How to Lose

In April 2021, I left my job with UPS to begin a new life. I had plans, things I wanted to accomplish. Retirement hasn't been the radical transformation I anticipated, but some things have changed: I've actually stayed up past 10 PM a time or two, I have dinner with my family more than once a week, and I was able to sell my vehicle (Something New, July 2021). Oh, and I've lost some weight-- twenty-five pounds to be exact! I feel terrific! As human beings, we are created to adapt. Our bodies adjust to some pretty significant fluctuations in temperature, our minds can reason-- a characteristic that goes beyond simple learned behaviors, and we have a natural emotional resilience that allows us to carry on even after deep hurt. Weight loss was not part of my "retirement plan." The weight I carried was almost invisible to me, but my body was breaking down at a much faster rate due to the stress of excess weight. Without realizing, I scaled back my activity or "favored that knee." Looking in the mirror, I'd gotten used to what I saw. As my blood work approached "borderline this" and "borderline that" each year, I made excuses. I would have never guessed I needed to lose twenty-five pounds.

The baggage we carry through life is like that. We believe one tiny lie-- You'll never change. Are you sure God said that? What makes you think God cares? --and before you know it, we're carrying around twenty-five pounds of fear, insecurity, doubt, wrong information. It happens so gradually, we barely feel the mounting burden. We make excuses or wait for something outside ourselves to change. But eventually, we become accustomed to carrying all that weight and no longer see the need to shed anything-- or worse, we're more comfortable with it than even thinking about life without it.

For years I'd dismiss people who said weight loss or healthy eating made them feel so much better. Just how much better can losing a few pounds make you feel? How much difference can ten pounds make in your health? Tons! As I felt better, I challenged myself to "one more change" or set my sights on maintaining a healthy routine for "one more day." Physical changes and mental changes went hand-in-hand, pushing me-- one small step at a time-- toward better overall health.

Jesus has made a difference in me. He is continuing to make a difference in me. Barring Divine intervention, however, I've seen few instantaneous results; it is a daily routine. I read His word each day; I talk to Him throughout the day; I fellowship with other believers, celebrating goals met or holding one another accountable when we miss them; I look for ways to give or serve more; I keep my eyes and ears fixed on Him and Him alone for best results. I don't look at others or fixate on who I want to be (or think I need to be); I don't stress about progress or what it will be like when I reach that place; I simply hold His hand and follow where He leads. Or, at least, I hope to. 

People ask how I lost the weight and I give the answer I always hated to hear: more activity, less food. But it's the truth. And it's a simple, truthful answer when it comes to moving through life as a follower of Jesus Christ. How did you conquer fear? More truth, fewer lies. How did your marriage recover from that? More Jesus, less ego. How did you stop being so anxious? More following, less trying to lead. How did you quit drinking? More obedience, less rebellion. How do you live with that kind of loss? More worship, less grief. Abiding in Jesus, seeking truth, shedding pound after pound of baggage, day by day. 

Jesus Is Still There

I opened the door to Mom's room that morning with a mixture of relief and disappointment. Relief because, though I'd heard nothing from her room, and it was about an hour after she normally began her drumming and whistling, it appeared all was well. Disappointment because-- well, I was going to have to do this for at least one more day. 

Caring for someone all day, every day is difficult. Caring for someone you've had to prop up most of your life is difficult. Caring for someone who cannot return the kindness is difficult. Caring for someone who will never improve, who will only not require care under the worst of circumstances, is difficult. Caring for someone and at the same time desiring to be free --knowing what that means and how very selfish that sounds-- can be unbearable. I reached unbearable a long time ago. I say this not because I crave sympathy or "attaboys" or those sad little "care" emojis they added to Facebook a while back; I say this because I want you to know how God has propped me up in all of this. I tell you these things because, on my own, I am a mess. I get tired. I get frustrated. I get annoyed. I get resentful. There have been times I think I've felt Jesus right there in my kitchen, and still my spirit is raging and screaming, still I am trying to resist the urge to simply lock the doors and leave, still I am holding my lips closed tightly with my teeth and wishing that Please, for the love of God! I could just have one day without her. 

But in all of that inner noise, in all of that chaos and pain, in all of that rebellion-- Oh, and that's what it is, my friend. It is rebellion! --Jesus doesn't leave. When I'm through with my fit, He is still there. When my next one begins, He is still there. The Incarnate Deity is with me in all of my ugly. As a child I was taught God cannot look on my sin --no pressure there, huh? Sin as grounds for abandonment? Well, the truth of it is, my sin is grounds for more than abandonment --eternal death, even. But God's greatness is the impetus for Jesus. Jesus on the cross, pouring out every drop of His precious blood in my place; Jesus pleading guilty to my rebellion and declaring me the innocent, obedient one. Jesus standing in my kitchen with me, despite my surrender --or, on particularly unmanageable days, surrenders-- to sin.

In the mornings I sit, my journal and God's word open before me. And, like Habakkuk, I voice my complaint and I plead for answers. Why can't I just do this one thing right? Why must this be so hard? And, because I am finally quiet, because my heart is no longer screaming in rebellion but is now crying out in pain and helplessness, because Jesus is still there, He says to me, "Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me." To Him. I gently washed His hands, or I violently scrubbed at His dentures. I cheerfully served Him breakfast, or I curtly gave directions on where to sit for the third time. I smiled, sitting across from Him as He drummed and "KUH-KUH"ed, or I sighed deeply and clenched my jaw as I tried to concentrate with all of that noise. 

But Jesus didn't stop there. "Pour out your love for Me on her," He said this time. Almost immediately I caught a glimpse of a woman, long dark hair wet with tears on Jesus' feet. I could smell precious oil and feel the heaviness of her passion. Pour out your love for Me on her. Then came the image of a Man, slowly taking a knee before His friends and quietly, softly washing their feet. I could hear the trickle of water as it returned to the bowl below. Pour out your love for Me on her. Jesus was there, as always, caring for me and giving me something to hold onto throughout the day. I can rage and rebel, or I can sit quietly before Him each time the journey becomes unbearable. I can stir up the storm in my spirit hoping its roar will drown out her nonsensical noise (It never does), or I can choose to serve Mom as though I was serving Him. Either way, Jesus will still be there, waiting for me to pour out my love for Him. His faithfulness is reason to celebrate!