SHARE TIME - 08/04/2013

I’ve known I wanted to be a writer since I was ten years old.  I got my start writing bad poetry in my pre-teen years and progressed to “publishing” my own pretend newspaper before becoming a journalist for "real-life" newspaper after college.  It stands to reason that somewhere along the way I developed a love for telling stories.

I love short stories in part because I’m a little ADD and nothing seems to capture my attention for very long.  For someone like me, short stories are perfect for reading and perfect for writing. I’ve written a thousand of them in my head that never made it to paper. A few did.

 

The following is a short story I wrote a while back.  It recently won 2^nd place at the Little Rock Chapter of American Christian Writers annual conference.  I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.  Like all my writing, I consider it one of my "babies."

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A Glimmer of Hope

Two things a single mother seldom has enough of -- money and patience. Unfortunately, Abby Green didn’t have much of either today.

She hurriedly got ready for work while her four-year old son, Dylan, played in the floor.

“Mom, I don’t wanna go to day care, today,” Dylan whined.

“Well, I don’t want to go to work either, kiddo, but we can’t always have what we want. Now, go get your stuff, OK?”

Dylan grabbed his lunch box and backpack and plopped down on the couch.

Life hadn’t been easy for Abby since her separation from her husband, Chris -- really since Dylan had been born and she had gone back to work part-time to help make ends meet.

Then Chris left her, and Abby found a full-time job as a receptionist at the local newspaper. It was the closest she feared she would ever get to her dream job, being a journalist. Her salary didn’t come close to covering her expenses, but combined with Chris’ irregular child support and an occasional check from her mother, it had miraculously kept them fed and in shelter.

Abby had met Chris in her freshman year of college. Not long after that, she discovered she was pregnant with Dylan. Her life with Chris fell far short of the fantasy she had imagined, but they loved each other. Then one day Chris came home from work and announced that he wasn’t sure he loved Abby anymore.

Abby had been pregnant and married at 20, and now separated at 25. So far, she didn’t see any happy endings in sight.

When she picked Dylan up after work, she was tired and he was a little cranky. One thing she was grateful for was that it was Friday, and she could possibly sleep in the next day. On the way home, she got a hamburger and fries for her and Dylan. That would make him delirious, and she could indulge herself in a meal out. After all, it was pay day.

At home, she and Dylan enjoyed their hamburgers in front of the TV until bedtime. Then she tucked him in bed and went off to bed herself.

Unable to sleep, Abby lay in bed thinking.

Abby had believed in God from childhood but sometimes felt He was avoiding her. Her mother had nearly had a stroke when Abby told her she was dropping out of college to marry Chris. The fact that he wasn’t a Christian disturbed her mother greatly, and since meeting Chris, Abby, herself, had quit going to church. When she and Chris separated, she thought it was time to include God in her life again, so she went back to church.

One Sunday morning, while waiting for the service to begin, she looked up and saw a familiar face, Susan Wells, who had been her junior high Sunday school teacher. Abby had always liked Susan, and felt warmed by her presence in the pew beside her. It was the first sign that maybe she belonged back here again. She and Susan became fast friends, and Abby could always count on Susan for encouragement. Now, on a lonely Friday night, this thought comforted her in her loneliness as she drifted off to sleep.

The next morning she woke and looked at the digital clock by her bed side. “Nine thirty!” She said to herself, “I DID sleep in!”

She listened for Dylan in the living room but didn’t hear a sound. Maybe he’s sleeping in, she thought. But Dylan never slept in. She jerked herself out of bed and called his name. No answer. And Dylan was nowhere to be found in the apartment.

Panic struck a chord in Abby that set her nerves on edge. The thought that Dylan might have gone outside made her equally angry and scared. He had done this once before, and she had told him not to do it again. But sometimes saying things once was not enough.

She threw on her clothes, ran into the living room, and saw a little table pushed up to the front door for Dylan to reach the deadbolt. She knew he HAD gone outside.

Abby ran outside, and into the parking lot which faced a busy street calling for Dylan. No answer.

Then she knocked on every neighbor’s door. No one had seen him. After nearly two hours, Abby had searched for her son around the apartment complex and in the neighborhood to no avail.

Disheveled and in tears, she called her mother. This horrid thought crept upon her and left her insides in jagged knots: Her son was missing.

Abby’s mother, Gail Weston, showed up at the apartment about twenty minutes later and they called the police. A female officer arrived a short time later. Abby felt nauseated and tired, as she began answering the officer’s questions: “How old is he? When was the last time you saw him? What was he wearing? Do you have any recent pictures of him?”

Abby answered the questions and then remembered she hadn’t had Dylan’s picture made since he was a baby. She never seemed to have enough time or money. Now, she hated herself for it. Then she remembered a Polaroid taken at Dylan’s daycare and fashioned into a magnetic frame made from Popsicle sticks and buttons. It was on her refrigerator.

The officer finished taking her statement, took the photo of Dylan and assured Abby that police would look for him. In the meantime, she or someone else should stay at the apartment waiting for word.

When the officer left, the thought occurred to Abby that she hadn’t called Chris. She had thought of calling him earlier, but dreaded it. Chris hadn’t seen Dylan in almost a month. Her first thought was that he might not even care, or would possibly scold her for being so hysterical. Then, she worried that he might think she was a bad mother.

But deep down, she knew she had to tell him. Dylan was Chris’ son. She found the number and dialed. No answer, so she left a frantic, wandering message and hung up. Typical, Chris wasn’t available.

Abby’s head was screaming so she went to her room for an Ibuprofen and paced the floor. It was now way past lunch time, and she knew that Dylan must be starved. He probably hadn’t had any breakfast, and now he was going to miss lunch.

Her mind was tinkering with thoughts about all the times she had wished she was somewhere else. Perhaps working as a journalist in a foreign country. All the times she just wished she could come and go as she pleased. What kind of a mother was she really? Was this God’s way of punishing her? She felt confused and helpless, because she was powerless to find Dylan. She thought of praying, but wondered what good it would do.

Then she heard a knock at the front door and her heart leapt in her chest.

It was Danny and Susan Wells. “We came as soon as we heard,” Susan said.

“How did you hear?” Abby asked. She hadn’t called anyone except the police and Chris.

Her mother chimed in. “Oh, I called the church while you were in your room and asked them to pray. Susan had heard about it from the church’s prayer chain.

“We thought we could pray with you and keep you company for a while,” Susan offered. Danny nodded in agreement. Usually very talkative around other men, Abby noticed he said very little around women.

“Thanks,” Abby said and she began to cry again. Susan put her arm around her, and said “Abby, I just want you to know Dylan is really God’s child and wherever he is, God is watching over him.”

This thought calmed her some, as she hung on the glimmer of hope it carried. But the guilt still plagued her.

“Susan. I’m a terrible mother!” She blurted out.

“Why do you say that?” Susan asked. “That’s not true!”

“It IS true.” Abby insisted. “There have been times when I wished I had never gotten married,” she began to cry hard as she fought for words. “Times I wished I had never had Dylan.

“Oh, Abby. That doesn’t make you a bad mother. I expect most mothers occasionally wonder what their lives would be like if they had never had children.”

Abby listened as her friend spoke words of encouragement.

“Dylan is a gift from God. Not a mistake,” Susan told her. “God created that child. He knitted him in your womb, and He doesn’t make mistakes. Let’s get down on our knees right here and pray. I think you really need that.”

The two women knelt down together and Susan began:

“Father, we come to You and acknowledging that You love Dylan more than we ever could. Watch over him and guide him back home. And Father, please help Abby know that You love her, and that You’ll never give up on her. In Jesus name...”

Susan squeezed Abby’s hand to let her know it was her turn to pray.

Through her tears, Abby prayed. For the first time since this terrible day began, she poured her heart out to God. She hoped somehow that would make God hear her better. Through her tears, she begged God to bring Dylan home. Afterwards, she felt like a small burden had been lifted from her, but it was going to be dark in a few hours, and the thought of Dylan alone and scared in the dark terrified her.

Abby was exhausted from the stress, and just when she thought it would engulf her, she heard a loud knock at her door and ran for it.

A middle-aged police officer was there smiling. Standing beside him in a green t-shirt and red shorts was Dylan, with matted hair and a dirty face. He ran to Abby and hugged her legs. She bent down and hugged him and kissed his dirty face. Words could not express the lifted burden.

“He’s OK, Ms. Green,” the officer said. “One of our retired officers, Doug Adams, found him playing in his vacant lot about a half mile from here. Dylan said he followed a stray dog and got lost. Doug found him sitting under a tree crying. Dylan knew his name but didn’t know his address. All he said was that he wanted his mommy, so Doug called us knowing somebody was surely looking for him.”

“I’m sorry, Mommy,” Dylan said. “I saw the dog out our window and he looked like he wanted someone to play with. So I followed him and got lost.”

“Oh, thank You God!” Abby cried. “I love you. You are a good God!” Then she looked at her son and said, “I love you too, Dylan.”

“I love you, Mommy,” Dylan said, gently sobbing. Then he looked up at Gail, and said “Hi, Grandma.” Everyone, including the officer, laughed in relief.

“Young fellow, don’t leave the house anymore without your mom, OK?” The officer gently scolded Dylan. Dylan nodded and shyly turned toward his mother. “Mommy, can I have a peanut butter sandwich?”

A short time later, Abby heard another knock at the door. Standing in the doorway was Chris, wide-eyed and out of breath.

“I came as soon as I got the message. Have you found him?” He asked excitedly.

Then he saw his son. “Dylan!” Chris exclaimed.

“Daddy! It’s you!” Dylan yelled happily and ran to his father.

“Yeah, it sure is.” Chris said as he knelt down, scooped the boy up and buried his face in Dylan’s hair, gently stroking it, he sobbed softly, “I thought I’d lost you.”

Chris still loved his son, Abby knew. She backed away and allowed them a moment.

She didn’t know where her marriage was headed, but she did know two things -- God was good. And He was HER loving Father.

Why Christians Should Be Praying for Other Believers Who Work in the Criminal Justice System

"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And when you look into the abyss, the abyss also looks into you." -- Friedrich Nietzsche

“But where sin abounded, grace did much more abound." – The Apostle Paul, Romans 5:20

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     I know this all too well: The world we live in is an evil place. It wasn’t created to be evil, but since that great fall of mankind in the Garden of Eden evil abounds.

     Yet, as Christians, we know that where evil abounds, grace abounds all the more. (Romans 5:20) Our hope is not in this world, but in the truth that Jesus Christ has overcome the world and is now seated at the right hand of God. (John 16:33). For this reason we need not despair over evil.

     And while I don’t subscribe to all the atheistic philosophies of Mr. Nietzsche, I do believe one can get sucked into a veritable vortex of sin by staring too long into the evil that seems to have run amok as people kill, assault, rape, terrorize, steal, lie and cheat as a way of life.
      What about the people who are called to fight these “monsters” in the real world. What kind of effect must evil have on these real life “dragon slayers”? Especially the believers who work in the criminal justice system? Do you ever consider the critical need they must have for prayers of safety, encouragement and spiritual guidance? Also, consider their need for consistent fellowship with other believers as many of them give much of their time (including Sundays when other believers are in church) in service to our communities, many putting their very lives on the line each and every day. This year it’s been my privilege to work alongside many of them and see what they see, if not first hand through photos and reports.
      Since beginning my job in January of this year as a case clerk in the Pulaski County (Arkansas) Prosecuting Attorney’s office, I’ve been privy to criminal case information on every kind of human evil imaginable – murder, rape, assault, child pornography, domestic battery, theft, arson, child abuse, and drunk driving -- just to name a few. As part of my work, I’ve seen crime scene, evidence and autopsy photos. I’ve read through statements from suspects, witnesses and victims filled with graphic, obscene and vulgar detail. And at the end of the day I’ve come home from work feeling like I needed a long, hot, decontaminating shower just to wash off the stench of the day. That alone is enough to make a believer truly weary for heaven. I can’t imagine working in the middle of it daily.
     Working in the criminal justice system can be lonely. I haven’t found a whole lot of believers working in it so far. It can also be a hostile work environment for those of us who do believe. Many unbelievers there are not only closed to the sharing of the Gospel but downright hostile toward the messenger.
     I don’t make excuses for such people, but I do think that when a person brushes up against so much evil every day it’s hard to believe there is any Power in the universe strong enough to defeat it. It’s somehow easier to believe that you are the only line of defense in the fight against it, or worse, you just lose hope altogether.
      After saying all that and at the expense of sounding like a raving mad woman, I have to say that I love my job. I believe it my current calling and that God has a plan for my life here. In some ways I feel like I was born to do my job.
     While I’m no idealist, I’m still just “Pollyanna” enough to believe that we as criminal justice professionals speak for and help the victims. The “rush” for me comes in knowing that I get to be one of the so-called “good guys”. It does, however, take a toll.
      It’s hard to find a balance between my spiritual life and my work life. As I spend more time working and less time fellowshiping with other believers, it’s easier to give in to the world’s way of thinking and acting. In fact, the world’s way can begin to make sense and even seem right as I spend more and more time with worldly people. The question becomes: “Hey, where have all my Christian friends gone?” then morphs into a deeper question: “Where has God gone?”
     I feel the tug of the world, inches at a time, which slowly pulls me into a drift away from God’s will. Long stressful working days lead to weariness which makes for an easier choice to not spend time with the Holy One who desires to have a relationship with me. This “drift” leads to feelings of emptiness, loneliness and even shame. (“Has God deserted me?” “Does He still love me?” “How could He love me?”)
     The power of prayer in a believer’s life avails much. The power of prayer on a believer’s life is a gift of grace from the one who prays. The power of prayer on the life of a believer who spends much time serving and/or working in a dark place is essential to his or her spiritual survival. I believe that with all my heart. If people aren’t praying for me, I feel as if I’m falling deeper. Think of all those who work on our streets, in our courts and in our jails and detention centers. Then pray for them as you feel the conviction because one or more of these most surely needs it at the time you are convicted.

I woke up a couple of days ago after a week of working on a particularly difficult case feeling weary, lonely and empty. My relationship with God seemed almost like a distant memory because of a severe lack of time spent with Him. As I pondered the “anemic” state of my faith, I wondered if God still loved me then as much as He loved me when I was seeking His face with all my heart. I wondered whether my Christian friends would still care for me if they knew how far I’d fallen.
     Yet my God is still faithful. I know that as I write this. He still speaks in His still, small voice into my life, even while I’m weary and lacking in so many ways because of my own spiritual delinquency.
     God is my only hope. I need His power to make it through not just the hard days, but every day.
     As long as I’m called to this field, there are and will be days to come when I put my head down and trudge forward, wading in the muck. Every once in a while I will poke my head up and realize that my desire for all things godly has waned and my desire for the world has increased.
     My prayer for myself is that at that time of heaviness, I will also hear that still small voice whispering in my ear: “I will never leave you or forsake you,” and will feel the power of fervent prayers of other believers.
     I need these friends more than ever – to pray for me, to fellowship with me and just love me. They are one of the great reminders that God will never leave me nor forsake me. They are the ones who rebuke me, admonish me and encourage me.
     I hope you know who you are. I’ve always needed you in my life. I need you SO MUCH MORE now.

I am MORE than a number on a Scale.

Ever see one of those diet program commercials on television?

Of course you have, and if you’re like me, the inner turmoil they tend to generate can make you want to flip to the next channel.

Watching one of those things can make it seem like all you have to do is let one of program’s weight “consultants” wave a magic wand over you, and send you some pre-packaged meals and you’ll soon be ready for the cover of Vogue.

The commercials usually include photos of what someone looked like before they lost the weight and after they lost it. They’re the “proof of life” for the product -- the selling point.

I always wondered why in those ‘before and after’ spots the ‘before’ photo was usually so distant and fuzzy, and the ‘after’ photo was so up-close and clear. I used to think it could’ve been a photo distortion trick used by the advertiser just to make you think it was really the same person in both photos (you know a stunt double kind of thing).

Then – this thought occurred to me – a lot of overweight people really hate having their picture taken, and they may not have too many “up close” photographs of themselves to offer for the ‘before’ photo.

I completely understand that. Even on my best hair and body day, I’m not crazy about having my picture taken. In these days of instant digital photography, when I look at images of myself I can see every line in my face and every gray hair in my head. ‘Makes me want to hit the “delete” button on the camera. I’ve done it a few times.

With the photos in these commercials come the testimonies, and they are usually similar from claimant to claimant:

“That was me 100 lbs. ago. The program works and now I’m a swimsuit model!”

Ok, that may be an exaggeration of the testimony, but you get the point the advertiser is trying to make: “This program works!” The rest of the story is this: “It works if you’re willing to work the program.”

Or read between the lines and hear the truth: “That was me 100 pounds ago. The program works and with a drastic change in my eating habits, exercise and lots of sweat, frustration and patience, I was able to lose the weight.”

There was a time when I was close to 100 pounds overweight and when I saw these things, I’d find myself somewhere between guilt and a chocolate cupcake! Or maybe it produced the desired effect because it did make me want to run out do something! Anything! Because I needed and wanted desperately to lose weight.

And, seriously: That WAS me 100 pounds ago. I did lose the weight and here’s my story.

About six years ago I embarked on a journey of weight loss that took me down a long hard road of sweat and tears (No blood, thankfully, unless you count the couple of doctor-ordered blood tests I had to take along the way.)

At the beginning of the journey, I was 41 years old and weighed in at 234 pounds. I’m not proud of it, and never would have broadcast my true weight six years ago. It was emotionally painful and physically exhausting.

I couldn’t climb stairs or walk any distance without breathing heavy. I hated having my picture taken, and usually tried to be the one in the back so no one could see me. However, at five feet, three inches, I’m usually one of the shortest ones in a group photograph and generally told by the photographer to stand in front.

Worst of all, I couldn’t stand to look at myself in the mirror. I would tell myself that I didn’t look as big as the scale said I was. I told myself that I didn’t look that bad. But I knew the truth. The mirror didn’t lie and deep inside I was dying. I hated who I was. Period. I thought my fat was ugly, and I thought losing weight would change everything that was wrong in my life. And, so, I tried. And tried. And tried to lose weight.

Like so many, I had lots of stops and starts on the weight loss journey. Lose a little – gain a little. Lose a little – gain a lot. Two steps up and one step back. One step up and two steps back. I believe it’s what they call “yo-yo dieting”. All this yo-yo-ing served to do was raise my hopes, and then leave me feeling frustrated, defeated and hopeless. This went on for years.

To get to the part where I actually began to steadily lose weight, I have to go back to the beginning. I believe that would take me back to the summer before the fifth grade – the dawn of pre-adolescence when I began to go through what parents call that “chubby phase”. Truthfully, it didn’t phase me much until some “thoughtless” classmate on the school playground called me ‘fat’ for the first time. Along with the excess weight, that painful label burrowed its way into my being and followed me all the way through high school.

In college, I lost some weight. I think I did the reverse of the “freshman 15”. I called it the “work hard/play hard” diet. I took 18 hours of classes, worked 20-30 hours a week and partied hard on the weekends. I was on the go a lot, “drank” a lot of meals, and didn’t have much time to think about eating so I “slimmed up” a bit.

After college and into marriage, my inner self grew and changed dramatically when I became a Christian. Unfortunately, so did my outer self.

I got married and was pregnant with my first child at age 25. During the pregnancy, I held down a 40-hour week job and had eight months of constant morning sickness. Still I managed to gained 65 pounds. It was a downhill slope from there that consisted of out of control eating, inactivity, life stress and two more pregnancies. My body just continued to grow.

This brings me back to the mirror at age 41 and 234 pounds.

At this point on the long, rocky journey of life I was tired. And fat. And tired of being fat. I felt defeated, physically and emotionally hopeless, like I couldn’t change. I didn’t know where to begin or what to do to change. I was embarrassed to admit I’d never learned how to eat right or responsibly, and I felt awkward and clumsy trying to exercise. I just knew I wanted to change.

Finally at a crossroads of do-or-die, I decided to take one more risk and give another weight loss program a try. I enrolled in one of those medically supervised hospital-run programs. It was expensive and very involved but offered some successful and dramatic results if I stuck with it. The “expensive” angle was the hook because I’m a true penny-pincher at heart and knew that if I invested a lot of money in something, I was gonna make it work or die trying.

After nine months of working the program, I lost 85 pounds and felt satisfied with the accomplishment . Several months after that program ended and I felt my weight creep up again, I started going to Weight Watchers and lost another 30 pounds, netting a total of about 100 pounds (depending on the week). I reached a goal weight, or what they call a “lifetime” weight at Weight Watchers and, by the grace of God and a little hard work and dedication, continue to remain at goal weight today.

Little did I know – reaching a weight loss goal was only the beginning of the journey.
Was I proud of myself? Heck, yeah! And still am. Did it change my life? Yes, but not the way I thought it would. There are some life lessons that I’ve learned that I’d like to share.

First, if you want to begin the journey of weight I think it’s important to recognize that the process has several phases, and it’s good to know which phase you’re at. To help, I’ve given each phase a name:

1) Contemplation – when you begin to think you might possibly need to make a change but aren’t quite ready to commit.
2) Conviction – when you know you need to make a change and begin to think about how to do it. (Also, I believe, this is the phase at which those commercials on TV begin to make you want to change the channel.)
3) Execution – when you are actually working toward a goal.
4) Completion – when you’ve reached a weight loss goal.

And finally in keeping with the ‘–tion’ words – the last phase – and I believe the hardest phase of all is the one I call:

5) Sanctification.

The word ‘sanctify’ or ‘sanctification’ is most often used in Biblical terms and has a dual meaning: (a) to set apart to a sacred purpose or to religious use, and (b) to free from sin or purify. It implies a “working out,” progression, or constant process with a set goal in mind – becoming more like God.

Sanctification in weight loss is the phase in which you have reached a goal and now must continue to “work out” your lifestyle change over the long haul. It’s the phase where you need to keep the lifestyle in check. At this point, while you may stumble along the way, good eating habits and exercise have become a way of life.

And if you haven’t experienced ‘physical sanctification’, it’s a lot harder than you imagine. Even after six years, there are days when I would consider throwing it all away for a box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts or a stuffed crust Pizza Hut Pepperoni Pizza. And I still don’t like to exercise.

While I “keep on keeping on”, the newness has worn off and the lifestyle has become a reality. This is where the real life lesson hits home for me, and what losing 100 pounds actually did for me physically and emotionally.

· I didn’t have to worry about having to pay twice as much for a seat on an airplane.
· I became more healthy, and lowered my blood pressure, blood sugar and/or triglycerides .
· I no longer feel the compulsion to move to the back row in a group photo.
· I don’t worry too much about breaking any piece of furniture I happen to sit on.
· I stopped shopping in the Plus Size department at my local department store.
· While I have no delusions about becoming a swimsuit model, I do sometimes contemplate putting on a swimsuit.


And here’s what I discovered that losing weight hadn’t done for me that I thought it would:

· While friends and acquaintances may have truly admired me for the accomplishment, they didn’t seem to love, or even like, me more. The people who love me, still love me the same, and those who don’t, well, they still don’t send me Christmas cards.

· Inside, I didn’t feel any more valuable as a human being than I did before the weight loss. It didn’t make me a better person.

In the beginning, this was a let down and I couldn’t understand why I didn’t feel any more valuable on the inside.

That’s because change – the transforming kind -- doesn’t work its way from the outside in. It works it way from the inside out.

You see, God created you in His image. You are more than a number on a scale. So much more.

Before you can successfully begin the process of weight loss, I think you need to come believe an essential truth:

While others may base their opinion of you on superficial things like outer appearance, there is a God who loves you just the way you are, no matter where you are or who you are, or what you look like.

His Word says:

“God created mankind in his own image,
in the image of God he created them;
male and female he created them.”
Genesis 1:27 (New International Version Bible)

And He gave us a cause to celebrate that creation:

“I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.”
Psalm 139:14 (NIV)

There is a beautiful inner core or soul in your being that surpasses anything on the outside. That’s the part that God created to worship Him and reflect His glory. Nothing on the outside can make that part ugly unless you let the outside work it’s way inside. And nothing can make that part ugly if you give that part of yourself to God because when you do, He gives you the Holy Spirit to “seal” and protect it. It will always be beautiful to Him.

But life can do a number on us. So often we allow a society bent on idolizing outer beauty to affect the way we see ourselves. Still, to this day, I can still look in the mirror and feel “overweight”.

I don’t regret losing weight for a minute, but it didn’t give me the inner peace and self-satisfaction I desperately sought. It simply made me healthier and perhaps (arguably) look a little better on the outside.

Let me make this clear:

You will never be thin enough, beautiful enough or wealthy enough to satisfy your inner self. Many women and men have literally died trying. Rehab clinics are filled with people who have sought inner satisfaction from things like drugs, alcohol and starving themselves to death. I believe that God created us with an inner longing or emptiness that only He can fill. Once we begin to understand that and allow Him to permeate our lives we become satisfied and fulfillment works its way from the inside out into our lives. At that point, our weight doesn’t determine our value as a human being. It is simply a number on a scale.

So if losing weight doesn’t solve all of life’s problems why should you do it? Why not just eat what you want, when you want as much as you want?

Here’s a reason.

God gave us only one physical “walking around” body for this lifetime. Your body is a gift from Him. It is one of the most natural resources on the planet and if you were going to get excited about conservation, in my opinion, the body would be the first and best place to start.

The Apostle Paul reminds us in I Corinthians 6:19:

“Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God?” (NIV)

The body is the dwelling place of the Holy Spirit and it is the primary vessel that God has given us for serving Him. I believe if our bodies become unhealthy due to lack of care, it’s possible that God may not be able to use us to our full potential. I lived that out. Being overweight made me tired and weak. Many days I didn’t have the energy to do all the things I felt called to do as a woman, wife, mother, friend, etc. Taking an afternoon nap became a daily priority and it often came before the calling.

Please understand this: God can and does work through weak (and overweight) bodies. In fact, the Bible says He prefers to work through our weakness to demonstrate His power.

But like everything else God provides for us, including our time, money and talents, I believe God expects us to take care of and use our bodies wisely for our good and His glory. If we look at weight loss and body maintenance this way it becomes a spiritual act of stewardship and we realize we are more than just a number on a scale.

I believe having God in your life while trying to lose weight gives you a supernatural strength that is beyond description. Like many things you can probably do it without Him in your life, but having Him adds an element of enrichment and fulfillment that makes it much sweeter and gives it greater meaning and purpose.

Looking back, one of the things I remember most about starting the process of weight loss, was my dietician in the hospital program telling the members of our little support group that it was important to have a “reason” for going through the process – something beyond just wanting to lose weight. It needed to be a specific reason.

She said it didn’t have to be something epic or monumental. It could be something as simple as wanting to look good for your 25th high school reunion, or desiring the ability to take a walk with your child or grandchild without becoming winded. Or if you believe in a “higher calling,” it might be a desire to serve God better with your physical body. In any case, the reason is important and you need to keep it front of you as a focal point.

Here’s why:

If you’ve ever done it – started a diet – or set your feet in the direction of a lifestyle change -- and, seriously, who among us hasn’t – you know there are days when you just want to quit -- to go back to “Egypt” – to the days of enslavement to indiscriminate eating and not caring what or how much we eat. Just a longing to satisfy the palate with delicious comfort, or in less poetic terms, grab a family size bag of potato chips and go to town! Those days are tough and can occur frequently in the process, and as the saying goes: “Some days you get the bear, and some days the bear gets you.”

It’s those days that ‘the bear gets you’ that you need to look to that reason and say: “I’m not gonna quit!! I may be down, but I’m not out! I need to keep my eyes on the prize!”

The Apostle Paul gave us a challenge and a mantra for this direction. He said:

“Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize.”

1 Corinthians 9:23-25 (NIV)

Metaphorically speaking, life is a race. We all run it. We all stumble. We all fall down occasionally. It’s what we do afterward that speaks volumes about us. God can give us the strength to get back up and begin again.

The journey of weight loss is also a race. I am living proof that weight loss is do-able and also living proof that the runner often stumbles.

Weight loss is a race that begins like all races -- with many runners, different in size and shape, but all there for the same purpose – to finish the race. Some of us runners are more experienced than others, but we all put one foot in front of the other and try to keep going straight toward the finish line. When we veer, we need get back on the path and not look back. And we need to look to our fellow runners for encouragement.

But most important, no matter the distraction or the discouragement, no matter how hard or high the climb: Don’t stop running!

Hagar and the Invisible

“Am I only a God nearby, and not a God far away,” declares the LORD.
“Can anyone hide in secret places so that I cannot see him,” declares the LORD.
“Do not I fill heaven and earth,” declares the LORD
-- Jeremiah 23:23-24, NIV


I’ve got a secret. I have a super power. Yes, that’s correct – a super power.

I’m absolutely convinced that with the bat of an eye or the twinkle of the nose I can transform myself into the Invisible Woman. I am that good!

OK. I can’t really become invisible, but it sure feels like I can sometimes.

Let me illustrate:

I’m at a party with a group of other women. I’m standing in the foyer of the party room looking in. It’s like I’m there but I’m set apart in a hazy, suspended state watching them interact. There -- but not -- if you know what I mean. Stand beside me and look in.

If you look closely, you can see them laughing, talking, and having a good time.

Oh, how I long to join them – be one of them. I take a breath and look around waiting to make my move. Since my “special power” keeps me from being seen I can hover on the sidelines contemplating my choices. Should I relinquish my “invisibility” and join the group, or stay put in the loneliness, but safety, of my invisibility.

Confession time. I don’t like parties or crowds very much. They produce in me a sense of anxiety that I can’t adequately describe. But I always want to be invited to get togethers, and I usually go. It’s just that times like these raise my self-consciousness level to a whole new height. In a group, I can become so focused on myself that my vision is distorted to the point that I am the one who can’t see what’s going on. It’s a progression of distortion that begins with “Hey, can’t you see me? Look at me! I’m over here!” This turns to, “Why can’t you see me?” Why don’t you care?” To “Nobody sees me. Nobody cares.”

Feeling alone in a crowd can be one of the loneliest feelings in the world. It’s worse than being truly alone because you feel like you don’t belong in the group – like a third wheel in a twosome. Awkward. Invisible, or worse, having someone (like yourself) wish you were.

I asked my two teenage daughters if they’d ever felt invisible in a group and if so, what that felt like.

My 18-year old, Meagan, spoke up quickly, referencing a recent incident. “You mean like when we’re all sitting at the dinner table and I’m telling a story and somebody else at the table changes the subject in the middle of it?”

Ouch! Yes, just like that.

“Well, if you’ll recall, Mom, I got up and left the table. How do you think I felt?”

I actually didn’t recall it until she reminded me. Her words, which pierced my heart, answered my question. (‘I felt like I wasn’t even there, so I might as well have not been there.’)

Everyone wants to be seen and acknowledged. When we’re present but don’t feel like we’re seen, can bring a sense of worthlessness to our being. Crudely put, we can feel like something to be scraped off the bottom of someone’s shoe.

That’s what happens when we measure our worth by what we sense we bring (or don’t bring) to the party when we are in the room. It takes our focus off those around us, and places it on self – with a heightened self-awareness, self-submersion, and dare I say it? Even, sometimes, self-pity.

My heart goes out to my daughter and all people who feel like they don’t “fit in”. I know the pain first hand. Been there. Done that. Could print my own t-shirt.

But navigating my way inward toward my own heart-felt pain can steer me away from the Truth. The Truth of the One who really sees me.

The prophet Jeremiah wrote:

“The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it?” (Jeremiah 17:9, NIV)

Our hearts can lie to us and tell us we are invisible. So how do I assure myself I’m not really invisible?

I could take a poll when I’m among friends, and ask who can see me and who can’t. I could say, “Somebody, slap me across the face!” And see if anyone does it. I could set myself on fire and see if anyone comes running with a bucket of water.

Or I could draw insight and encouragement from the example of a lonely, desperate young woman in the Old Testament who realized she wasn’t invisible when she had an encounter with the Almighty God, the Holy of Holies, the God who saw her as no one else ever had.

Her name was Hagar. She was an Egyptian slave girl brought into the family of a prominent and upright man named Abram to serve his wife Sarai. He was the man who God said would become the “Father of Many Nations.”

However, this probably didn’t make Hagar feel any more important than if she’d been the lone soul working for an indigent potato farmer named Homer. She was one of many servants in Abram’s household. But nevertheless she stood out to Sarai, not because of her intelligence, or her skill as a handmaid, but because she had an available, working womb.

You see Sarai had a problem. She was caught between a promise and a biological time clock. God had promised her a child, but she was getting older and older. In fact, she was just plain old. At last look at the calendar, she was in her eighties. Who has a baby when they are that old? Hadn’t she laughed when God told her she’d have a baby? It seemed like an absurd promise. But Sarai knew God always kept His promises, so maybe He planned to fulfill that promise in a more logical way with a younger woman. And maybe He needed some help moving it along. And here was this young slave girl. Attractive – Probably. Available – Certainly. And willing – What did it matter? She belonged to the master’s wife. The servant would do what she was told.

Hagar was told to have sexual relations with Abram and bear his child for the purpose of giving it to her mistress to raise as her own. Whether she knew all the details of the plan or not, who knows. Who knows what the mistress told her to get her to do this. Maybe she just ordered her to lay down with Abram. Whatever the case, it worked. Hagar became pregnant and when she began to show all the progressive signs of pregnancy -- the morning sickness, the swelled extremities, and perhaps that certain glow that comes with the privilege of bearing a child -- Sarai began to sense she’d made a big mistake.

Resentment set in. “Who did this slave girl think she was? Did she think she was better than her mistress?” Sarai may have thought, “After all, if it weren’t for me, she’d still just be brushing my hair and sweeping my floors.”

Yes, the master’s wife was unhappy. All she wanted to do was un-do the mistake she had made. Get rid of this woman who had upset her happy home. Make her feel like the nothing she really was.

And then there was Hagar the slave girl. Who cared what she thought? What she felt? Caught in the middle between her mistress and the child growing in her womb.

Life had never been easy for her. Her destiny probably spelled out before she could even understand. From the beginning, she’d been herded up like property and sold into servitude. Then singled out as a concubine ordered to produce a child. And when she complied, she was mistreated and abused like cheap trash. Her pain felt by no one else. She was nwanted. Uncared for. Unseen. It was enough to make any woman want to run away. And that’s what she did.

Hagar ran as far away as she could go. She ran into a hot, dry desert with feelings of desperation, worthlessness and perhaps even suicide. Were it not for the child she was carrying she might lie down and die. After all, who would notice she was even gone. Who would care? They would just get another slave to replace her. Maybe even another vacant womb to bear a child.

Hagar’s life could’ve ended there. But God intervened.

In the middle of that desert, Hagar discovered herself. Someone saw her and told her who she was. And that someone was the God of the whole universe.

The Bible says an angel of the LORD came to her and said:
“Hagar, slave of Sarai, where have you come from, and where are you going?” (Gen. 16:8a, NIV)
It was like one of those lawyer/cop questions that this angel most likely knew the answer to. He just wanted to make sure Hagar knew that HE KNEW.
Hagar’s reply:
“I’m running away from my mistress Sarai.”
Again, the angel knew. His reply back:
“Go back to your mistress and submit to her.”
The angel added,
“I will increase your descendants so much that they will be too numerous to count.”
“You are now pregnant
“and you will give birth to a son.
You shall name him Ishmael,
for the LORD has heard of your misery.
He will be a wild donkey of a man;
his hand will be against everyone
and everyone’s hand against him,
and he will live in hostility
toward all his brothers.”
(Gen. 16:9-12, NIV)
OK. Now this part of the angel’s prophecy doesn’t sound too encouraging. Who wants to be told that her child will become “a wild donkey of a man” or that he will live a life in a constant struggle with others?
But Hagar found a sense of comfort. I don’t think it was the content of the message that comforted her. Her reply to the angel of the LORD (who many believe to be God Himself) spoke volumes about the source of her comfort:
“You are the God who sees me,” for she said, “I have now seen the One who sees me.”
It was here in the barrenness and loneliness of the desert that an Egyptian slave girl gave God a new name: El-Roi, which means “the God Who Sees.”
And as hard as it must have been to return to the source of her pain, God’s word to Hagar encouraged and strengthened her to do just that. It is the power of being seen. The power of being acknowledged and given a sense of worth. Not by another person, but by a Holy God who found her and called her out in the middle of nowhere.
If God can see a slave girl weeping in the middle of a huge desert, can He also see me in my own despair in the middle of Little Rock, Arkansas? Can He see me standing alone and lonely in the middle of a crowd? Can He see me feeling demeaned when I’m interrupted while telling my story at the dinner table? Can He see me crying out in prayer over a prodigal child? Can He look down from heaven and help me pick up the pieces of a broken relationship? Provide for me and my family in the middle of a financial crisis?
Oh, yes He can! And in a big way because He is still the “God who sees.” – El Roi
Consider David, the king and prophet from the Old Testament. He wrote this Psalm to God while he was on the run from King Saul who wanted to kill him. At a time when he felt alone, desperate and hated by so many:
“I sought the LORD, and he answered me;
he delivered me from all my fears.
Those who look to him are radiant;
their faces are never covered with shame.
This poor man called, and the LORD heard him;
he saved him out of all his troubles.
The angel of the LORD encamps around those who fear him, and he delivers them.”
(Psalm 34: 4-7)
These words bring so much comfort to me today because in them I am reminded that I am never alone when I cry out to God. He is there even before I form the words in my mind.
David went on to write:
“The eyes of the LORD are on the righteous,
and his ears are attentive to their cry;
but the face of the LORD is against those who do evil,
to blot out their name from the earth.”
(Psalm 34: 15-16)

I can’t really make myself invisible because even if no other person could see me, God can. I don’t really have super powers, but I serve a God who does, and He uses His super powers for good to help those who cry out to him. He is all knowing, all loving and all seeing.

It’s good to see and be seen.

UNMET EXPECTATION = DISAPPOINTMENT = LIFE LESSON

I was a little frustrated. I had no right to be, but I was. Unmet expectation has a way of doing that. But it's not always a bad thing.

I went in to my Bible study last night expecting to discuss the lesson I’d worked on the week before – the lesson the Bible study author wrote for us to discuss – the lesson I thought I needed and had anticipated discussing for six weeks -- but that’s not what happened. I was disappointed to say the least.

Disappointment occurred in two stages.

For the past six weeks, our women’s Bible study group has been going through Brave, a study written by Christian author Angela Thomas. It’s a study that’s prompted a lot of my personal writing of late.

At the beginning of the study, I looked through the lessons and zeroed in on Lesson 5 entitled “I Am Invisible.” Intrigued by the title and provoked by the concept of “invisibility,” I dove into the lesson, which centered on the plight of Hagar, a woman in the Bible I had always felt a sort of “kinship” with, but never understood why.

She hadn’t shown the courage and faith of a Biblical heroine like Esther or Ruth. She didn’t give birth to one of the Patriarchs like Sarah or Rebekah (In fact, she was a slave girl who’d given birth to the man who would become the forerunner of Islam). But she had shown bravery in the face of tribulation, and had been singled out by God for a personal visit and a place in world history. Why? In part, because out of obedience to God, she turned around and returned to the source of her pain. Seems like sort of a dubious honor. Feels like my life on many days. That’s why I can relate to her. That’s why I anticipated the discussion and counted ahead to this lesson.

(I’m not going to write about my kinship with Hagar or feelings of invisibility in this installment. That comes in the next one. This installment is about disappointment and discipline and how God is using them in me.)

Disappointment #1 came when I looked at the calendar and realized that our family vacation was going to fall during the week that our group was supposed to discuss Lesson 5. I remember thinking in frustration, “Well, that figures!”

But God intervened. Much to my delight, I found out that our group was going to take a break the week we were gone (because it was a holiday week) and I wouldn’t miss the discussion after all. I would get to be a part of the lesson I had eagerly anticipated for five weeks and the one that I felt spoke volumes to who I was and what I’d been feeling my whole life. I believed I wanted and needed the catharsis that would come from discussing this lesson with the other women in my group. In other words, I was planning to use the lesson that week for my own personal group therapy.

So during our vacation and I read through the lesson and answered the questions eagerly anticipating the discussion and the fellowship that would come from it. I looked forward to shared empathy with my “Sisters of the Shared Invisibility.”

However -- Disappointment #2 -- that’s not the way it worked out.

My friend, Debbie, who led the discussion last night, had other ideas. She took the lesson in a different direction “turning the concept of invisibility on its head” as she put it. As a knee-jerk response (emphasis on ‘jerk’) I decided from the get-go that I might just shut it down and go to a different place in my head because I wasn’t going to get the “therapy” or the answers from the lesson I wanted.

Debbie, instead, prompted by God to do something different, focused on the “other” characters of the lesson: Abram/Abraham, Sarai/Sarah and Ishmael and elements of their character. Debbie’s an excellent teacher who puts a lot of prayer, study and thought into her teaching. I could write volumes about her teaching (not to mention what she means to my life personally), but it’s not her teaching that’s germane to this writing because it’s not the teaching she brought that taught me last night. It was what God showed me afterwards that was pertinent.

Teaching comes in all different kinds of packages and through and all different kinds of voices.

Let me just tell you that I couldn’t be mad at Debbie too long especially for being obedient to God. She is one of my best friends, and I know her well enough to know that she listens to God when He speaks to her and she is, more often that not, obedient to His leading. I don’t know why God led her to take the discussion in this direction, but I didn’t doubt for a second that He had.

I just realized I wasn’t going to get what I wanted from it, so I had two choices: (1) I could be angry or (2) I could pray and ask God to help me be patient and listen. I think I chose a combination of the two.

I listened but it was like the modern-day parable of the child riding in the back seat of the car:

The story goes that the driver, presumably the mother, is driving down a road and looks in her rear view mirror. In horror, she sees her child out of the seatbelt, standing up in the back seat of the car. She immediately pulls the car over and stops. She turns around and emphatically tells the child to sit down and fasten the seatbelt. After a brief stare down the child reluctantly sits down and fastens the seat belt. The mother puts the car in drive and continues on to her destination. In a short while, from the backseat, she hears a quiet voice mutter the words: “I’m sittin’ down on the outside, but I’m standin’ up on the inside.”

That’s how I am when I don’t get my way. I’ll reluctantly do what I’m supposed to do, but I may not enthusiastically engage in it. I may even stare daggers into your back when you tell me to do it -- like the child in the back seat.

So when it was all said and done I walked away from Bible study frustrated and a wee bit angry. I felt I’d been thrown an unfair curve. I went home, still chewing on frustration and confusion, and trying to decipher what it all meant.

When I got home, I shared my frustration with my husband. I also shared the subject matter of the lesson with Bob and my disappointment at not getting to discuss it. I explained my kinship with Hagar – my own feelings of invisibility and how this lesson was ‘written for me’ and how this interpretation of the lesson that was supposed to help me with my “invisibility complex” actually made me feel more invisible because it didn’t address my issues.

Bob responded in a very “Bob-like” way. I listened. Then for a brief time, I really didn’t like him or his response very much:

He said, “Did you ever stop and think that God knew you could feed yourself from the lesson and tonight’s discussion wasn’t really for you?”

I swear sometimes I could be bleeding from my eyes and instead of sympathy; I’d get a life lesson on what God was trying to show me through the blood that clouded my vision. (I do love you, honey!)

Well, no, I didn’t think about that, and thank you for pointing that out instead of agreeing with me.

Wait minute! You mean it wasn’t about me? It wasn’t just for me?

It’s like God stared down into my soul and whispered the first line of Chapter One of Rick Warren’s book, The Purpose Driven Life, into the depth of me: “It’s not about you.”

If not me, then who for? I don’t know for sure. I believe it must’ve been meant for one of the 20 or so other women in the room. Only God knows and Debbie put her teaching in His hands to distribute as He saw fit. I know Debbie prayed for it to reach somebody who needed it and I also pray that it did. And in a way, it taught me as well. Probably not in the way she’d intended. But isn’t that just like God:

“’For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,’ declares the LORD.” (Isaiah 55:8, NIV)

So, my lesson last night didn’t come really from the study at all, but from my own reaction to it. In it, I was reminded of several bits of wisdom, including these:

1) Bible study groups are not always time for my own personal therapy. (In other words, it’s not always ‘about me’ or ‘for me.’)
2) Lessons can be learned from disappointment and unmet expectations and how I deal with them.
3) Don’t discount any teaching that comes from God, even if it doesn’t seem like it applies to you. (2 Timothy 3:16)

Ok, message received.

Next stop – Hagar and the Invisible. (Sounds like a comic strip. . . )