Monday, August 6, 2007
The sweet spot
Writing about my past weight loss may make you think that I have everything under control, that temptation is no longer a problem, and that I am home free. In the old discussions – no, not the flannel board ones, there is a principle that we taught that was called: Endure to the end. Enduring is a very visual word. I see long distance runners on the last quarter mile, or a red faced mother wringing wet laundry from a broken washer. Enduring means work. It also means vigilance. Once you get to the destination you cannot lie down and quit. The quest to be healthy doesn’t end until you lay your body down.
This was quite a week. I fell off of the wagon. Our schedule left me feeling harried and out of control. It started out small, A bit of chocolate to take the edge off(bit meaning largest size chocolate bar in the store). A messy house and children in an uproar led me to peanut butter jelly time, and . . . “oh are e ohs” (they who must not be named). The very next day, there was a new challenge. Family came and along with them, jujubes, chocolate raisins, and peanut m&m’s. I ate yummy breakfasts, lunches and had dinner at a favorite restaurant. I made treats for everyone, (some for you, more for me.) Saturday, Family Reunion day I resolved temperance, but our trip to Costco before-hand was too much for me. Not having time to prepare, I fell for a vat of Greek rotisserie chicken pasta salad complete with red olives, artichoke hearts, and parmesan cheese. The whole thing came with two forks, artfully disguising that it was enough to feed Ethiopia.
It only gets worse. Our Swedish reunion always includes a smorgasbord. I won’t bore you with the lurid details. Just conjure up the old version of Charlottes web and imagine me as Penelton the rat with the large belly singing “A fair is a veritable smorgasbord, smorgasbord”. I kept wondering how I could eat this much and still post another blog on Monday. I didn’t want to be a hypocrite
Once while tracting with a stake missionary we came to a door of a sour older man. “I would never go to your church. There are too many hypocrites!”
The stake missionary replied: “Don’t worry; we always have room for one more.”
This past weekend I sinned. I did feel like a bit of a hypocrite. The old me would have given up. My thought pattern in the past would be this: Guessing I gained 10 pounds I would think, “sell the farm, I did it again, I will never change, I just can’t do it, why try?” I would dejectedly give up and console myself with food, the good comforting stuff, white, fluffy, creamy, gooey and cheesy.
That is why I love my scale. I have become very attached to this teller of no lies. She has loved me at my heaviest, and chronicled each loss and gain. My bathroom scale has a sweet spot. If I stand on it with my left foot slightly forward, and my weight shifted to my right heel, I can at least lose a pound. You laugh nervous laughter. You know your scale’s sweet spot too don’t you?
I am sure that my love for an inanimate item is a bit obsessive, and probably not recommended, but I know what happens if I don’t weigh myself. I don’t like the results. A scale puts things into proper perspective. When I fear I will not like what I will see, I choose to think the worse and give up. Getting on my scale gives me truth. The reality after that feast of a weekend was 2 lbs. No big deal. I didn’t sin irreparably. I can shift the eating around a bit and fix that in a week. I can post a blog and still feel guilt-free.
After all what is a hypocrite? Aren’t we all trying our best? Sometimes we mess up. That’s not hypocritical, that is simply a mistake. We can change. We aren’t poured into a concrete mold that forces us to stay the same.
I have sinned many times. Not just with eating. I have had to repent many times for the same sin. The gospel teaches us that we can repent as often as we do wrong and we will be forgiven as long as it takes for us to learn to change. Satan tells us lies. Thoughts like, “you are who you are” or “you have gone too far now, might as well do more, you can’t change,” are old and have been used since the beginning.
When we can’t just eat one Lay’s potato chip and find ourselves with salty greasy fingers and an empty bag, all is not lost. You don’t have to then open your fridge and gorge until bursting. Everything is repairable. As the song goes: “pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and start all over again!”