Happy Healthy Birthday!

So today was my birthday. This birthday was unlike any other birthday I have ever had. Normally I have this crisis of conscience wherein I chew my nails over birthday cake, high calorie meals and surprise cookies. In years past I have celebrated with donuts, Chick-Fil-A and my favorite DQ ice cream cake. I mean really, it's my birthday! I should eat whatever I want, right?

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!

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!

The Best Cure for Lonely

I never knew lonely could be so blue

I never knew lonely could tear you in two

I never loved someone like I love you

I never knew lonely til you.

Vince Gill

Loneliness 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.

We endure this world with all its beauty and suffering, its grandeur and pain, its cacophonies and silence. Our senses continue to seek for the answer to our questions even as we live and breathe polluted air, drink contaminated waters and bleat our sorrows. You may not have encountered Him yet. You may think me odd and annoying. I accept that. But He is the only answer I have. And he is the best answer I have. He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. And for now, while we wait for him to return, he offers up the very next best thing; his sons and daughters. The Becky's of the world.

When I shared a meal with my hurting friend we discussed loneliness analytically, but reasoning will not take away the sting. Forgive me, friend. I should have reminded you even as I remind myself today, Heaven waits. And then I should have held your hand and cried with you.

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!

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.

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 was So Annoyed!

Lately I have noticed a great struggle in my life with someone I love and am committed to. The problem is this; I let my personal preferences interfere with the relationship by way of annoyance. Annoyance grows to rebellion. Rebellion grows to anger. Anger rages and produces regret. Regret eliminates my peace and leaves me feeling awfully lonely. Call me selfish—I totally am. But how does annoyance grow and explode so quickly? And how do I stop it? It's like a mushroom I recently found in the woods. When you poke it, it shoots out black spores that cover everything in close proximity. I am that mushroom!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 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!

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!

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.

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.

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.

And that's when I started to laugh.

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 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!

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.

We were there thirty minutes when we realized we forgot one of the tents. I opened my mouth to speak when my husband(who packed the truck) said, "It doesn't matter whose fault it is. We still need a tent." He knows me so well. When pain interrupts our best laid plans, our first inclination is to point a self-righteous finger at the person we deem responsible and—if possible—poke them in the eye. The nearest store was a 20 minute drive away and sunset a mere hour away. Knowing my family as I do(I am the cook), I was instantly aware that I would be making our dinner in the dark. I knelt down and picked up that coat of stress I had just schluffed off and wrapped it back around my shoulders. Then off to the store I went.

After our bellies were full and all the children were dutifully shouted at for tormenting each other, we climbed into our sleeping bags to (lay awake all night)sleep. My youngest boy(6) adores frogs. He loves to chase them, man-handle them, and love them near to death. What he does not like, is when they take their revenge by singing in a loud chorus while he is trying to sleep. We tried in vain to fit ear plugs into his tender ears. He even tried shouting at them, "Shut up you stupid frogs!" The frogs were too engrossed in their bliss of sound to hear him. There was nothing to be done about making them be quiet and he began to cry. The frog song was truly painful to his delicate senses. So it is with pain. Sometimes we have no power to make it stop and all we can do is cry.

I felt so powerless in that moment. Who could have imagined that the chorus of nature would be so disruptive to my little boy? The sounds that fill me with awe were like a hammer against his ear drums. I didn't know what to do, so I offered to sing. I sang the words I have sung to my little boy since he emerged from the womb, "Weak and wounded sinner, lost and left to die, raise your head for love is passing by... "(Chris Rice, "Come to Jesus") His cries diminished as he focused on my voice. I should note that the frogs did not cease their activity, but as he focused on the sure and steady love of his mother, he found comfort and, eventually, sleep.

Yesterday I emerged back into the real world and instantly all its shards of glass penetrated my tender heart. The terrible suffering of my neighbors in Syria and down the street came crashing in like an unexpected wave. As I lay panting on the shore, I heard the voices of my co-workers chattering over lunch about—what seemed to me at the time—the most trivial things. As I considered the physical hunger of those refugees fleeing their homes, and the desperation that drove them to commit crimes in the name of self-preservation, I looked down at my lunch and despaired. I had refused the cookie, the bread, and the soda that came with my free lunch in an effort to maintaining my waistline, and I'm still a white, fat, American. I wanted to scream at myself, "Hypocrite!" But all I could do was sit there and ponder my helplessness.

It is no different as I speak to my friend Joyce. She recently lost her son and is drowning in a sea of sorrow. There are no answers to the questions she and her family desperately seek. They grasp at the air and water the grass with their tears. The world doesn't bear up to their cries for help. She told me a recent phone call to local authorities was met with callous indifference. My words are inadequate for such pain. I feel like a sheet of paper flapping in the wind as I speak to her. But there is One who will comfort her and those she holds dear. He is the maker of the universe. His love bends low and takes our sorrows in His hands. So when I fail to say the right things, when my arms cannot fight the sting of death, when my care won't ease the suffering, I know that He can. He is enough. His name is Jesus.

Many years ago He said to me, "For a brief moment I deserted you, but with great compassion I will gather you. In overflowing anger, for a moment I hid my face from you, but with everlasting love I will have compassion on you,” says the Lord, your Redeemer." God is the great redeemer of pain. He is the great physician who will one day wipe the tears from our eyes. He will take the loneliness, the disappointment, the great cacophony of frog sound, and wrap us in His great arms of love. I am confident of this and I cling to it, like Princess Leia to Obi-Wan Kinobe, "Help me! You're my only hope!"

I didn't exercise this morning. Instead, I got up early and made peanut butter and chocolate chip muffins for my boys. It is a small thing, an act of love they completely take for granted. Their mother's muffins are boring. So is her homemade bread. But of this I am glad! My children take the love I offer in small doses. My love is imperfect and ordinary, but it is real and hearty too. So while I cannot erase the pain that comes into their lives, I will continue to sing as loudly as I can over it. It is a song I learned from my Savior. He sings it to me daily, even while I water the grass with my tears.

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.