This is an example of how consolation confirms faith.
I’ve been torn apart by bitter family conflict that seems to be getting worse by the day. So I set up an appointment to talk with Father James. I was seeking reconciliation.
On the day of my appointment, before Mass, I went to the chapel to pray; another parishioner was there, preparing the altar. I guess he could tell that I was distressed because he gave me a sheet of paper me with an excerpt by St. Francis de Sales. I took it, thanked him, folded it up and put it away; I was serious about the business of praying and I didn't want to be distracted.
After Mass I stayed in the chapel, silently begging God to help me resolve the issues that are tearing my family apart, and hurting each of us in ways that will scar us for the rest of our lives. I prayed for answers to hard questions; I told Him that I wasn’t seeking any of the consolations that I often experience; I didn’t want sweet tears or shimmering images; I only wanted real and lasting change in the lives of my children and grandchildren.
But just before I left the chapel, I had an inner vision of Christ with His cross on His back. His arms were outstretched, His hands nailed to the wood. He was bent forward by the weight and pain of this cross. I was inside of Him, my body inside His, my arms were stretched out with His, my hands nailed to this cross inside of His own. Without words, He was telling me that two of my loved ones were on opposing arms of the cross and because my hands were nailed in place, there was no way to bring them together by my own power. The only way these two would ever be reconciled would be through the blood that flowed from the very heart of Christ Himself. The blood that flowed through His body, and through mine would be the only effective medicine.
Father and I had a long talk about the problems in the family, and when I left I felt calm. Over the next few days, I kept coming back to the vision and to the feeling of being inside the body Christ, of being nailed to this particular cross with Him. I had finished reading and recording the Apostolic Letter of John Paul II on the Christian Meaning of Suffering and had been mulling over the whole idea of suffering: what is suffering and why do we suffer; why did Christ have to suffer? Every time the questions would come up I’d remember the vision, and I kept hearing Christ say, “Trust me; stay in me; walk this path with me.”
I don’t know how the problems in my family will be solved, but I am beginning to notice that a current of faith and hope and love is deepening and growing stronger inside of me; this current like the resonant voice of a river that is light in one instance, rich in another; a river that murmurs the name of God without ceasing flows through me. It assures me that change is eminent.
It is becoming clear to me that my first task is to stay rooted in the Heart of Jesus, standing in prayer with my arms wide open, praying for my children, and for all the people I love. The circle of people that I love grows wider every day
My second task is to stop trying to deny the particular pain that God has given to me, or to deny my failures, limitations and mistakes; it is also to begin to use the gifts he has given to serve whomever He chooses for me to serve in earnest and without false humility.
With all this in mind, it was three days later when I remembered the paper Ted had given to me. I found it, unfolded it and read it. What I read confirmed that the vision was indeed a gift from God, a message and a refuge. Here is what was written on the paper:
Your Cross
The Everlasting God has in His wisdom foreseen from eternity the cross that He now presents to you as a gift from His inmost Heart. This cross He now sends you He has considered with His all-knowing eyes, understood with His divine mind, tested with His wise justice, warmed with loving arms and weighed with His own hands to see that it be not one inch too large and not one ounce too heavy for you. He has blessed it with His Holy Name, anointed it with His graces, perfumed it with His consolation, taken one last glance at you and your courage, and then sent it to you from heaven, a special greeting from God to you, an alms of the all merciful love of God.
---St Frances de Sales
The peace of the cross of Jesus is not only the kind of peace that frees a person of a burden, but the kind that makes one believe the burden is worth bearing. It is only by grace that I am to stay in the place of mindfulness where I watch as my pain is transformed. This cross is the instrument that keeps me from squirming away from the very force that is trying to form me, the potter’s hand that wants to shape me into a vessel capable of carrying a certain measure of grace to the people God would have me serve.
The vision was a gift and it has a certain weight or quality that I can come back to over and over. Every time I revisit it I feel blessed. And it is not just an abstraction or a metaphor, but it is a place of real formation, even though it can’t be seen by the physical eye.
At this place I gain insight into the causes of turmoil in my life and in my family; I am gaining insight into my own woundedness, and into our familial wounds. And with insight comes understanding. Understanding then, changes behavior and each subtle change in behavior makes way for peace because it changes the way I see the world; it changes my interactions with others; it changes my relationship with God.
When I remember the cross, and when I stay hidden inside of Him, the river flows through me, murmuring like a lover, soothing like a mother, assuring me that all is well, like a good father, guiding and encouraging me like a teacher, staying close to me like a friend, healing me like a physician.
The voice of the river sings and its song is changing everything.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Monday, May 10, 2010
Why Say It?
I love to write but I wrestle with the notion that enough has been said about everything under the sun. Then I read something that stikes a chord and wakes me up, and I am glad that whoever said it, said it. Like this peom by Kay Ryan:
As though the river were a floor,
we position our table and chairs
upon it,
eat, and have conversation.
As it moves along,
we notice—as
calmly as though dining room paintings were being replaced—the changing scenes
along the shore.
We do know,
we do know this is the Niagara River,
but it is hard to rememberwhat that means.
-------Kay Ryan
I am no Kay Ryan, but good writing gives me courage to keep trying, even though I know "which way the river flows."
As though the river were a floor,
we position our table and chairs
upon it,
eat, and have conversation.
As it moves along,
we notice—as
calmly as though dining room paintings were being replaced—the changing scenes
along the shore.
We do know,
we do know this is the Niagara River,
but it is hard to rememberwhat that means.
-------Kay Ryan
I am no Kay Ryan, but good writing gives me courage to keep trying, even though I know "which way the river flows."
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
...imprison for a moment the shining, elusive element
“The stream and the broken pottery: what was any art but an effort to make a sheath, a mould in which to imprison for a moment the shining, elusive element which is life itself---life hurrying past us and running away, too strong to stop, too sweet to lose?” ---Willa Cather
I am beginning. Again. But this time I am beginning with one goal, and that is to be healthy. I want to do my best to be there for my kids and grandkids. I had given up. After devoting years and years to fitness, and getting Lupus in spite of all that exercise and healthy eating, I got angry and gave up all together. It hurt my pride to begin to limp when I walked, and to pant for air; it hurt my pride to lose control of my body because I had worked so hard for so many years to control it.
Being the extremist that I am (trying to change) I threw in the towel, angrily and only after soaking it with the hot, angry tears of a person betrayed.
I just spent a couple of days at the Heart Hospital in Sometown. I wasn't there because of a problem with my weight. I was there because Lupus is creating all sorts of problems in my life. Lupus is a very tricky beast.
Weight loss is a tricky beast as well. At least it has been me, a former anorexic/bulimic. But the trick was a mind game, not a flesh and bone fact. It was a whole slough of emotions all stirred up by fear and anger.
But a heart is a heart is a heart. Lupus may be the underlying cause of my visit to the Heart-Hotel, but my visit there gave me time to think; I had time to reflect on things and to pray. Upon leaving I have decided to give this physical fitness thing another try, Lupus or no Lupus. This time I am going to put my heart into it. I will try to leave my pride where it is, where it belongs, in the trash bin.
So today, I begin. Again.
I am a woman going to the stream with a new water jar; I am a woman, and a mother and grandmother, so I carry water for my family. The jar I had used for many years broke. After I grieved for a while, I picked up a new lump of clay. I made a new jar and poured my soul into making it beautiful. My new jar is finally ready and now I head back to the stream. I am taking that other half-a-slice of toast* with me because I know I’ll get hungry on the way.
* See Note from blog: 1 ½ Slices of Toast…
I am beginning. Again. But this time I am beginning with one goal, and that is to be healthy. I want to do my best to be there for my kids and grandkids. I had given up. After devoting years and years to fitness, and getting Lupus in spite of all that exercise and healthy eating, I got angry and gave up all together. It hurt my pride to begin to limp when I walked, and to pant for air; it hurt my pride to lose control of my body because I had worked so hard for so many years to control it.
Being the extremist that I am (trying to change) I threw in the towel, angrily and only after soaking it with the hot, angry tears of a person betrayed.
I just spent a couple of days at the Heart Hospital in Sometown. I wasn't there because of a problem with my weight. I was there because Lupus is creating all sorts of problems in my life. Lupus is a very tricky beast.
Weight loss is a tricky beast as well. At least it has been me, a former anorexic/bulimic. But the trick was a mind game, not a flesh and bone fact. It was a whole slough of emotions all stirred up by fear and anger.
But a heart is a heart is a heart. Lupus may be the underlying cause of my visit to the Heart-Hotel, but my visit there gave me time to think; I had time to reflect on things and to pray. Upon leaving I have decided to give this physical fitness thing another try, Lupus or no Lupus. This time I am going to put my heart into it. I will try to leave my pride where it is, where it belongs, in the trash bin.
So today, I begin. Again.
I am a woman going to the stream with a new water jar; I am a woman, and a mother and grandmother, so I carry water for my family. The jar I had used for many years broke. After I grieved for a while, I picked up a new lump of clay. I made a new jar and poured my soul into making it beautiful. My new jar is finally ready and now I head back to the stream. I am taking that other half-a-slice of toast* with me because I know I’ll get hungry on the way.
* See Note from blog: 1 ½ Slices of Toast…
Friday, April 30, 2010
Do You Trust Me?
He was asking me to make a decision, to exercise my free will. “Do you trust me?” He waited for my answer.
We stood together at the entrance of a Pit and Pendulum caliber mental ward. I could see through the little windows on the double doors: disheveled people banging their heads against the wall, pulling their hair, you get the picture: bedlam. At the end of a long hallway there was the most beautiful sunrise I have ever seen, and the most unusual because there was a stunning sunset right next to it. (Alpha and Omega?)
I thought before I spoke: “Yes. I am choosing to trust You. I’m terrified, but I will do it if I have to.”
He was asking me if I were willing to give up everything (and if you know me, you know my biggest fear is losing my mind---I’ve fought so hard to gain even a modicum of clarity---huge sacrifice to give up my tiny claim.) But I was willing. I can be scared, but decide to make a move anyway.
I wanted the Alpha and Omega. It was worth it to me to enter the asylum in order to get to the end of the hallway where the sunrise/sunset grew more dazzling by the minute.
The dream ended as I pushed the door open. He was right beside me.
When I woke up I ‘heard’ the words to a new song.
(If you would like to hear the song I have posted it to my youtube account: asingingtree.youtube.com)
Do you trust me?
My Lord said,
“Do you trust me, do you trust me?
My Lord said, “Do you trust me, will you follow me?
If the mountains should crumble into the sea;
If the rocks should melt like wax;
Are you willing to give up everything?
Do you trust me to guide you through the chaos?”
My God, I surrender to You
heart, soul, body and mind;
In the shadow of Your wings I take refuge
till this storm of destruction passes by.
My Lord said, “I know you are weary,
I know you can barely go on;
I know that these sorrows are crushing you;
Come now, take strength from my Song.”
My God, I surrender to You
heart, soul, body and mind;
In the shadow of Your wings I take refuge
till this storm of destruction passes by.
My Lord said, “I know you are weary,
I know you can barely go on;
I know that these sorrows are crushing you;
Come now, take strength from my Song.”
My God, I surrender to You
heart, soul, body and mind;
In the shadow of Your wings I take refuge
till this storm of destruction passes by.
We stood together at the entrance of a Pit and Pendulum caliber mental ward. I could see through the little windows on the double doors: disheveled people banging their heads against the wall, pulling their hair, you get the picture: bedlam. At the end of a long hallway there was the most beautiful sunrise I have ever seen, and the most unusual because there was a stunning sunset right next to it. (Alpha and Omega?)
I thought before I spoke: “Yes. I am choosing to trust You. I’m terrified, but I will do it if I have to.”
He was asking me if I were willing to give up everything (and if you know me, you know my biggest fear is losing my mind---I’ve fought so hard to gain even a modicum of clarity---huge sacrifice to give up my tiny claim.) But I was willing. I can be scared, but decide to make a move anyway.
I wanted the Alpha and Omega. It was worth it to me to enter the asylum in order to get to the end of the hallway where the sunrise/sunset grew more dazzling by the minute.
The dream ended as I pushed the door open. He was right beside me.
When I woke up I ‘heard’ the words to a new song.
(If you would like to hear the song I have posted it to my youtube account: asingingtree.youtube.com)
Do you trust me?
My Lord said,
“Do you trust me, do you trust me?
My Lord said, “Do you trust me, will you follow me?
If the mountains should crumble into the sea;
If the rocks should melt like wax;
Are you willing to give up everything?
Do you trust me to guide you through the chaos?”
My God, I surrender to You
heart, soul, body and mind;
In the shadow of Your wings I take refuge
till this storm of destruction passes by.
My Lord said, “I know you are weary,
I know you can barely go on;
I know that these sorrows are crushing you;
Come now, take strength from my Song.”
My God, I surrender to You
heart, soul, body and mind;
In the shadow of Your wings I take refuge
till this storm of destruction passes by.
My Lord said, “I know you are weary,
I know you can barely go on;
I know that these sorrows are crushing you;
Come now, take strength from my Song.”
My God, I surrender to You
heart, soul, body and mind;
In the shadow of Your wings I take refuge
till this storm of destruction passes by.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Interpretation of the Cabaret Dream
Peacock Eyelashes: Reference to the Anguished Peacock (see previous blog)
Vanessa: will remain anonymous---she knows who she is
The hour missed: Vanessa’s Childhood
The green silk dress: real dress worn at a real wedding; see video of the wedding of family member 1989
Vanessa’s age in the dream was 8, but in reality she would have been 5 years old.
The Cabaret itself carries a hint of a sad burlesque and in the language of my dream it represents the stripping away of all the layers of hurt, the regret, and grieving over devastated relationships in order to heal.
No shoes: or deciding to go barefooted: tenderfoot. The beginning of a risky process: Deciding to be honest and open with Vanessa even though I don’t feel completely prepared or self-assured. I feel like a novice, inexperienced and ill equipped for the task ahead of me, but driven by love and fueled by hope.
Cabaret Theme: The musical, which was based on a play, which was based on a novel about Nazi Germany: I believe this represents the fact that in reality we were all prisoners of our circumstances and had to endure many horrors; part of the horror was seeing our loved ones suffer at the hands of an abusive tyrant. The tyrant was Fate, specifically the fate of being sucked into a stream of events I had so hoped to avoid.
The Audience: A place to sit and listen and watch; a place to be quiet in order to see the whole show before applauding, or weeping while I applaud.
Vanessa: will remain anonymous---she knows who she is
The hour missed: Vanessa’s Childhood
The green silk dress: real dress worn at a real wedding; see video of the wedding of family member 1989
Vanessa’s age in the dream was 8, but in reality she would have been 5 years old.
The Cabaret itself carries a hint of a sad burlesque and in the language of my dream it represents the stripping away of all the layers of hurt, the regret, and grieving over devastated relationships in order to heal.
No shoes: or deciding to go barefooted: tenderfoot. The beginning of a risky process: Deciding to be honest and open with Vanessa even though I don’t feel completely prepared or self-assured. I feel like a novice, inexperienced and ill equipped for the task ahead of me, but driven by love and fueled by hope.
Cabaret Theme: The musical, which was based on a play, which was based on a novel about Nazi Germany: I believe this represents the fact that in reality we were all prisoners of our circumstances and had to endure many horrors; part of the horror was seeing our loved ones suffer at the hands of an abusive tyrant. The tyrant was Fate, specifically the fate of being sucked into a stream of events I had so hoped to avoid.
The Audience: A place to sit and listen and watch; a place to be quiet in order to see the whole show before applauding, or weeping while I applaud.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Life is a Cabaret
The names have been changed to protect the innocent
I keep hearing the song, (in my head) Life is a Cabaret. I've been humming it and singing it as I do chores.
The song is shadowy, like a smoky nightclub, but there are bright spots in the smoke; the bright colors are attributed to the show on stage.
The song and the images it brings with it beg me to pay attention. So I am.
I find out that the song is the theme song for a musical of the same name. The musical was based on the play: I Am a Camera, by John Van Druten, which was inspired by the book The Berlin Stories It is about how people found (sad) refuge in nightclubs in Nazi Germany.
The songs lends itself to a dream I had a couple of nights ago which was “filmed” in full, rich colors: the deep purple and blue of peacock feathers.
In the dream I was rushing to get to Vanessa’s high school performance. It was a very important event and I was stressed because I couldn’t get there on time. I had already missed the first hour of the show and I was worried that I’d miss it all.
Finally I gave up getting dressed up in fancy clothes. I settled for putting on my eyelashes. I had a tube of mascara that when applied made my lashes look like peacock feathers. They were lavish and rich and amazingly light for such extravagant lashes. I had my work clothes on but couldn’t find my shoes; I went without shoes, muttering under my breath, “Enough is enough. I have waited too long already! I am going as I am.”
Most of the dream was about my frantic attempt to get to the show and being blocked by one problem after another.
It ended as I was walking up to the auditorium of the high school. My heart was aching because I was so late. (In the dream I could know my own thoughts as well as Vanessa’s like in a movie.) I could see Vanessa on stage, eyes searching for, and not finding me.
There were people in front of me and I was trying to hurry them along so that I could get inside. They wouldn’t move. I was muttering, “Hurry. Hurry. Please get out of the way!”
Vanessa was wearing a silk dress, pale green. It was the same dress she’d worn to a wedding when she was eight. It accentuated her already striking green eyes. But in the dream her eyes were not happy the way they were when she wore that dress and danced with her dad at the wedding reception. In the dream her eyes are sad---they look the way they did in a picture taken when she was in high school: so full of sadness that it hurts to see them. She is smiling in the picture but her eyes are like tilted pools, so full of tears they almost spill over; so full of determination to survive that they shimmer bravely in spite of horrible pain.
These eyes have seen disappointment too many times. But it is the hope in them that breaks my heart because it is so precious and fragile. When I remember that look I pray that she will never be disappointed again, but worry that disappointing her is as inevitable as rain.
The song, “Life is a Cabaret” is about very desperate and broken people finding a place of refuge in an impossible situation.
It is a song about hope that lives on, fragile, wavering, but precariously alive. It is about finding a place to go, or having a mindset that allows you to block out all the danger, ugliness and uncertainty that lie just beyond the walls of the cabaret; It is about being able to smile at the camera, or the audience even though you are falling to pieces on the inside.
Now I am awake.
I pray that it is not too late, that I will get to her in time, that I won’t disappoint her again.
"Vanessa," I say to her in my mind, "I am right out here! I’m almost to the auditorium!" What I mean to say is that I am doing my best to be there for you. I want to hear everything you have to say. I am so sorry it has taken me so long to get here. I am not as prepared as I wish; I wish I was more confident and collected, but I can't wait any longer; I have to try to get to you, to hear you without interrupting or running away or blaming anyone but myself for your pain.
I pray: "Please, God, let me be there in time!" And "Please God, don't let me cause her any more pain."
I keep hearing the song, (in my head) Life is a Cabaret. I've been humming it and singing it as I do chores.
The song is shadowy, like a smoky nightclub, but there are bright spots in the smoke; the bright colors are attributed to the show on stage.
The song and the images it brings with it beg me to pay attention. So I am.
I find out that the song is the theme song for a musical of the same name. The musical was based on the play: I Am a Camera, by John Van Druten, which was inspired by the book The Berlin Stories It is about how people found (sad) refuge in nightclubs in Nazi Germany.
The songs lends itself to a dream I had a couple of nights ago which was “filmed” in full, rich colors: the deep purple and blue of peacock feathers.
In the dream I was rushing to get to Vanessa’s high school performance. It was a very important event and I was stressed because I couldn’t get there on time. I had already missed the first hour of the show and I was worried that I’d miss it all.
Finally I gave up getting dressed up in fancy clothes. I settled for putting on my eyelashes. I had a tube of mascara that when applied made my lashes look like peacock feathers. They were lavish and rich and amazingly light for such extravagant lashes. I had my work clothes on but couldn’t find my shoes; I went without shoes, muttering under my breath, “Enough is enough. I have waited too long already! I am going as I am.”
Most of the dream was about my frantic attempt to get to the show and being blocked by one problem after another.
It ended as I was walking up to the auditorium of the high school. My heart was aching because I was so late. (In the dream I could know my own thoughts as well as Vanessa’s like in a movie.) I could see Vanessa on stage, eyes searching for, and not finding me.
There were people in front of me and I was trying to hurry them along so that I could get inside. They wouldn’t move. I was muttering, “Hurry. Hurry. Please get out of the way!”
Vanessa was wearing a silk dress, pale green. It was the same dress she’d worn to a wedding when she was eight. It accentuated her already striking green eyes. But in the dream her eyes were not happy the way they were when she wore that dress and danced with her dad at the wedding reception. In the dream her eyes are sad---they look the way they did in a picture taken when she was in high school: so full of sadness that it hurts to see them. She is smiling in the picture but her eyes are like tilted pools, so full of tears they almost spill over; so full of determination to survive that they shimmer bravely in spite of horrible pain.
These eyes have seen disappointment too many times. But it is the hope in them that breaks my heart because it is so precious and fragile. When I remember that look I pray that she will never be disappointed again, but worry that disappointing her is as inevitable as rain.
The song, “Life is a Cabaret” is about very desperate and broken people finding a place of refuge in an impossible situation.
It is a song about hope that lives on, fragile, wavering, but precariously alive. It is about finding a place to go, or having a mindset that allows you to block out all the danger, ugliness and uncertainty that lie just beyond the walls of the cabaret; It is about being able to smile at the camera, or the audience even though you are falling to pieces on the inside.
Now I am awake.
I pray that it is not too late, that I will get to her in time, that I won’t disappoint her again.
"Vanessa," I say to her in my mind, "I am right out here! I’m almost to the auditorium!" What I mean to say is that I am doing my best to be there for you. I want to hear everything you have to say. I am so sorry it has taken me so long to get here. I am not as prepared as I wish; I wish I was more confident and collected, but I can't wait any longer; I have to try to get to you, to hear you without interrupting or running away or blaming anyone but myself for your pain.
I pray: "Please, God, let me be there in time!" And "Please God, don't let me cause her any more pain."
Saturday, April 24, 2010
1 1/2 buttered toast (sugar free bread, real butter)
Saturday, April 24, 2010
1 1/2 buttered toast (sugar free bread, real butter)
This is what I was thinking about as I finished my toast:
Does the normal development of a human being mirror our relationship with God?
Or is it a mirror image and therefore opposite: do we mature spiritually by becoming more and more dependent on God as opposed to depending on our own will power?
Why are we given the spiritual gift of self-control if we are only really happy when we surrender completely to God? (What does this have to do with toast? Bear with me, please.)
When a baby is newborn it is completely dependant on its mother and if it is developing normally the child grows more dependant on him or herself. But when it comes to spiritual matters, the opposite seems to be true. I know that no matter what I think I want, what I really, really want is to know God’s will and to be able to do whatever He wants.
For example (I think as I shake the toast crumbs off my shirt):
I think I want to lose weight in order to be healthy. I start to pray for that. But as soon as the prayer is formed, a cry, like a foghorn in treacherous waters goes out "Seek first the kingdom of God!"
Born an American girl I have always equated good health and a good life--in fact, all goodness with being skinny. In my household the word “skinny” was synonymous with clean, worthy while "fat" was equivalent to evil: dirty, lazy, stupid and bad. (Easy to see the why I have struggled with an eating disorder, right?)
I’ve always believed that the eating disorder was a lack of self control. But I am beginning to see that it is more a matter of anger and an act of defiance than it is about self control. Or maybe it is equally about anger/defiance/self-control, or lack thereof. I don't know.
The first rumblings of the disorder came in defiance some forgotten thing that infuriated me on the way to school in second grade. I remember riding to school, sitting on the edge of the seat and clamping my gut so tight, like a little hidden fist, tightening as I swore “I will never, ever be like my mother!”
I don’t know what she did to make me so mad or to swear to never be like her. But now, when I think about dieting or controlling my weight, that same little, internal fist tightens. And ‘it’ is much stronger than my best intentions.
For years I was anorexic and/or bulimic. I felt in control when I was strong enough to stick to my food plan (which was at its most extreme: one small apple and ¼ cup of wheat germ. Period. (For THE WHOLE DAY.) But in the late 1990’s I got sick and tired of starving myself. In a fully conscious act of defiance I declared war on dieting. That single act of defiance, however, did not initiate healthy eating habits. I was still obsessed with foods and treated food like an idol. Food was the answer to all my issues (I thought) and if I could just eat the right kind, then the right amount would be easy to maintain because the ‘right food’ would satisfy all my needs (like God ;) the right food would produce homeostasis.
Right Food was a two-faced idol. One side showed the beautiful array of all natural food, the other side showed a person happily engaged in active recreation. An image of a very clean blond woman in dazzling white tennis gear flashes before my eyes; it was probably a TV commercial or cereal ad that burned its way into my impressionable mind.
Do you recognize this Idol? Who in our society does not believe (like a good indoctrinated person should) that “Diet and Exercise” are the keys to good or bad health?
The mantra is repeated in every doctor’s office: Diet and Exercise, Diet and Exercise, all hail the Right Diet and Exercise! Every grocery store checkout line is bombarded with advertisements for diets and exercise plans. And the First Lady has declared it her campaign to put an end to childhood obesity, which has intensified the mantra so dear to our hearts: Diet and Exercise.
If eating the ‘right’ foods is key to our happiness, why it is that in-between commercials for the right diet and exercise programs are advertisements for chocolate, which, by the way, has even more power than the Right Diet and Exercise to satisfy our every desire (and I do mean every desire.) Diet and exercise, we are told will make us healthy and happy; but we all secretly crave, and deserve forbidden foods too, like that chocolate I was talking about.
So what, exactly, is the scoop?
As I sipped my morning coffee I started listing the food I’d consumed today. I did this so that I could enter it into a computerized calorie counter. “This time,” I said, “this time I will stick to a food plan and lose weight. I will be like the saints, who ate very little. If I don’t get my eating under control it is my own fault that I have health problems. I just need to find and stick to the right diet and exercise program. Right?”
But the internal foghorn sounded:
No. Janice. “Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and all these things shall be added unto you.”
So I said, "No. I will choose to avoid this pitfall. Dieting may not be a pitfall for some, but it is for me. No. This time I will choose to ‘eat’ my spiritual food first: the word of God in the Divine Office. I will choose to give my will over to God and I choose to trust that if I do this, and if I listen to Him and not to the TV or magazine adds, I will have everything that brings me peace, whether peace means I’ll be ‘skinny’, or not. God will take away the anger that fuels this eating disorder and He will replace it with knowledge and understanding. If self-control is a natural gift of the spirit, then the Spirit will teach me how to develop it. I will begin by exercising my will power by changing the mantra: Diet and Exercise! To 'Not my will, but Thine be done…'
I will resist the urge to add, "but please God, can I please be skinny?”
1 1/2 buttered toast (sugar free bread, real butter)
This is what I was thinking about as I finished my toast:
Does the normal development of a human being mirror our relationship with God?
Or is it a mirror image and therefore opposite: do we mature spiritually by becoming more and more dependent on God as opposed to depending on our own will power?
Why are we given the spiritual gift of self-control if we are only really happy when we surrender completely to God? (What does this have to do with toast? Bear with me, please.)
When a baby is newborn it is completely dependant on its mother and if it is developing normally the child grows more dependant on him or herself. But when it comes to spiritual matters, the opposite seems to be true. I know that no matter what I think I want, what I really, really want is to know God’s will and to be able to do whatever He wants.
For example (I think as I shake the toast crumbs off my shirt):
I think I want to lose weight in order to be healthy. I start to pray for that. But as soon as the prayer is formed, a cry, like a foghorn in treacherous waters goes out "Seek first the kingdom of God!"
Born an American girl I have always equated good health and a good life--in fact, all goodness with being skinny. In my household the word “skinny” was synonymous with clean, worthy while "fat" was equivalent to evil: dirty, lazy, stupid and bad. (Easy to see the why I have struggled with an eating disorder, right?)
I’ve always believed that the eating disorder was a lack of self control. But I am beginning to see that it is more a matter of anger and an act of defiance than it is about self control. Or maybe it is equally about anger/defiance/self-control, or lack thereof. I don't know.
The first rumblings of the disorder came in defiance some forgotten thing that infuriated me on the way to school in second grade. I remember riding to school, sitting on the edge of the seat and clamping my gut so tight, like a little hidden fist, tightening as I swore “I will never, ever be like my mother!”
I don’t know what she did to make me so mad or to swear to never be like her. But now, when I think about dieting or controlling my weight, that same little, internal fist tightens. And ‘it’ is much stronger than my best intentions.
For years I was anorexic and/or bulimic. I felt in control when I was strong enough to stick to my food plan (which was at its most extreme: one small apple and ¼ cup of wheat germ. Period. (For THE WHOLE DAY.) But in the late 1990’s I got sick and tired of starving myself. In a fully conscious act of defiance I declared war on dieting. That single act of defiance, however, did not initiate healthy eating habits. I was still obsessed with foods and treated food like an idol. Food was the answer to all my issues (I thought) and if I could just eat the right kind, then the right amount would be easy to maintain because the ‘right food’ would satisfy all my needs (like God ;) the right food would produce homeostasis.
Right Food was a two-faced idol. One side showed the beautiful array of all natural food, the other side showed a person happily engaged in active recreation. An image of a very clean blond woman in dazzling white tennis gear flashes before my eyes; it was probably a TV commercial or cereal ad that burned its way into my impressionable mind.
Do you recognize this Idol? Who in our society does not believe (like a good indoctrinated person should) that “Diet and Exercise” are the keys to good or bad health?
The mantra is repeated in every doctor’s office: Diet and Exercise, Diet and Exercise, all hail the Right Diet and Exercise! Every grocery store checkout line is bombarded with advertisements for diets and exercise plans. And the First Lady has declared it her campaign to put an end to childhood obesity, which has intensified the mantra so dear to our hearts: Diet and Exercise.
If eating the ‘right’ foods is key to our happiness, why it is that in-between commercials for the right diet and exercise programs are advertisements for chocolate, which, by the way, has even more power than the Right Diet and Exercise to satisfy our every desire (and I do mean every desire.) Diet and exercise, we are told will make us healthy and happy; but we all secretly crave, and deserve forbidden foods too, like that chocolate I was talking about.
So what, exactly, is the scoop?
As I sipped my morning coffee I started listing the food I’d consumed today. I did this so that I could enter it into a computerized calorie counter. “This time,” I said, “this time I will stick to a food plan and lose weight. I will be like the saints, who ate very little. If I don’t get my eating under control it is my own fault that I have health problems. I just need to find and stick to the right diet and exercise program. Right?”
But the internal foghorn sounded:
No. Janice. “Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and all these things shall be added unto you.”
So I said, "No. I will choose to avoid this pitfall. Dieting may not be a pitfall for some, but it is for me. No. This time I will choose to ‘eat’ my spiritual food first: the word of God in the Divine Office. I will choose to give my will over to God and I choose to trust that if I do this, and if I listen to Him and not to the TV or magazine adds, I will have everything that brings me peace, whether peace means I’ll be ‘skinny’, or not. God will take away the anger that fuels this eating disorder and He will replace it with knowledge and understanding. If self-control is a natural gift of the spirit, then the Spirit will teach me how to develop it. I will begin by exercising my will power by changing the mantra: Diet and Exercise! To 'Not my will, but Thine be done…'
I will resist the urge to add, "but please God, can I please be skinny?”
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