The threshold was within reach. My parachuting excursion all those years ago still holds a treasured spot in my memory. I can feel my heart beating louder than the whoosh of the wind through the open door. The cracked white paint on the helmet of the brave soul in front of me reminded me this could be dangerous. Most vivid, though, had to be the countdown.

 

I stood into a squat and shuffled to the open door. Standing tall, I was silently freaking out. My instructor’s eyes were kind. “You’ve got this, Lisa” he said. He glanced out at the open sky and started to count.

 

“Three.”

 

Hours of training and suddenly I had amnesia. What was I supposed to know? How to land. How to throw the reserve chute. How to steer the chute itself. Why I was there.

 

“Two.”

 

In an attempt to calm down, I concentrated on my breathing. Breathe in. Breathe out. It’ll be okay, I said to myself. Almost time…

 

And then the heavy-handed pat on my shoulder pushed me out the door. I fell into the most glorious five seconds of freefalling before my chute deployed. I finally exhaled, and descended three thousand feet.

 

The instructor knew I would’ve gotten stuck on Two. But with a little boost out the door just before I was ready, I could then move forward.

 

As it is with my faith.

 

So many times I find myself stuck at Two.

 

I want to trust God for His plans in the world, despite the ongoing pandemic and unfathomable events at the Capitol and in the White House.

 

I want to believe God for His provision as I reset my finances after my divorce and reentry into the workplace.

 

I want to know I’m fulfilling my purpose in this world, where I am free to be the source of light God designed me to be, and allow myself to simply be me.

 

My faith boosters push me forward. Prayer. Waiting. Journaling. More prayer.

 

“One.”

Obvious

In my prayer journal I wrote: "I want to experience your presence, God, in OBVIOUS ways today." I had been feeling a little disconnected; unanchored in my core. Prayer felt ritualistic and shallow these last few months.

Time to dig deeper.

I still remember our family trips to the Wildwood, New Jersey beach when I was a kid. The only way my eight-year-old legs would survive the endless trek to the shoreline was the anticipation of finding those little sand clams. The moment I got to the water, I’d drop to my knees and start to dig. With the very first scoop, those tiny shells appeared. I’d giggle as they hesitated for a second or two, then twitched their way back down. A thin film of salt water would soon flow over them, fully hiding them, and I’d repeat the scooping. They never stopped digging deeper. Doing this in my prayer life helps me find safety, too.

Back to my journaling. I asked God to be with my daughter as she attended her senior prom that evening. Before long, her high school graduation would mark the final chapter in my soon-to-be empty nest. I wonder: Did I do this parenting thing well? What is my role now?

That same day, as I was driving home, I couldn’t help but notice a scarlet red hot air balloon, as big as the clouds where it floated, nearby. There were yellow words written on the back side of the balloon but I couldn’t see all of them. The balloon chase was on. Heading to the next corner, I could clearly see the basket of passengers, waving enthusiastically. My eyes widened as it hovered too close to the power lines above the trees. I exhaled as it finally floated upward with the breeze. It was then I could see the full message on the balloon.

             

Brilliant gold letters, bold in their capitalization, on the scarlet background of the balloon, speaking to my soul:

            “DO ALL TO THE GLORY OF GOD.”

Navy and yellow flags accessorized the full perimeter of the balloon, waving a royal salute to the neighborhoods below. More people streamed out of their homes, pointing to the sky. Phone cameras were out, capturing the view, a beautiful orb of promise and hope and life. 

Digging deeper helps me to be grounded in my reality but not tethered to it, like the hot air balloon. The glowing flame of the balloon gives it the fuel to fly. This spirit sparks in me, giving my soul its flight. My own tethering strings to God in prayer and the Bible guide my direction to safety.

I never saw where the balloon landed, but my soul, for a moment, found its grounding.

            

Roller Coaster College

The empty roller coaster slides forward and beckons me. Holding my breath, I step in and sit down to exhale. I pull down the metal bar which determines if my ride ends in life or death. I pray it locks in properly.

This ride is familiar; only two years ago, I was involved in a college search for my son. It was an adventure, more than I anticipated. I tried to prepare myself by analyzing statistics, reviewing the majors, reading the mission statements and marketing material—anything I could get my hands on. Like the contrast of a wooden versus steel coaster; each university presentation was unique, but somehow similar. We visited at least a half-dozen schools and researched another dozen online. Matching the college details with my son’s personality, talents and goals was daunting.

With God’s help, and the help of others along the way, my son is thriving.

This time, I’m hoping my daughter’s college search will be smoother. I don’t like riding roller coasters all that much.

First, I need to pull on the safety bar to make sure it won’t budge. Am I the only one who does this? Coaster adventure-seekers love to throw their hands in the air on the ride, especially during the descent. Not me, I hold on tighter. This metal bar is all that I have when I have a million questions. Will she like the school? What kind of friends will she meet? How about safety? Will she learn a lot? And what will she be doing during her free time? I need to let the bar do its thing, and I do my thing. Research. Ask questions. And pray. School size. Student to teacher ratio. Average grades for admitted students. Population mix. Majors offered. God, help.

The real questions, the questions inside my heart and mind, won’t be handled by a metal bar, though. What I need to hold on to is God’s promises. He is always with me, and is always with her, too.

Up the hill we go. Looking at a local college. Touring an out-of-state college. Reading the college glossies. Slowly, slowly, slowly we climb. So much to see and read, and yet I know the curve to the downhill descent awaits. This is the curve where I trust our joint decision will match up with God’s plans for her.

Remembering the path laid out for my son, from the professor who offered a personal consultation to advise my son, to the other parents who gave me tips and hints along the way, to the prayers, the many, many prayers, I know God was there to help guide us in this process.

Maybe I’ll throw my hands in the air on the downhill after all. Who knows, I might like it.

Focus on the Fence

I was watching a high school tennis match the other day and thought I’d snap a photo of the action going on behind the fence. There were powerful serves, spinning returns and flying lobs only to be slammed just slightly over the net. It reminded me of the sweaty fun I used to have playing the sport in high school. Instead of focusing on the tennis game, however, my camera’s automatic setting gave me this photo instead.

What? Focused on the fence, not on the fun?

It’s how I pray more than I care to admit. Instead of looking at what God can do, I find myself focusing on the fence, the worries, the things that hem me in.

One of my favorite verses of all times is Psalm 46:11 Be still and know that I am God. I love the variety of meanings embedded in this verse. Sometimes I dwell on the last word—God—and am humbled that He really is in control. Other times, though, I think more about the beginning of the verse—Being Still—because it reminds me to adjust my focus and watch what God is doing.

As the mom of a high school junior, my activities this year include all-things-college. College visits, college research, college scholarship information, college financial aid, college standardized tests, oh, and college admissions application deadlines. No, I am not personally doing all the work (that’s my son’s job) but I find that I try to do all the worrying. I figure I can help God out in taking care of my son. Yikes.

At a recent college visit, we were hustling up the steps of the hundred-year-old building to attend the information session on the second floor. As I rounded the corner to head upstairs, I failed to see the small ledge in front of me. My toes caught the ledge and—Slam! Instantly I landed onto both my knees. Fortunately, I didn’t hit my head on the hardwood railing in front of me, and I was basically unharmed. My knees hurt, though. I shook it off, got up, and continued up the flight of stairs.

Later that evening, it became clear to me that God put me right where He needed me. I was worrying about all the college information, and instead, I needed to be on my knees. My fence-focus went away when I instead focused on what God is doing. It was a good reminder that God has it all (even my kids) under His control, and I can simply enjoy every lob, serve and spinning return I see on the other side of the fence.

Do you focus on the fences, too?

Where's the Pool?

Do you ever have days like I do, when praying to God feels like talking to a wall? Days when I wonder if God even hears me, and my prayers seem to be going around in circles with no real destination? On those days I’m reminded of a recent time when I went to a high school event with my daughter and her friends.

The girls asked me to drive them to a swim meet to watch their other friend in the competition. I gladly obliged, and my daughter and I picked up her two girlfriends and headed to the nearby college campus where the event was being held.

I didn’t know exactly where the pool was located, but since the campus was small, I figured it would be easy to find. At the entrance of the campus driveway, I pulled the car over near a directory and map, leaving three chatting, giggling teens in the back seat. I scanned the map but couldn’t find anything labeled “gymnasium.” There was a blue blob labeled “retaining pond” but I didn’t think a swim meet could be held there.

When I got back in the car, the girls agreed we would simply drive around the campus and hopefully find the pool on our own. We figured it couldn’t be far. After a few minutes, one of my daughter’s friends said the scenery was starting to look familiar to her. She had been on the campus several years earlier and remembered there were plenty of sculptures and statues on the property. We had just passed a sculpture she recognized. “Keep going,” she said, “I’m pretty sure there are more buildings at the end of this road.”

We wound up another path and soon I saw a bench to the side of the road with a woman sitting on it. I pulled up slowly, lowered the window, and asked loudly, “Do you know where the pool is located?”

No response.

She was a statue.

I braced myself for the explosion of laughter from the back seat.

Yes, we finally found the building where the swim meet was held. It was fun, but nothing like talking to a statue. Unlike that lady on the bench, God is real, is listening, and can always give me directions.

Who's Watching?

I was driving a familiar road, heading to work after my Weight Watchers’ meeting with only a few minutes to spare. The day was sunny and cloudless, perfect for productivity.

I stopped at the red light on Main Street, and headed to the next light a couple blocks ahead. The light turned green and I hit the gas again. Less than a minute and a half-block later, the shrill of a police siren intruded my otherwise uneventful drive. I looked in my rearview mirror to discover the noise was coming from the cop car behind me. Directly behind me.

I pulled over, silently praying he’d pass by to chase after a criminal or two. Watching in the rearview mirror, I saw that he pulled over behind me. Ugh. Lights flashed blue and red, disco-style, to make sure the whole world knew I was stopped by a cop.

“Guess I’ll be late for work,” I thought to myself.

I watched him in my side mirror as he stepped out of the cruiser, as starched as he was short, and ambled towards my car. His dark hair and eyes accentuated his baby-smooth complexion. I wondered if he could even grow a beard. To my left, drivers passed slowly as they gawked, desperate to catch a glimpse of what a real criminal looks like.

The officer approached my window. “Good afternoon, ma’am.”

God, I’m old.

“What happened, sir?” I asked. “Did I go through a light?”

Breathe in. Breathe out. Stay calm.

“No, ma’am. I clocked you at 41 in a 25 zone.”

“Oh.”

“May I have your license and registration, please?”

“They’re in my purse, which is in the trunk. I’m on my way to work,” I said.
His eyes widened as he stepped back ever-so-slightly, calculating my demeanor.

I didn’t move.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

“Okay with you if I get out and open my trunk for my purse?” I asked.

He took a couple more steps back and nodded. I got out of my car and opened the hatch.

Seriously, there are no drug deals going down here.

I grabbed my purse and carried it back to the drivers’ seat as he watched. Opening my wallet, I pulled out my drivers’ license and grabbed my registration from the glove box. I handed both to the officer.

“It’ll be a few minutes while I do the paperwork, ma’am.”

I wished he’d stop calling me ma’am.

And I sat. And sat. And waited.

The disco lights continued to flash to the beat of their obnoxious dance.

How long does it take to do this paperwork?

Five minutes passed. Ten minutes.

Fidgety, I looked in my rearview mirror to see if he was awake back there. I was tempted to pull out my phone and take a photo of the view from the mirror, framing this little guy with big lights taking care of paperwork. I didn’t want to get in any more trouble, though.

Fifteen minutes.

“God, is it possible he could just give me a warning?” I mentally pleaded.

Five more minutes and he got out of his disco cruiser. Marching up to my drivers’ window again, he handed me a ticket.

“Please drive more slowly, ma’am.”

After he walked back to the cop car, he turned off the lights. Finally. I flicked my left turn signal and pulled out into traffic. Slowly.

Is that how I see God? Always behind me, ready to pull out and give me a ticket for something I’ve done wrong? At times, I behave as if God is more of a cop than my friend. Speeding through prayers doesn’t work, either. Believe me, I’ve tried. When I do take a few minutes, though, to simply be with God, the rest of the day seems to go much more smoothly. That’s a ticket worth writing.

Praying Like A Mantis

I’ve seen a few praying mantis recently, and am always shocked to notice the rather large bug camouflaged on the holly bush in front of our house. It’s their large size which intrigues me, but then when I look more closely, I’m fascinated by those front legs giving them their name. They remind me to be in that position of prayer more often for myself.

Reading up a little on the fascinating creatures, I learned that the praying mantis’ front legs are in the folded position to give them a chance to snag their prey quickly. More gruesome is the fact that those legs are equipped with spikes to help grab their prey and pin it in place. Nice bug, huh? Sitting in a praying position in order to get some food. Sounds like a good approach to prayer. Sitting and waiting patiently, maybe then I can snag some food for my soul. A sense of peace. Pinned. A reminder of God’s power. Pinned. A feeling of God’s love. Pinned.

I have been a little down recently, mostly because I’m in another stage of “letting go” as a mom because my son is discussing his future, including college options. I’m excited for him, big-time, but my heart will miss having him around. The discouragement drove me to pray a little more patiently these last few weeks. I’m back to being a little more still. Sometimes I’m crying, sometimes I’m peaceful, but in being still I’m getting back into the groove of sensing God’s presence.

The other day I found a note, written in my own handwriting, tucked away in the pocket of my Kindle cover. It was a verse I used as a reminder against discouragement. Joshua 1:9 “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” Further back in the same pocket, I found a second note written to me in my daughter’s handwriting from a year ago. At the bottom of her note, was written a Bible verse. The same one.

Like the praying mantis, I’m going to pin that message and eat it up.

Any messages you've received lately?

Two-Word Prayer

I continue my journey of faith and food by acknowledging, for today at least, that God wants to shape me both physically and spiritually. I search the bible for new meaning; new insights; new ways to get a tangible sense of God’s presence to help me manage my food choices.

Help, God!

The quickest prayer that came to my mind was this simple two-word prayer. But I realized that it has a tiny comma in between the words: Help, comma, God…which implies my request for help with a pause in between. That comma is the moment of stopping where I change from what I asked (“help”) and who I asked it from (“God”!) My tendency, though, is to slip through this request in a different way, without the comma. It then becomes “Help God!” and here I go again, taking on the task of thinking that I can actually help my heavenly Father do what He needs to do in my life. If I stop the control issues and pause at that comma, it makes all the difference.

Romans 8:25-26
“But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently. In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness.”

The Romans scripture speaks of waiting for what we do not have in a patient way. Not just waiting, but waiting patiently. This comma between the words Help and God can be my visual reminder to wait patiently. Then I can move on to the next words of wisdom and rest in the assurance that the Spirit does, in fact, help me in my weakness.

Finches: part 2

My finch feeder has six perches. Many times I’ll see five of those perches occupied with the tiny beauties, but rarely all six. Even with the empty spots, the finches will perform their flying gymnastics, waiting impatiently for a turn at the feeder, while those on the perches nibble, then look around, then nibble again. Sometime there’s a battle for a particular perch, even with another empty spot available. One bird will swoop in and knock another one off its feeding spot…how rude! I wouldn’t like to be interrupted in the middle of a meal, would you? I often want to shout: “Hey! There’s another spot on the other side! There’s plenty of food for everyone. There’s even more food in the big bag for you when the feeder is empty!”

I behave like those finches. Even with plenty of love and grace available to me, I approach God with feeble prayer requests, looking for one tiny piece of nyjer seed at a time. Hey God, would You please watch over our family today? While You’re at it, do You think You could help my parents too? How about my neighbors, or maybe my husband, and all those other people at the cancer center? What about me…do You have energy left for me, too, God? And do You still love me for asking all this?

God probably feels like I do with those little finches. I imagine He wants to say: “Eat away! Ask away! I have all that…and more for you, Lisa!” Like the finches, I eat from God’s stores of abundance by putting my face right in there; pulling out those treats personally. I, too, find myself peeking around from my perch in prayer, as if I’m watching for someone to knock me off my spot to tell me it’s not my turn to ask God for anything anymore. And God probably wants to say “Hey! There’s another spot and plenty of room and food for everyone! I have more than you can imagine!”

Like the finches, I need to feed on one little piece at a time, since that’s what it takes to understand God’s love. I approach God cautiously, watching out for the other finches who I think might get my portion of God’s love. Sometimes I even change perches, thinking the love tastes different from another angle. But when I remember God probably wants to take His entire bag of nyjer seed and dump it all over me, I can realize more clearly the truth in my soul: with God, there’s always more, if only I ask.

This morning, all six perches at the feeder were filled for a few moments, yet there’s still plenty of finch food left. How about that?

Finches

It had been an extra-tough year. My husband’s cancer diagnosis last spring blasted our family into a whirlwind of doctor’s appointments, medical questions, fear, more medical questions, financial questions, more fear, more doctor’s appointments, and oh yes, more questions. Today, we experience our daily lives at an awkward pace; switching out the old pace and perspective on life for this new normal. Joe’s health continues to stabilize, but my writing needed some resuscitation. I needed to find myself again and ask some basic questions: who am I, what do I think about, what I need. I needed to thrive, not just survive; and in the middle of it all I still needed God.

Fortunately, God never left. He is still here. I just forgot. I also forgot some of my habits which seem insignificant but are the source of refueling for my soul. Habits like prayer and journaling, not just several days a week, but every day. My spirit longed for the simple things again: for time with myself, time with friends, time for baking. Last week, I remembered another joy I’ve missed: replenishing my finch feeder.

The shepherd’s hook out back had been empty for months, and last week I finally put up a finch feeder again. The next day, my eyes clouded with tears when I saw that the finches returned. They simply wanted their share; their portion; one tiny piece of nyjer seed at a time, and that's when I remembered. It's not the big doses of God that matter; it's the regular little portions that I will always crave. And receive, if only I ask.

The finches are back and so am I.

One of THOSE Days

Did you ever have one of THOSE days? I did, recently.

It started with the morning routine; coffee, prayers, kids off to school, exercise, work. Some writing time, some organization time, some planning time. A good day so far. Then it happened. The day morphed into one of ‘those’ days—all within a two-hour period. I had to get the kids off the school buses, bring my daughter for a haircut, have my son ready for theater practice, get both kids fed, bring my daughter to a babysitting appointment, and be ready to pick up the kids from theater practice and babysitting at various times. It was a delicate balance of flexibility, timing and patience. I got through the bus stop and bringing my daughter for her haircut, but after the haircut appointment, I realized a flaw in the plan. I didn’t have time to feed my daughter before her next stop—babysitting. I called my son to put a pizza into the oven for himself and thought to myself: yikes, my teenage son is at home with the oven on. Can’t wait to get back there and make sure the house doesn’t blow up. Oh yes, time to feed my daughter. Easy solution: stop at the local Wawa on the way. She and I made the stop and even selected a healthy option for her to eat. Back to the car.

Now, where are those car keys? Not in my pocket; not in my purse. “They’re right there, Mommy!” my daughter said with a smile. Yup, the keys were safely in the ignition…of the locked car. I haven’t locked my keys in the car in years, and today was the time to indulge. I stopped and thought: “Okay, God, I guess you’re reminding me to slow down!”

Schedule planning went into overload; I had a wonderful neighbor who could bring my son to theater practice, my friend picked up my daughter for babysitting, and my hero of a mother-in-law drove to the parking lot with a spare key, in case it was the right one. No, the house didn’t blow up with the oven being on, and no, my mother-in-law didn’t have the correct car key, but she at least had her car for me to ride home with her to pick up my spare key. We then drove back to the parking lot and I was able to bring my car home, just in time to pick up my daughter, and then an hour later, my son.

Whew.

I desperately needed this beautiful prayer, and now enjoy it every morning with my Bible time. It’s adapted from Wilfred A. Peterson and is called “Prayer for a Peaceful Heart.” It will not prevent “those” days from happening, but will keep my response to those days to be one of thankfulness and peace.
“Please Lord, slow me down, ease my pounding heart
Quiet my racing mind, steady my hurried steps
Amidst the confusion of my days
Grant me the calmness of your peace
Help me to know the truly restoring gift of sleep
Teach me the art of taking time off
To slow down to see the beauty in your creation
To chat with a friend
To read a few lines from a good book
Remind me each day that there is more to life than increasing in speed
It is living, each moment, with You and for You
Let me look upwards
Into the branches of a towering oak
And know that it grew slowly and well
Please Lord, slow me down
Teach me to be gentle and humble of heart
Fearing nothing of this world
As you are my Lord
Grant me rest for my soul
Now and eternally with you
Amen.”

On that day, in Wawa’s parking lot, I didn’t look upwards into the branches of a towering oak, but I do remember looking upwards at the power line running across the top of the parking lot. My daughter and I noticed the line of birds sitting up there and we agreed there must have been a bird party going on! It was a beautiful way to refocus and look upwards when otherwise I would have never noticed the birds at all.

Tip of the week:
Slow down! Noticing the beauty of nature and the gift of a shared smile are probably the healthiest suggestions we can follow for joy—even in the middle of ‘those’ days.

DIving In!

"I'm diving in, I'm going deep, in over my head I want to be..." Stephen Curtis-Chapman challenged my faith with this incredibly powerful song again this week. We are challenged to take that leap of faith, not just over the edge, but into the water that's over our head. Wow.

When we're underwater, things look different. Things are quiet. Things are tuned out, but present. I want to make my prayer life deeper, too. My quiet time can be quiet-er time. My sense of peace can be even more peaceful. When I pray, I can go over the edge of the surface prayer requests and let God see my heart. It's diving in over my head, and not just to the shallow end up to waist level that makes the difference in my perspective. I don't want to just get wet in that water; I want a new view.

Wanna dive in with me?

Letting Go in the Rain

On a recent road trip, I had the coveted passenger seat while my skilled driver for a husband navigated our way through many miles in a torrential downpour. Me? I would have pulled over and waited out the storm. There is a certain amount of visibility I desire while driving, and this rainstorm didn’t allow for much to be seen.

This recent trip had way more rain that I was used to seeing and I frequently found myself engaging in as many personal relaxation techniques as I could remember. Look off to the side and not at the road in front of me. Breathe slowly. Think positive thoughts. This time, I raised the bar—I prayed our way through the storms. Quietly, of course. I worked hard at being silent. I wanted to say “Why don’t you pull over?” but instead I sent my quiet thoughts upward. God, help us. God, protect our family. God, don’t let us hydroplane. God, let my husband choose to pull over. (Okay, so I want to have some control here but I think God understands.) God, protect us as if in a bubble. God, let that truck behind us slow down.

And then it hit me. I needed to trust. I needed to trust my husband’s driving ability and I needed to trust God. This trust required that I look somewhere other than what it was that was worrying me. I needed to simply go along for the ride and my only job was to turn off the crazy thoughts. Sounds so easy and yet it is so difficult to do.

By the way, I had one final prayer that afternoon. Thank you, God. The rain cleared.

Tip of the week:
Slow down. Slowing down to think about what I eat and slowing down while I am eating are both tips I need to remember for success in maintaining my health. I think it’s good to slow down while driving in a torrential rainstorm too.

Speed Limit 45. (part 2)

Last week’s blog post referred to an unusual speed limit sign. Instead of the customary “Speed Limit 45” out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a sign that said something extra. It said: “Speed Limit 45. This IS your warning.”

I continue the warning theme this week with some reflections on that sign. I’ve noticed more speed limit signs since then, all of which simply state the speed limit number. I continue to ponder the implicit warnings, however and ask myself: What do I need to pay attention to? What is my warning sign, really?

One easy way to reflect on my life’s priorities is to consider what I would do today if it literally was the last day of my life on earth. Geneen Roth writes some wonderful pieces in her Good Housekeeping essays which discuss food and health issues; one such article referred to “priority-setting” exercises she uses in her food addictions workshops. Geneen described a workshop exercise where participants are asked to list what they would do differently if they knew they had only one year left to live. Then they list what they’d do differently with only six months left to live. Then three months. Then one month. One week. One day.

Keeping a focus on these one-day items on my own mental list helps me know why I wouldn’t want to need another warning sign to accompany the familiar “Speed Limit 45” message. My one-day list includes my faith. Prayer time. Slowing down. Purpose-filled activities. Family time including lots of snuggling with my husband and kids. One thing Geneen noticed is that her workshop attendants included “eating anything they want”, “bingeing”, “chocolate” and similar entries in their one-year and six-month lists, but as the timing got shorter and hit the one-week and one-day levels, the bingeing wasn’t on the list anymore. When we know that our time is really short, we don’t want to waste it on our food obsessions. My own personal warning: if I had one day to live, bingeing would not be on my one-day list. And so I proceed along my process, one slow step at a time, to reducing my food obsessions and increasing my faith obsessions. I want to take my warning signs seriously.

Tip of the week:
My very favorite way to start the day is my prayer time. After that, though, I exercise! I exercise regularly because I need to exercise, NOT because I love it. Like other activities which are NOT my favorite, I find getting them done early in the day (along with filing paperwork, paying bills and planning dinner!) can make them easier to accomplish and frees my mind for enjoying the rest of my day!

Prayer is a Commitment and it takes Time

I had the privilege of speaking at the church ministry in Allentown called RiPPLE where Pastor Tom and the Ripple-rs inspired and encouraged each other with stories of ‘ripple’ effects; sharing how one good deed can lead to another, and particularly when we are following God’s will in our lives, the results are amazing. I presented my “Gain Faith, Lose Weight” concept including tips on how to pray with a greater focus on God and see the resulting increase in faith for ourselves. One of the key points in the talk is this: Prayer is a commitment, and it takes time.

For today, I am taking the time to expand on this concept in the hope that the inspiration to hang in there with prayer can be shared and reinforced.

All great stories, including mine where I’ve lost over 100 pounds within five years with God’s help, have at their core, a significant event; a turning point. There is no way to make great strides in this world whether it be in relationships, in personal goals, in quality of life, without a turning point where we discover for ourselves that the pain of change is actually less than the pain of remaining the same.

Those turning points in our lives can be triggered by prayer. I observe that when we’re in our deepest crises and in our highest joys in life, there’s a natural response “God, help!”, or “Thank you, God!” Why not implement this same desire in the mediocre parts of our life journeys; the straightaways on the roller coaster of life, where it seems nothing is happening but actually the energy to ride up or down that hill is being built. Prayer is critical, not only in the highs and lows of life, but all those points in between. And so the concept: Prayer is a commitment, and it takes time---comes into play.

I have found that a turning point in my life combined with the commitment to prayer is truly powerful. This prayer commitment is its own time scheduler; there is nothing else in my life that can or should interfere with it. Only then does the prayer “work” for me; only then do I know I’m on the right path, at least.

If I’m not committed, or if I’m not willing to put the time into it, my prayer life becomes stale; mundane; ineffective. All it takes is a mustard seed of commitment and a small time slot of my day, and I am back on track. Life, with its ups and downs, is still a smoother ride. Amen!

Mountain Madness part 3: Coming DOWN

Whew. A group of us climbed up the mountain, enjoyed the view from the top, and now it’s time to head back down.

Wait a minute. I don’t want to go down. I don’t want to head back to the place I was before; I don’t want to deal with hectic schedules, another day of running around, heading off crises while taking care of a family and a home and, oh yea, myself. This trek up a mountain with the beautiful view from the top leaves me changed. I see this experience as one of those times in life I cannot remain the same. For now, though, I need to simply hold onto that experience like another item in my backpack, and take the challenge of heading back down the mountain.

My friend said it was steep. The signs say it’s steep. But I didn’t know “steep” until I was going backwards down the rock formations to get to the next lower level. Like before, I was given suggestions to help my footing—walk sideways, take small steps, have one foot braced before moving the other—but I was taking those suggestions more seriously this time. I was trying to remember any scripture that could be dusted off in my memory about standing on rocks or having my feet grounded, and all I could think of was “trust in the Lord.” Yikes. Can’t I do that while standing on level ground? Apparently not, sometimes. Sometimes I need to be heading down the sliding board of a mountainside to realize that I am truly freaked out. I was actually quiet since I couldn’t talk and concentrate at the same time.

Trust and gratitude. It was about all I could feel—trust that God will get me back down because there’s nothing left to trust, and gratitude for my friends and their practical tips along the way. They even helped out by carrying some of my things—my water bottle, the camera.

It really is the same as life, isn’t it? When things are tough and I’m freaked out beyond my own abilities, it’s then that I know God will show up. And He even sends my friends to help me out, not in those intangible “I’ll pray for you” ways, but hands-on help by carrying my load, and practical tips and suggestions on making the way easier, safer, smoother. In these mountain reflections, I’m reminded that I want to seek after God’s presence in my life on level ground, too. I know God is there, but I forget. This mountain madness adventure was a much-needed reminder about dependence on God. Trust and gratitude; so simple but so challenging.

Tip of the week:
Last week, I suggested something “new” in the routine to boost health/fitness goals; this week, I’m suggesting we try something “old”. We all have a favorite food item, walking path, recipe or technique that has worked for us in the past—let’s do that again. For me one of those old techniques was to pray to God and promise that I wouldn’t blow it with my eating that day (or that hour, or that minute—whatever it takes!)—I can do that again, and again, and again—whatever it takes!

A Writer's Life

I recently returned from a writing conference: three days of workshops and conversations with other writers, publishers, editors and agents. My mind is still spinning with the information and new ideas to process. Being around all that creativity stirs the creativity within me. I reflect on my own writing life as a result and realize it’s similar to the health-conscious life I lead with a forever focus on food, exercise and weight.

There’s an aspect of being a writer that is never ‘turned off’. Ideas are everywhere, when I’m awake and when I’m asleep; when I’m driving and when I’m in the shower; when I eat and even when I sit down to write. All those ideas need to be considered, indulged, sorted and shared. It reminds me of when I went to college part-time in the evenings. The only way to survive those eight long years of work towards the goal of that college degree was to accept what felt like the never-ending nature of school assignments. The only break was between semesters, but during those class sessions, there was always something else to read, something to write, something to study for.

The role of being health conscious, too, is never ‘turned off’. Food is everywhere, when I’m awake and when I’m asleep; when I’m driving and when I’m in the shower; when I write and even when I sit down to eat. All the food needs to be planned, purchased, cleaned, cut and cooked. Every day. Three times a day, at least. Unless I choose to fast for some period of time, there really is no break. Ever.

Another aspect of being a writer is the need for discipline within the creativity. Over and over again in workshops and conversations I hear about keeping our writing lives a priority; making sure to take the time to write whether or not the muse strikes. When writing is a paid job, there is attention to the task at hand; there is a tangible deadline and paycheck that results from the act of writing. When writing is part of a bigger goal, such as a book, there is the discipline required to persevere in its writing, editing and promoting. There is the unknown end date; the unknown deadline, but the need to continue remains intact. The need for daily attention to the writing task is simply disciplinary in nature.

Being health conscious is always disciplinary in nature. A self-professed lack of discipline is what causes most people to see the eating and exercising as ‘on’ or ‘off’ tasks, but instead there is more success in remaining healthy when we see the tasks as ‘forever’ tasks; never ‘off’. Only then can we gain the tenacity to stay with it day after day without throwing in the towel on our health efforts.

I claim the right to remain creative while being disciplined. I claim my identity as a health-conscious writer. Forever.

Tip of the Week:
To stay on my eating and exercise program, I really must pray. Not the ‘bless this food’ prayer rituals, but really pray. Every day. This week, I commit to revisiting the focus on prayer; making sure my prayer time is a higher priority than the million other things I need to do. Amen.

Starting Over...and Over...and Over

The sunrise. My early morning alarm. Birds chirping. Enticing coffee aroma. (gotta love those timer-started-coffee makers!) Time to start a new day. Again.

My prayer: “Dear God: Help! I’ve lost and gained the same three pounds for the last four months. What is that about? Is it mental or physical? I need to start over and lose these three pounds again, and then a few more to reach my final goal weight.”

It’s the beginning of another morning regimen and I’m blessed to be able to start a new day. The new day is my gift so that I can indulge in a new commitment towards healthy eating. I love the sense of a clean slate; the food tally marked with a zero; the restart that comes with the morning. This clean slate is a chance at hope. When I flounder on my eating program, it’s the restart that reminds me I am not perfect. The restarts are the only way to live within a life filled with imperfection.

It is my belief that these restarts are the most critical key for life-time success in weight loss. These restarts represent my prayer time. Going to the table again, coffee in hand, to have my morning chat with God, is what constitutes healthy living, regardless of my food choices. The healthy weight goals are going to be my daily battle for the rest of my life, and the only way I can survive the longevity of this battle is to break it down into these 24-hour chunks of time. Then and only then can I accept that there’s no need to throw in the towel—ever. I’m basking in the new sunrise—and I anticipate my restart—again.

Thankfully, God is available each morning along with that sunrise. I can count on that. “Amen.”

Support Systems

Okay, ladies, it’s time to get personal. It’s time to talk about support systems—you know what I mean: BRAS. Yup, I’ve finally accepted the fact that there’s just nothing quite like a good-fitting bra.

I’ve lost quite a bit of weight and as a result, my size has changed. Not just one size, but many sizes. My ring size, shoe size, jeans size and yes, my bra size. It wasn’t something noticeable overnight but there was one day when I looked in the mirror and noticed something was wrong. The outfit was okay, the shoes acceptable, but I was a bit, ahem, saggy. No, it wasn’t the clothes, it was me. I thinned out so that means I also flattened out. If you can’t change nature, you can get a new bra.

A girlfriend and I had the opportunity for a mini getaway a couple years ago which included relaxing, chatting and, of course, shopping. A small lingerie boutique was on the list of nearby stores to visit. It was one of those classy boutiques—the ones that are intimidating and alluring at the same time. It’s time to put the bra challenge to the test.

My girlfriend and I walked into the store with the scantily-clad mannequins and greeted the salesclerk with a skeptical smile. “Hi!” she said, way too excitedly. We jumped right to the task at hand. “Do you have those bras that Oprah raves about,” I asked, “the ones that help with the, uh, support I need?” Little Miss Excitement escorted us to the back section of the quaint store and presented the display of the ever-so-famous bras. All sizes and colors of these magical wonders were on display. I checked one of the price tags. “I don’t intend to buy today, but want to know if it’s really true that these bras really make a difference.” I clarified. Not to be swayed, she continued her Pepsodent smile and said “No problem! Let’s figure out your size and let you try it on. For fun!” She unhooked the measuring tape she was wearing like a stethoscope, ready to cure my ills. She measured and re-measured until she got the correct numbers.

Well, almost 70 dollars later, I made myself into a new woman! So did my girlfriend. These bras are amazing. Support systems really do help us in ways we never imagined.

The most meaningful support system in my life is my prayer life. Yes, I have wonderful girlfriends. Yes, I have an amazing family. Yes, I have the perfect bra. But God is the only one who comes through for me every time. God is like the bra that is always the right size, lifting me up when I’m sagging , making me feel better, stronger, and ready to face the world. I’m made up of the same stuff underneath, but with God’s support, I feel like a new person. Time to accept the fact that there’s just nothing quite like a great support system—no matter what size I am.

Water, Water everywhere...

Okay, it’s April, and we know what that implies: April showers, right? Since I’m not into gardening, I don’t think about the resulting May flowers. Instead, I wonder about water. Lately, the phrase: “Water, water, everywhere…” has come to mind. What’s the rest of the sentence?

“…and not a drop to drink.” Water, water, everywhere, and not a drop to drink. What does that mean? I envision a bobbing sailboat with dehydrated vacationers out for a longer journey than they ever expected, in the middle of the ocean gasping for their last breath of life. All they need is water for refueling and all they have is an ocean of water surrounding them, keeping them from life. There’s no way to boil the salt out of the salt water to make it drinkable in this scene. Water everywhere can mean I’m drowning in the essence of my own life without the refueling that comes from having a life with purpose. Water everywhere can mean I think I’m pursuing a healthy lifestyle but instead am being sucked dry by the very information I crave. Water everywhere can mean I’m volunteering my time and energy to seemingly good causes, like feeding the poor, but instead am poor in my own spirit.

Water is critical for health, and I am very aware of drinking it to obey the eight-glasses-a-day-for-better-health rule. I have trained my body to be in need of an abundance of water, and am used to drinking it all day long. When I am thirsty, I am reminded that I’ll immediately get a drink of water to take care of the thirst, but I might not take a minute to sit and pray to take care of a spiritual need I might have today.

That ocean symbolizes the abundance of God’s love and availability in prayer, more than I could imagine. It surrounds me, but is not available to me unless I make myself available too. I have found that forcing myself to be still for a few minutes allows my thoughts and emotions to focus back on God who is always there. I believe He knows what’s up every minute of the day whether I’m thinking of Him or not. How cool is that.

Water, water, everywhere… I plan to drink more and drown less.