Whatever It Takes

Whatever It Takes

How badly do you want to be thin? What would you trade? Would being thin make you ultimately happy – even if you don’t really believe that  - do you think that? Would life be easier, happier, more fun, (add an adjective) if you were thin?

A recent study revealed that many women would give up a year of of their lives to be thin.
Another study discovered that most women would give up sex to be thin.

In April, the New York Times, reported on a new, disgusting trend. Women, mostly brides, in a last ditch effort to be thinner (and therefore in their perception: more beautiful on their wedding day, make that special day happier, etc.) have resorted to feeding tubes.

At first, I was shocked. I remember being inpatient for my eating disorder. One of the sweetest little girls I have ever met, greeted me at the facility’s entrance. Alicia became a quick confidant and encourager for  me. But it was hard to look at her without crying. Alicia was 12, but she had stopped growing when she was about 5. Because of her refusal to eat and seeming determination to starve herself, Alicia wore a feeding tube. This disfiguring device looked just like it sounds. A long tube ran up her nose into her stomach. It was taped in various places down her little body until it attached to a pole, nearly twice her height, where hung a plastic bag of liquid nutrients. Everywhere little Alicia went – to counseling sessions, to watch TV, on pass into the the little town nearby, to bed, to worship – everywhere, her tube went along.

Now, imagine a grown woman, preparing for her wedding day, strapped up with a feeding tube. A little more visually appealing, these brides carry around a purse with their “food” bag instead of Alicia’s pole. Nonetheless, they have a rubber tube snaking up the side of their face, through their nose and into their stomach – to supply them with starvation’s subsistence – a mere 800 calories.How far have we fallen?

Here are some other facts for your consideration:

2/3 of dieters regain the weight they lost within about 4 years of any diet

About 44% of women admit to being on a diet at any given moment

And guess what! Despite all our paranoia, drastic measures, social mores, fitness obsessions, fad diets and self help books, political intervention and endorsement – despite all these things, recently an advocacy group reported that by 2030, more than half of the population in the majority of states will be considered obese. So, apparently, our strategy isn’t working.

Happily, there’s a small, underground minority that is working hard to reverse the trend. Have you heard of Intuitive Eating? Sounds interesting and logical, doesn’t it?

How about a new book, by Greg Archer, whose provocative title (albeit accurate) I’ll encourage you to check into yourself.

Another wonderful person whom I consider a champion of this movement toward reprioritizing our weight, our diet, our life goals, is Emily Wierenga.  It was a recent article on her blog, Chasing Silhouettes, that launched me onto my soapbox again.

Enjoy her words of wisdom:

No longer [should food be] an object to be feared. It is a necessity to be enjoyed and embraced.  It is another form of communication, another way of sharing in this thing called life, of relating with other humans through a means devoid of words. It is the breaking of bread, which Christ calls us to.

So, as you wisely set health goals, lace up your sneakers, breathe deep during a jog or slice your paring knife through the pale green skin on a tart, fresh apple, wonder : Why am I doing this?

And then do whatever it takes to honestly answer that question with:

So that I might, “present [my] bod[y] as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is [my] spiritual worship. [I will] not be conformed to this world,but be transformed by the renewal of [my]mind, that by testing [I] may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect. Romans 12:1-2

First published at: Moms Who TRI Blog, Sept. 18, 2012

Awake and Feeling Sick

Awake and Feeling Sick

I’m a Bible study drop out. I’m sick to death of church. I feel more fake around my “Bible study girls” than anyone else in my life. Last year I was a small group leader. People tell me I should do women’s ministry. How can I, when I feel like corporate fellowship is shallow and contrived?

I’m sick to death of cute clothes and shiny flats. 

I’m sick to death of name tags and place cards and frilly coffee. 

I’m sick to death of perfect hair and matching purses and smart-looking workbooks. 

I’m sick to death of small talk and polite sharing. 

I’m sick to death of angled prayer request and sappy guitar songs. 

I’m sick to death of assigned greeters with coral colored lips and childcare volunteers and homemade cookies. 

I’m sick to death of everything that all church looks like. 

I am sick to death of making time for one more volunteer opportunity. 

I’m sick to death of being plied for my spare minutes, my spare change, my spare pens. I’m sick to death of bigger parking lots, potlucks, church gymnasiums and special VBS props. 

I’m sick to death of big screens and four services that say the same thing over and over and over and over...

Forever, I have believed conventional church had a place. Forever I have believed that fellowship with godly women is essential. For each of our military moves I have related my loneliness with not having found a “home” church. So where does this repulsion come from?

I am almost scaring myself. I had already signed up for a Beth Moore study. I had already started emailing with my BFF’s about which study we were taking, where we would sit and see each other, how busy our summers have been. I had already emailed the committee leader promising to be a bubbly, name tag slapping, coral lipped greeter. And then I quit. 

I just quit. 

And the first Tuesday, when I should have been in Bible study came and went. I noticed the time, 10 a.m. and realized that my BFF’s were probably searching up and down plush rows searching for me - me - the quitter. 

For one second, I imagined the twittering among rows. “You know, she’s been withdrawn this summer.”

“I wonder if she’s OK? I wonder if she and her husband are fighting?”

“Do think she’ll still be involved in ministry and growing? I’d hate to see her grow away from the Lord.”

“You know how important Bible study and fellowship is.”

For a split second, I worried that they would all pity me or tisk-tisk in disappointment. My cell phone erupted in bleeps and bings of texts, “Where are you?” 

Where was I? 

Shameful. 

I was standing beneath a broad shedding tree on a cracked sidewalk a mile from my home. The grinning puppy at my feet was ridiculously happy that had chosen a walk with him over the more “perfect” option. The edges of fall lapped at my goosebumps. It was 50 degrees when I woke up. I had brewed a slow cup of coffee, opened my windows, plugged in Pandora radio and sat at the feet of Jesus for an hour and half. I hadn’t gotten ready - in fact, I hadn’t even showered by the time Bible study was letting out. 

That wasn’t my first rebellious act - the first sign of my awakening. My husband and I skipped church two weeks in a row recently. Instead, we opted for a slow morning curled next to each other with cups of banana nut coffee. Late, we watched a sermon online. 

We went back one week later. I was afraid, certain that I had probably missed something life changing while I was playing hooky. People must have been whispering that our seats were empty. Or were they?

Surely, I should feel rotten about missing worship. Then why did I feel like my quiet worship at home had been so much more real and fulfilling?

Later that afternoon, after I had skipped Tuesday morning Bible study, I started getting emails from sweet girlfriends. I don’t mean to imply that they are fake, but I think they are duped. I think most of the conventional American church has drunk the Kool-aid. I think my stupor is suddenly wearing off. I’m waking up, and that’s terrifying when everyone who validated my religious life is still content in slumber. 

“Abby, Bible study is right up your alley! You of all people can make time for this. I know you’re spending time with Jesus, but quiet time is with God. Fellowship is with others.”

Really? Is Jesus not enough real, tangible enough for me to fellowship with him? And I am sick to death of making time for things. If there’s not enough time in the 24 hours of my God-given day, do I have the right to try to make time for other things on my personal agenda - the agenda I think God should have?

I’m sick to death of begging, “God what is it you would have me do? What is my calling?” And then charging off on my righteous steed to analyze headlines, and argue about conservative politics and seek out my next opportunity to “be there for someone.” As if my calling, my purpose were so incredibly unique that if I miss it the world is doomed.

The going notion is that Christians must determine what God has called them to do. How can we serve the Lord? How can we minister? Who needs us?

Here’s the rub: The driving force behind each of those questions is pride. Yep, that ugly invader of Paradise is alive and well and thinly disguised behind our masks of ministry. 

What if we quit isolating others’ needs and targeting our resources to help those “less fortunate”? What if we quit pointing out where we can be of assistance and creating repeatable, efficient programs to meet them? What if need doesn’t want to be met with charity? What if we met need with need and then humbly shared from the place of need? 

Remember the widow and her two mites? The poor, marginalized woman gave out of her nothing, gave what she had without show or pledge card. And after, Jesus didn’t run out and give her coin. Jesus didn’t instruct his disciples to buy her a meal or cover her with their cloak or take her into their home. 

Did you ever notice that Jesus didn’t establish a program or system for preaching? Jesus didn’t seek out the hungry, lame, blind, leper or dying. Jesus didn’t set up a podium, send out fliers or provide transportation. Jesus went to the people and sent out his disciples, plain, poor, ordinary men and women. He never called people to him. He never announced a special message or a seeker sensitive service. 

I feel like I have woken up to a screaming alarm clock. It’s the kind of startled wakening when you don’t really remember where you are. I have been jarred awake and I’m hungry. I’m starving for something real, something new. 

I want to be with real people. Real people who KNOW they are hungry. I want to touch and be touched. I want to bleed and be bled on. I want to break crusty bread and sit on the floor. I want to hear whatever someone has to say, not ask them prescribed questions that relate to eternity. I want to be needed and I want to be fully free to need. I want to do relationship. 

And I think that’s how the church in America was sung to sleep. She heard the same consoling music over and over. She dined on lush foods and never bit into something so bitter it made her sick, purged her heart and made her hungrier than ever before. 

She moaned about scratches and discomforts. She has never had to walk on raw, blistered feet. She has never known pain that prevents sleep. Maybe that’s another privilege of pain. We bleed to know that we’re alive. 

First Published at Predatory Lies, Sept. 14, 2012