September 10, 2015
Always Laugh at the Floppy Fish
Some days are duds. Let's just call it like it is. The alarm doesn't go off. Your child misses the bus. Your special needs child is more interested in dancing in his underwear than eating his breakfast. These are the kinds of days when a nice long mope(or grumble) come in really handy. You know what I’m talking about. You put on the sad face or the grumpy face. You march out into the world. You wave your middle finger at the slow driver in front of you and blame it all on bad karma. If you can't be happy, no one should be happy. 
As you can imagine, I get quite a few stares on these excursions. I laugh with them, of course. I am not above laughing at myself. So after the first walker I encountered smiled at me, I got a little spunky and decided to jog. I must say, I thought I looked very cool running downhill. I was all "look at me in my spandex!" Until I remembered I was wearing spandex. And it wasn't new. And it wasn't very supportive. And I've born three children from my loins. Oy. I happened to see myself in the reflection of a building I passed and realized something incredible, I look quite a bit like a floppy fish. 
For me, exercise has never been about looking cool or being better than everyone else. It started as a torturous endeavor aimed at shrinking my waistline. Then it turned into a mood enhancing activity. Now, I exercise because I like to entertain my neighbors. Yes, that's Margaret climbing a steep hill on her bicycle in her culottes. Don't know what culottes are? Wonder no more. Only I don't have her body so mine are tight around the middle and not so flowy. Some people call them yoga pants, but on me they look like culottes.
So when I crawled out of bed this morning and looked out the window at the gray and colorless world, I made a decision. I could proceed with option number one(listed above) or I could pretend like it was my last day on earth and celebrate. For me, celebration means changing my thought patterns. Instead of focusing on all the things I can't do, I decided to focus on the things I can. So I put on my running shoes and opened the front door.
I like to solve all of the world's problems when I exercise. My brain is busier than a herd of cats on a can of tuna. I've got problems and worries and heartaches, enough for at least 2 other people, but alas, I have to deal with them on my own. At the bottom of the first hill I realized that my first problem was climbing the hill and I decided to put all of my energy into that. I don't want to sound melodramatic, but it was steep and I was crabby. Still, I didn't die so I feel like problem #1 was solved. So after I prayed my standard prayer, "God help me!" (sorry it's not fancy) I started punching the air with my fists. I am an excellent air boxer. I punch up. I punch down. Then I flop my arms at the side like a chicken. All this flopping serves a purpose. It raises my heart rate AND reminds criminals that want to harm me that I am not sane and I will go all MC Hammer on them if they try to grab me, but I digress.
And that's when I started to laugh.
So when my second born child called to say he had overslept and missed the bus, I did not panic. It's hard to panic when you're laughing. Instead, I found a quick solution, told him he was awesome, and went right on flopping down the hill. By the time I got home I was in a pretty decent mood and was fully vested in celebration mode. So when my youngest wanted to dance in his underwear, I just joined right in. Well, sort of. That's what it looks like when I'm hopping up and down as I try to put my pants on.
The life of a full-time working mother is interesting. Improvisation helps. Tenacity is encouraged. Laughter is key. Celebrate your life today by laughing at this floppy fish!
Wednesday, September 9, 2015
Pain and The Sweet Song That Comforts
This world can be a very dark place. Our expectations meet reality and produce bitter tears. From the distasteful gaze of a co-worker to the bleating headlines in the newspaper, tragedy knows no boundaries. It bleeds over the lines and into our lives no matter how high our dam. It reminds me of a saying I used to shout at my brother and sister as a child, "You can run but you can't hide!" The poor dears suffered immensely under my reign of terror. To this day my sister can't climb the stairs without looking behind her to make sure someone isn't goosing her rump. We may run. We may even try to hide, but pain will find us.
Pain is the great equalizer. It reminds us we are fragile, both psychologically and physically. Be it loneliness or injury, death or the careless insult, our hearts remind us we are soft and tender. This weekend our family tried to escape the world and the harsh reality of pain for a few days. We took advantage of the holiday weekend and fled to the country. My expectations are never so high as when I am fleeing the city. I exhale the polluted air and inhale sunshine in the great splendor of the outdoors. When the first crackle of the leaves under my boots collides with the errant ray of light cascading through the pine needles, I shrug off the dead skin that covers my heart and sigh. The forest is a shield from the sadness that permeates my regular days. As such I am able to bathe in the glory of spider webs, spring-fed river water, and a crackling fire.
Tuesday, September 1, 2015
Embrace the Ridiculous
This morning I decided that when I grow up, I want to be a pelican. Maybe it's all the cartoons I watched as a child that show the brave and mighty pelican scooping up water and dumping it on people that annoy them. Maybe I love pelicans because when I see one I know the ocean is not far away. In case you weren't aware, pelicans are not indigenous to Missouri. They migrate through here, but they don't tend to hang around. Either way, pelicans are awesome, and somewhat ridiculous. 
I am well acquainted with the ridiculous. I hate to wear makeup. I love Brussels sprouts. I collected cicada shells as a child and hid them so no one would steal them from me. I adore toads because they are cute. If that's not enough to convince the reader that I embrace the ridiculous, this just might… I gave CPR to a dead squirrel on Sunday after it died in our live trap, when just a few weeks ago I swore a blood oath against the squirrels—to maim and murder every one—because they are tomato thieves.
Margaret Ridiculous Wolfinbarger. That's me! So when I found myself sobbing in the back yard this weekend after someone I loved hurt me, my first instinct was not to forgive them. Actually, I wanted to punch them in the stomach and stomp on their head. Instead, I stood in the dirt—in the midst of my rock-strewn yard—and wailed like a baby. Yes, the men putting a roof on the house two doors down stopped their banal chatter. Yes, my children huddled around me and tried to comfort me and yes, I decided to forgive the emotional terrorist who chose to torment me.
Emotional pain is agonizing. Ask anyone who's been through a painful divorce or lost a loved one. Even as we try to heal, excruciating reminders prick us relentlessly. A song. A television program. The smell of a specific after-shave. They induce us to ask questions we never considered before, like, how can people be so mean? Why does evil exist? Is there a god? If so, why would he allow such horror? Is he cruel? Is he uncaring? And finally, will the pain ever go away? I have asked these questions and more. Many times have I raged at the earth and sky when the pain was unbearable, and—after much consideration—I have come to the conclusion that forbearance, forgiveness, and pressing forward are the best responses.
Forgive someone who took the life of my child? That's ridiculous! Forgive my cheating spouse? Absurd! Forgive the relative who took my innocence? Margaret, you must be out of your mind! Maybe. I've never claimed to be completely sane. But I will explain how I came to this conclusion.
Several years ago a dear friend caused me great emotional turmoil by walking away from our friendship. To this day I don't understand the logic behind it. I only know that the rift was irrevocable. The relationship was forever torn asunder, though I tried desperately to reconcile it. The psalmist, King David experienced something similar. He said, "Even my close friend, someone I trusted, one who shared my bread, has turned against me." (Psalm 41:9) This was a friend who knew my innermost secrets, with whom I had shared joys beyond measure and great sorrow, someone I thought would love me forever. One day, they simply didn't love me anymore. It was excruciating and I didn't understand it. Each day as I drove to work I would cry. Then I would cry on the drive home. Thoughts of this person consumed me and I could not handle the grief. So I took my grief to the only one I knew who could, Jesus. I know. It's 2015 and I sound like a wacky eighteenth century fundamentalist parroting some religious rhetoric. But until one has experienced the devastation of betrayal by the person they love most in the world, don't expect anything I say here to make sense. Pain isn't supposed to make sense. It just hurts. And I needed someone to heal it.
I began to adjust to my new reality but the ache didn't diminish. I began to realize that I needed to forgive this person. But even forgiving them didn't stop the hurt. In fact, for a while it seemed to hurt more. Forgiveness meant peeling away the calluses and exposing the deepest of wounds in my heart. Each day I would lay my heart in front of my savior and pray for Him to heal it. I learned that healing is sometimes messy business. For me, it meant addressing wrongs that I had done and wrongs that had been done to me. It meant letting go of grudges I felt were justified, and clinging to the hope that one day reconciliation would come, but without putting my life on hold in the meantime. It also meant preparing my heart for the moment my friend would return so that I could offer grace instead of a slap in the face. All the while I kept asking Jesus to heal my heart, and measure by measure, He did.
If forgiveness is a radical idea in our culture, grace is a complete mystery. The elderly couple who stood in line before me today were frustrated when their gift card wouldn't work. It was obvious they were on a budget and didn't have the money to pay for their food without it. They apologized to me for making me wait. I smiled and said I wasn't in a hurry. After they left the cashier expressed his confusion over my behavior. I explained to him that so often we rush through life and in our carelessness, we wound people with our haste. I said, "Think about when someone honks at you for an inadvertent traffic incident. It can ruin your whole day." He nodded and stared at me in amazement. In response I said, "Why propagate frustration and meanness when we can extend grace?"
Living with a tender heart sometimes feels ridiculous. The arrows people aim in my direction hurt terribly when they hit their mark. Forgiving those who persecute me can be very challenging. For that reason, many people in this world build emotional walls and develop calluses to protect themselves. It just makes sense. Except that when we build walls and calluses, we miss out on the joy that comes from loving and being loved, from wounding and finding forgiveness, from noticing the pain of the people around us and offering comfort.
Sunday morning I woke up and grabbed my roller-skates. I drove to the park, laced up and took off. It wasn't long before people were chuckling at me. It's not very often people see a woman with white roller-derby skates zooming around. I could see it in their eyes. "She looks ridiculous!" I smiled and laughed with them. Sometimes being ridiculous is great fun. And great fun is not a far step from providing joy. That's why I want to be a pelican when I grow up. Yes, pelicans can carry water and dump it on the heads of people who annoy them, but they can also use their mighty beak to sprinkle grace onto the dry and barren hearts of this world.
Thursday, August 27, 2015
Don't Lose Heart!
I lost my car twice yesterday, and gave thanks to the maker of the clicker that allows me to honk the horn when I'm close. Both times I couldn't help but flush with embarrassment. What sane person forgets where they park, not just once, but twice? It's not like I was parking somewhere foreign, like the airport or a shopping mall. 
He trotted beside me for a few seconds with this regal plume of a tail and I was transfixed with him as he slipped into the brush. I wandered into the wetlands and discovered a big blue heron who seemed not at all anxious to be so close. He lifted his head and pushed into the air with a graceful sweep of his wings that fills me with a sense of rapture even now as I write this. The sun was barely up as I pushed along the bike trail and saw two little heads moving through the water with a distinct wake behind them. Otters! Their whiskers were heavy with water as they paddled furiously to escape the alien creature who was encroaching on their territory. 
And then I saw it, the most curious bird I have ever seen. It stood in the water, black and tall, and I was so filled with wonder that I stopped my bike to stare. He saw me too—entirely too close for comfort—and he peered at me through the reeds, obviously trying to decide if I was threat enough to make him abandon his breakfast table. His silhouette reminds me of the grace that is given when we choose to follow the spirits leading. We wonder if we should stay or go, run or walk, lie down and die or push forward into the unknown. Creation provides a canvass for my questions, and while I don't always find the answers I seek, I find comfort in knowing it is never unsafe to ask.
The first time I got lost in the parking garage at work. The second was in a very small grocery store lot. I felt as if everyone was looking at me as I approached the wrong car, turned in circles several times, and then resorted to the clicker again. Obviously my brain wasn't functioning correctly.
After I found my car the second time, my eldest son gave me a stern lecture over the phone about how I never listen to him. I had dared to ask if he was coming home for dinner which resulted in a, "Mom, I told you I’m at Grandma's house! Don't you remember?" I just had to sigh and tell him the truth; no. My brain has been in idle for several days and won't click into gear. Such is the drudgery of depression, that sickening darkness that swamps my body in a thick haze while I slowly suffocate.
For the past week I have been moving forward one painful step at a time, each task deliberate, if moderately unsteady. I do the things I know I need to do whether I feel like it or not. I continue to eat healthy meals, exercise and sleep… and cry while I wait for it to end.
I have been making conscious decisions to do what I know to be right rather than seek comfort in empty frills. Yesterday this culminated in reading scripture over and over. I could barely understand what I was reading, until I came across a few sentences that reminded me of the comfort I have found there before. "So we do not lose heart, though our outer self is wasting away." I had memorized this some time ago, and as I read the words they penetrated the scar tissue over my heart and massaged the weak muscle beneath. In that moment I felt the blood flow again to that numb and half-dead part of me and I remembered the grace given to me countless times before. Let me be clear, I did not feel better. But God reminded me that his promises to me ring clear. His words have a power that mystifies me.
This morning I made an impromptu decision to ride my bicycle. I had planned something different but I felt a calling to go into the outside world and breathe in the cool air. I had an idea that maybe there was something I needed to see and experience that would not be found on my usual routine. I pushed through the numbness and into the colorless world, seeking out beauty in the darkness with my headlamp. 5:00am is a very dark time indeed. And this is what I found…
I found a sunrise that splashed color across the horizon in layers of color that were not unlike a sky-wide rainbow that became more brilliant with each second until the sun crested. On the side of the road I happened across the most beautiful red fox I have ever seen.
I don't have my depression figured out. Sometimes I can guess at triggers, other times it creeps up and whacks me over the head while all I can do is nurse the bruise. Today I found real relief and I am so grateful to God. His comfort is real and enigmatic and I never take it for granted.
II Corinthians 4:16-18 "So we do not lose heart, though our outer self is wasting away. Our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light and momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison. As we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but things that are unseen are eternal."
Sunday, August 23, 2015
Why A Healthy Lifestyle?
So I began to bake. Baking is my soothing exercise. It's what I do when all else fails. Bake and cry. I probably sound pathetic to you at this moment. Sorry about that. It's just life, and I'm walking through it the same as everyone else. For every good day there must be a down day. I've come to expect them--even embrace them--as the tide of life I'm swimming in. So I made homemade bread(whole wheat) and pizza dough(also whole wheat) for dinner. Then I went to the store and bought a big basket full of food. When baking doesn't cut it, buying food does! But I probably didn't buy what you think I bought. More on that in a minute.
When I was living an unhealthy lifestyle, a sure fire pick-me-up was fast food and sweets. A typical bad day might have looked like 1000 calories of toaster strudels(they are so tasty you can't eat just 2), followed by lunch at White Castle with a giant chocolate shake, a bag of Nestle Caramel Treasures and Papa John's pizza for dinner. And cookies. Yes, there would have been at least 12 cookies before bed. Just typing those sentences makes me feel gross. After consuming the equivalent of ten zillion calories, I would cry myself to sleep and wonder why my life was so horrible. I honestly didn't understand the affect all that sugar had on my body nor how to break myself from that dreadful cycle.
Living a healthy lifestyle is not just about losing weight. To begin the journey the right way, one must ask oneself why they wish to change. The reason must be important enough to go through the personal sacrifice that is necessary to achieve our goals. That reason must also sustain us through the trials and discomforts of life. Otherwise, we will return to bad habits with gusto and lose all the ground we gained. My reason was a desperate desire to learn discipline. I felt so out of control, spinning like a top over the same ruts and crashing, only to spin and crash again. When I am having a bad day, I am tempted to return to those old habits. But I always come back to that moment that is burned on my brain--that moment when I stood in front of my closet and nothing fit, and all I could do was stand there and cry. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was two-hundred and something pounds and I couldn't go to church because the only pants I had were too small and I was too humiliated to squeeze into them. When I am tempted to give up and eat gasp--White Castle--I just take a little jog down memory road. Then, most importantly, I pray for strength to keep walking the path to better health.
Facing any addiction calls for a very serious shift in mentality. Food is too important to me to approach it with anything less than a 100% attitude adjustment. I knew when I began my journey that I couldn't just go on a diet. I also assumed failure was stalking me at every turn. This made me extremely vigilant. When someone asked me the other day if I have a "cheat day" I responded with an emphatic, "No!" I'm not looking for opportunities to cheat. I made a commitment to live a healthier lifestyle. Commitments are promises that are meant to be kept. Imagine if I stood up to state my vows to my spouse and said, "I love you, but I can't wait for my cheat day." He might re-think his choice of spouse. Everyone makes mistakes now and again. But do I plan my mistakes? Um, no.
I walked into the grocery store yesterday(Aldi is my affordable, fresh produce center of choice) with all my healthy habits intact. So even though I felt terrible, years of practicing discipline helped me to make good choices rather than emotionally induced choices. I know by practicing discipline that putting fresh vegetables and fruit into my body makes it feel better. Also, I forced myself to exercise in the afternoon. I didn't choose something grueling, just some light movement to get the blood flowing to my brain. I didn't feel fantastic afterwards, but I felt more human than I did when I began.
Why do I choose to live a healthy lifestyle? Because I'm never going back to the way I was. I'm not talking about size or weight. I'm talking about the desperation that came from living an emotionally and physically unhinged life. The way I look at it is this, every day I have the opportunity to face my flaws and beat the hell out of them. Will they wallop me sometimes in return? Sure. But by God's grace I'm going to wallop them right back.
Monday, August 17, 2015
Reflections on My Journey to Perfection
This morning I pondered perfection. As in, could I ever possibly achieve it. I was squeezing into my girdle(i.e. hosiery) when my youngest child said to me, "Mom, when are you going to lose some weight?" I blinked and blinked again. Did he really say that? I know I've told him before that such comments hurt my feelings. 
Small children give us the gift of candor without respect to our feelings mainly because they don't know any different. If I were to say what he said to me to the average person on the street, however, I would most likely end up with a bloody nose. Still, I have been doubting myself all day. When did I give him the idea that it was okay to comment on my body shape? Do I imply that I'm overweight or was he simply noticing my lumpiness? His words felt like a slap in the face and I honestly didn't have the words to respond, so I kindly gave him his breakfast—homemade muffins that I am not "allowed" to eat—and departed for work.
My young male child(age 6) has never known what it is to carry a baby in his tummy, to experience stretch marks or labor pains. He has never felt the need to go on a diet because his clothes don't fit or endured the averted eyes of strangers in elevators. He only knows his mom has a flabby tummy and he does not. Therefore something is wrong with her. Why is it our basic human assumption to assess people on their physical appearance, as if any of us had a modicum of control over making our bodies? Beautiful or ugly, strong or weak, feeble minded or intelligent, we do not knit our cells together. We do not determine the number of fingers or toes or, for that matter, the color of our eyes. It does seem as though some of us take great pains to change our bodies because we are dissatisfied in some way with the beautiful gift we have been given, which begs the question, is bodily perfection attainable?
Yesterday I had the pleasure of speaking with a friend at a family function. I explained to her the exact moment I realized I would never be "skinny." I was three months into my journey, had lost about 40 pounds and was experiencing a plateau. I was at work and ended up walking behind a very cute girl in a short skirt. She was probably a size 4 and had long shapely legs. Her blond ponytail wagged as she walked and she was probably the envy of my male colleagues. I thought she was perfect and I wanted to look like her. After that encounter I remember walking to the bathroom and sobbing. I realized that no matter how much weight I lost, I would never be 20 years old or pre-pregnancy again(not that I was thin before my babies). I don't want to sound melodramatic, but I actually felt like my heart was being forced through a meat grinder. Why was I going through all the trouble to restrict all of my favorite foods when I would never look like her? Hindsight tells me it was a crisis I had to face to determine my future, but it was extremely painful to realize that sans extensive surgery, I would most likely never have a flat stomach.
Many people hang their health on this argument. They decide to accept their body as it is because they want to eat their favorite foods in the quantities they desire. They decide to stay heavy or unhealthy because life isn't worth living under a strict regimen of diet and exercise because they will never achieve physical perfection. Whatever the reason, they reject a "healthy lifestyle" and decide healthy people "suck." Or maybe that was just me. I only know that I wanted to quit and very nearly did.
I look back on that experience as a defining moment in my journey. I also remember the moment one of my friends approached me and asked what was wrong, and encouraged me to keep trying and not to give up. This dear friend reminded me that I was loved no matter what my body was shaped like. So like my gentle friend, I would like to share here a few things to remember as you take your own journey to better health.
A job worth doing is worth doing well. It seems simplistic to say this, but it feels true. I didn't cheat because I chose not to. I wanted to arrive at my destination honestly and stay there. I am sincerely proud of my accomplishments and I am reaping the benefits. To my great delight, I was able to roller skate with my son yesterday. If my only goal was quality time with my children, this journey was worth it. So what if I’m a lumpy cheese? I’m lumpy and proud of it! This lumpy cheese roller skated with her 50+ pound child on her back when he got too tired to walk.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Pretty people aren't necessarily happy people. I attend church with a "thin and pretty" woman who struggles with crippling depression and anxiety. Before I knew her I condemned her as one of those "perfect" people. She has a handsome husband and 2 gorgeous children. She is musically talented and has a great job. When I came to know her, I was indicted by her gracious spirit. She loved me in ways I never thought possible. She saw my pain and sickness, and offered ideas to help. She told me she would be a place of refuge should I ever reach a moment of despair, and then proved it by comforting me when I was there. My friendship with her and many others has revealed the sickness of my own troubled soul. If I have learned anything it is this, I am guilty of judging others through the lens of my flaws. When I look at others as having "arrived," I lie to myself. No one has "arrived," least of all me.
Bad habits are hard to break. I had to fight for my life to break a lifetime of bad habits. Some habits will forever haunt me because I cannot erase the memory of emotional crutches that comforted me. As a miserable teenager, I sought comfort in candy and books. Any time I read I feel the need to eat something sweet. I consider each battle won a positive step toward winning the war but I will always be at war with my body. Telling it no when it says yes. Pinching it in the buttocks when it insists on wussing out. Giving it the "Three Stooges eye-doink-of-death" when it won't stop craving cookie dough. The fantastic news is…
Good habits have power too. My husband and I have this on-going discussion about bacon. I used to eat a lot of bacon. BLT's, crispy bacon with waffles or pancakes, pizza with bacon. Seriously, who doesn't love bacon? I quit buying bacon early on in my journey for reasons that are obvious(it's very high in fat and sodium). After years of not buying it, I just don't think about it because I no longer crave it. For that reason, I forget to buy it. And bacon is one thing my sweetie cannot not live without.
Perfection is a myth. Okay, so maybe the title of this blog is misleading. I don't consider perfection as a living human being in the least bit attainable. But the good news is I'm not alone. This is what I should have said to my little one this morning. Does my wobbly tummy make you less likely to love me? Does a big belly make me love you less? As we traverse this journey of life, we all need to determine what is most important to us. If one hinges their quality of life on vanity, what will they feel like as they age and have to manage the person in the mirror? I have accepted the reality that if I am fortunate enough to live to old age, my body will stoop no matter how hard I try to stand tall. Gravity wins every time.
Practice Perfect Kindness. My son didn't mean to be insensitive. I know this because I asked him when I arrived home. "Why did you say I was fat?" He promised me that he never said that and I supposed its true. He had a quick glimpse of my belly and freaked out a little bit. Shoot, I do the same thing when I look in the mirror. I reminded him that we need to be careful with our words because they can hurt others. He said he was very sorry and gave me a hug.
I have learned many things on my journey through life, the least of which is that I will never have a perfect body. In the grand scheme of things that's probably a good thing. It keeps me humble. However, I am striving every day to perfect my heart.
Wednesday, August 12, 2015
Fighting The Fear Monster
My youngest son began first grade today and he was scared. We met his teacher Monday night and did everything we could to prepare him for this moment, but the fear lingered like a big, hairy monster. It sunk its claws into his shoulders and sulked there, whispering worries he was too young to defend himself against. I sent him off full of hugs and kisses, pampered with homemade lunch, and prayed over. Then I Iet my baby walk into the unknown. Alone. <P>
A co-worker and I talked about the mystery of children and fear yesterday. Her daughter is not afraid of school at all. She has no need for her mother to drop her off or walk her to class. My friend said she told her daughter, "What about my fears for you?" And there it is. Fear is so deeply personal. We can build up walls against it, but it seeps beneath them. We can devise strategies to cope with it, but it lingers in the air like spores in a moldy basement. <P>
I remember my first day of first grade. I remember the terror that crawled over my skin as I met new classmates. They seemed so happy to be there but I longed to run home. I remember the moment my mother separated herself from me and departed, somewhat annoyed by my pleas not to leave me. I clung to my desk and tried to cope with my overall malaise, even as my classmates invited me to join in the fun. I didn't know how to accept their overtures so instead I grunted and folded my arms and scowled. This behavior lasted for several days before everyone, the teacher included, was fed up with my attitude. How I wish someone would have understood my fear and broken down my walls. I was terrified! But the truth is, so often we embrace our fear and close ourselves off to those who wish to help us. <P>
Understanding and facing our fears is important. I considered this as I worked out this morning. (I do my best thinking while exercising) There is a task I must do today that leaves me shaking in my boots. I began to ask myself, why does this thing scare me so much? As I processed the reasons I am afraid, I began to see that so much of what I fear are mirages I have built up in my own mind. They stem from simple worries that have mutated into full blown anxiety. In this case, my worries are fairly simple: I care what people think about me and worry something I say won't meet their expectations. I worry this will damage relationships. I worry people won't like me. I worry I will be rejected. <P>
Worry devours our peace of mind. So just cut it out already! This clear cut approach, however, reminds me of something someone close to me said recently, "Why don't fat people just stop eating?" I bit my tongue but I wanted to say, "Why don't you just stop breathing?" Such a question not only belittles the fundamental issue of obesity, but dehumanizes the person behind the padded exterior. Much the same, it is so easy to say "Stop worrying" when our hearts are hurting. Worry, fear, and pain are intricately linked. To me it seems like saying, "I know a landmine just blew off your arm, but just quit crying about it." People pass by our pain without trying to bandage our wounds. Instead, they blow off the other arm. <P>
Kill worry with truth. Our worries are often fueled by past experiences with pain. My fear for my children in school is rooted in reality. I was teased and ridiculed in school as a child. I worry my children will be teased and ridiculed. As an adult I have recurring nightmares that I am back in high school and being forced to repeat my senior year. I always wake in a cold sweat with chattering teeth. Oh the horror! So when my little ones depart into that great unknown, I totally freak out. This morning this manifested in me saying an elaborate prayer over my middle school child before his departure. He was very nonchalant about his first day. I was worrying over him not knowing where his locker was(another recurring nightmare). I worried he wouldn't find his classes. ("Mom, I'll just ask a teacher.") In this instance, my son reiterated to me that he was going to be just fine and thought I was rather silly. The truth is my worries did nothing to help him. Speaking truth to our worries helps conquer our fears. <P>
I may lose some readers here, and that's okay. I understand. Feel free to skip this paragraph if it doesn't sit well with your world view. But my biggest truth is Jesus Christ. He speaks truth to all of my fears and powerfully vanquishes them. When I am most afraid, I cling to Him. One of my biggest comforts is something he said to me many years ago, "Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." He spoke this to me as I sat on a courthouse bench and waited for a judge to hear my case. I can't explain the supernatural peace He gave me or the divine appointment I had that day with another woman in my exact same situation. I only know that He was there. I had prayed that He would be and He answered that prayer. Personal experience tells me that He is faithful to keep his promises and I cling to that truth. <P>
I continue to wrestle with the fear monster. This world is full of pain and problems of every imaginable sort. As a mother, I will always fear for my children because the possibility that I will lose them looms heavy in my mind. My oldest son has made a very important decision to join the Marines. This affects not only my identity, but the identity of my family. It opens a door to a world of worries I never thought possible. My confidence in facing those fears is that my advocate goes before me. I know that He will equip me to face even the worst thing my mind can conjure up. I am also comforted by friends who have faced those monsters and emerged victorious. Their testimony to the fortitude of the human spirit and God's grace is potent. Which leads me to my final point…<P>
Community is Integral to conquering fear. Who we surround ourselves with speaks volumes to our character. Do we choose to be around people who feed our fears and worries, or do we reach out to strong and courageous people who will tell us the truth and bind up our pain? <P>
Several years ago I called to make an appointment to visit my chiropractor, Dr. John Smith(of Smith Chiropractic). He always fits me in regardless of how busy he is and I am grateful because I am constantly hurting myself and he is faithful to put me back together. On this occasion, he was not available. His staff said he was out of the office on a personal matter. I made an appointment for when he returned and while there asked him if everything was okay. He told me the following story. A good friend of his was walking through the pain of watching his wife slowly die from cancer. They were true soul mates, still in love after many years together, and crazy about each other. As she reached the end of her journey on earth, Dr. Smith's friend was despondent. He needed people to hold him through that fear and sadness. Dr. Smith cancelled all his appointments and put his practice on hold so that he could spend time with his friend. Together they walked through the valley of the shadow of death. Dr. Smith's behavior spoke directly to me about his character. He did this at great personal cost by putting his money where his mouth was. <P>
Real friends bind up our pain, worries and fear. They speak truth into our lives when we most struggle to hear it. If pain is God's megaphone, as C. S. Lewis so eloquently put it, friends are the balm He provides to soothe our wounds. <P>
Today I'm socking it to my Fear Monster. He's a pretty big fella but I think I've got the right ammo. More importantly, even if he bests me today, I will be fighting him again tomorrow. After all, I think that's all we can really do in this life….keep fighting, keep failing, and keep trying again.
Friday, August 7, 2015
Observations From A Grieving Neighbor
I have more questions than answers this morning as I ponder the death of Shawn Daugherty. I know his name because it was reported in the St. Louis Post Dispatch but I have no other details about who he was as a human being. But a human being he was, even as he is described as "body parts" and "human remains" in local media. <P>
The Good Samaritan is a character from a parable told by a Nazarene man over 2000 years ago but he resonates with me this morning. He makes me wonder, who is my neighbor? I am thinking about this because of how the tragic death of a young man is affecting my community this morning. It would be easy to dismiss Shawn as just another headline except that my heart is too tender for that. He is someone's son, someone's brother, maybe even someone's father, and he is gone from this world forever while the gruesome details of his passing circulate through local media like a Carnival freak show. <P>
I waited for over an hour Thursday evening for my mother to return my children while she sat in traffic on the highway. We were attentive to the time because I was eager to take my son to junior high registration at his school where I planned to meet up with a friend from work. An incident had closed the road and cars were not moving. I finally decided to check traffic reports in order to determine how long it would take her to get to my house when I found a caption that took my breath away. "Traffic Diverted as Officers investigate Body Parts on Highway." As I read the story aloud to my mother, she gasped and began to cry. "I saw that this morning. I drove past it on my way to get my haircut." "This morning" was 7 hours before local authorities noticed anything was awry. I was horrified and angry. Where were the police? Why didn't they do something? And then I considered the other drivers like my mother, people in a hurry to get somewhere, people with other things on their minds, thousands of people who drove past the human being on the road and did nothing. <P>
To their defense, many thought it was an animal. After all, the horror was too great to consider otherwise. But as I read the local paper this morning and learned that people had reported a man on the highway at 2:15am, my heart swelled with the injustice of it and I began to get very, very angry. But who was I to be angry at? If I had perchance driven that road yesterday morning, would I have not done the same thing? I have a job to get to, important commitments to keep. I like to think I would have seen what happened and called authorities immediately, but what if I hadn't? Thousands of people in St. Louis today are pondering this question…"why didn't I do something?" <P>
My next reaction was to be very angry at the police. On my drive to the junior high school I saw no less than 3 police cars driving or sitting in parking lots. Surely they drove that stretch of road at least once yesterday morning. Why didn't they do something? My uncle is a Missouri state trooper and I know he stops to make roadways safe when animals fall as innocent victims to our vehicular haste. Why didn't someone, anyone, at least stop to make the roadway safe? <P>
I then reflected on my neighborhood and the people who live there. I thought of my neighbor who has lived in her home for 7 years and had not once spoken to another neighbor across the street. When I first encountered her over a month ago, she expressed to me her deep loneliness and longing for friends. I have since spent a great deal of time with her and come to love her very much. I can't imagine what it would feel like to live somewhere and not speak to or acknowledge the people who live within a few feet of my home. And yet several of my other neighbors have brushed me off with very curt replies when I greet them. What I have discovered is that people have very different opinions and feelings about neighbors. I thought about the man who lived next to me at my old house. His name was Mr. Danzinger and he died alone—an introvert, a recluse. No one knew he was dead because he made a practice of speaking to no one. I had tried to knock on his door multiple times but he never answered. The police had to break down his door to find his body. He was my neighbor. <P>
Shawn was my neighbor too, even though I did not know him. I grieve his passing just the same. Not because of the circumstances of his death, but because his life had value. He loved and was loved. And now his story has concluded. This morning I couldn't help but think of his family and pray for them. Because of him, I resolved anew to continue to reach out to the people that live close to me in order to know them better. I long to hear their stories and share their lives. Maybe they have something to teach me. Maybe I can help them. Whatever the case may be, we are all human beings walking through life and facing challenges and experiencing joys. And aren't those experiences more rich when we share them together? Together we bind up hurts. Together we laugh and love. That is what community should do. People should share their lives. Loneliness and pain are rampant in this world, but I believe there is a cure! <P>
Time is short. Life is precious. We never know which moment will be our last. Today, if you are reading this, I encourage you to be a good neighbor.
Friday, July 31, 2015
Celebrate Today by Raising Your Heart Rate
The 31st day of July has arrived. It is neither hot nor cold, but rather, the perfect shade of lovely. 70 degree temperatures and cerulean skies made for a lovely run where I was able to gather my thoughts in a bundle and give them up to God in a burst of joy. 6 miles in 62 minutes is a far cry from what I ran before I injured my knee but I am grateful for it. I am slow but I am nimble, lumpy but full of grace, strong but gratefully aware of my limitations. I recognize the moments to give thanks and the moments to grieve. Today was a moment for praise. <P>
"Do you like to exercise?" I asked my new friend over dinner last night. She gave me a bewildered look to which my 13 year old son replied, "It's a trick question!" <P>
Dear readers, I want you to know that I practiced impulse control and did not poke him in the eye. <P>
"It is not a trick question." I said. Gratefully, her response was honest, "I exercise when I have to and generally do not enjoy it." The reason I asked my young friend that question was because she appeared to be very physically fit. Many young people have the luxury of health and vitality without the grit, sweat and tears that accompany keeping an older body in reasonable condition. How I wish I could reinforce to her and many others the great joy that comes with taking care of one's body through the rigors of physical training. Even if one has a blessed body that does not appear to need shaping and toning, there are a great many benefits to cardiovascular activity. <P>
I find that I do my best thinking and planning while I work out in the mornings. It feels as if my neural pathways are more open and the blood circulates to previously clogged up brain cells. As I burn off the extra sugar in my blood I begin to possess a clarity I don't experience at any other time of the day. Even more potent, I carry that exhilaration with me all day where it pulses into my work and play to make them more productive and delightful. I withheld these thoughts from my friend over dinner because I didn't want to overwhelm her with my musings. Rather, I distilled my thoughts and said, "I don't feel human when I skip my workouts in the morning." <P>
I can appreciate the point of view that scorns exercise because I personally lived that perspective for many years. Misunderstanding and pride prevented the benefits of good health which I so gladly enjoy today. When I am tempted to fall into old thought patterns, I revisit those years in my mind and ask myself important questions. <P>
"Did I enjoy my view from the couch?" <P>
"Was it prudent for me to model poor choices for my children?" <P>
"Do I miss the physical agony of being trapped in a body that was challenging to move?" <P>
This morning I saw a familiar face on my jog. There is a woman about my age who walks most mornings. She does not have a runner's body. She does not move fast. But every time I see her she is walking. Her steady gait is like a glorious drop of water to my weary soul and I took great joy in sharing that with her as I passed by. Her smile is the currency by which I write this tome. <P>
The race is not to the swift, nor is victory to the most beautiful. Neither do any of us walk the same path in life. Our journeys are unique to our experiences and history. I am not better or worse than the reader of this blog. I am only Margaret.Today, I am happy and I am celebrating that. And I want to share with whoever will listen that if you are reading this, you are blessed beyond measure because you are alive and still have time. So move if you can, be still if you must, and love without boundaries. Life is precious. Live it wisely.
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