Man Vs Food

There's a show I used to watch called MAN vs FOOD. Here was this tv host who was paid to overeat and some of the tastiest food I have seen. It was rare that I ever ended an episode not craving something I saw him struggle to finish eating.

I have my own MAN vs FOOD battle. I live it.

I have a menagerie of photos throughout my adult life. I have made it a point to not only take photos of people, places and things but also to include myself in the mix. One day, I will be a memory and my hope is to be able to remind my loved ones of me and provide visuals.

There's a saying about how the camera never lies. Don't I know this to be true! I have seen photos of me, in action, on a jobsite. There I am, usually with my mouth open (talking) or throwing my head back in laughter or with a grin a mile wide. That's fine and dandy until I start picking apart the picture to highlight my flaws. The slight double chin from days of old has been traded in for a very pronounced double. My skin, no longer tan, portrays my overweight body even moreso. (I've always said that tan fat looks much better than white fat. Case in point? Think of a turkey before and after it is cooked.....) I am classified as morbidly obese in medical terms. Obese is no longer reserved for just those who need a wall knocked down to get them out of the house. I too now wear that label with shame.

I have battled my weight since grade school. Around third grade, definitely fourth grade, you could see my battle with the bulge. I vividly recall being teased and taunted because of my weight. And how did I deal with it, you ask? I ate through my emotions. It would be larger portions, then overloading on junk food. Stealing money from my dad's cash to buy the sweet treats I craved. Hell, I even skipped church with my dad's stolen money in my pocket and bought fresh donuts from the donut shop across the street during the Homily. Yes, I know, pretty bad.

The more I tried to deal with a tumultuous childhood, the more I sought solace in food. Food provided me comfort and security. To this day, the thought of having to give up or abstain from certain foods is enough for me to search for something to eat. Please don't take it away, my inner fat girl pleads.

Nowadays, my inner fat girl matches the outer fat girl I parade around town. I have had telltale signs of the effects of my weight in the form of high blood pressure, bone spurs on my heels, body aches and pains, stretch marks, lack of energy and motivation and chunky arms. I have grown to be selective of which photos should be used and struggle with cleansing my photo albums of any pictures I deem looking grotesque in. Deep down inside, I keep them as my future 'before' photos.

It is amazing how it all has taken a toll on me. I feel like I have days when I'm putting lipstick on a pig. I hear about my smile and my laughter and how both light up a room I'm in but that's not good enough. I still think of the size 18/20 woman that I am and can't see past that. I feel gloomy and gray inside.

I know I need to take action and get some help. I think that I will be happier if I was in my target range for a woman my size and height. I haven't been there but I'm betting the farm I would be. I just need to figure out how I can turn it all over and to admit that I can't do it all alone. Surgeries, fasting, cutting calories, excercise, drinking shakes vs eating....... none of it is worth a damn if I don't turn over the emotional struggles and the heart of the probelm and truly seek to become well.

Where Is Your Heart Without A Home?

I guess part of me did see the RV being used to put someone up. Eventually it would greet another wayward soul and provide shelter, albeit temporary.

Saturday night a family of four happened to have car trouble. They were trying to leave for Arizona but took the billowing smoke from their Pontiac to be a sign from God that they needed to stay put. So, a neighboring business pointed them in the direction of my church because they had heard we did things to help people.

(I'm still stuck on the cool fact that my church has made a name for ourselves. Hands and feet of Jesus at work.)

A few guys were asked to lend a hand and diagnose the issues. The children, a 2 yr old girl and 7 yr old boy, were checked into the children's programs and our executive pastor was found talking to the matriarch of the family. I'm not sure if they had dinner that night but we had some there to offer them.

After talking briefly with my friend, I learned they were homeless. The man and woman were married and they were raising their grandchildren,  who referred to them as Mom and Dad.

Homeless. How does this happen?

It is an all too familiar question for me. I have asked it many, many times. The longer I am in compassion ministry the more I come into contact with the working poor and homeless families. Jobs are lost and hours are cut. It is easy to get caught in the paycheck to paycheck lifestyle but what happens when the paychecks aren't enough to cover the cost to live?

There is a program called Financial Peace U. In the beginning there is an excercise about collecting the first $1, 000. Sell things if you have to, the FPU professor instructs, to get there. I wonder if this family, who sleeps in my driveway out in my RV, had done that. Did they have anything significant that added up to $1k? They drive a car. Was it an option to sell that to get a few more months in an apartment or did they make a better choice by keeping it?

I look at my own finances. I currently have no savings to account for. I have a savings account but in name alone. What is stopping me from the same fate?

I was once homeless. As an 18 yr old girl and again at 23. When I was 18, I found myself kicked out of the apartment I shared with my first boyfriend and his family. A physical fight was the result of a verbal fight. I will never forget how broken my heart was when he didn't come to my rescue as his older sister and dad took turns kicking me. I somehow ended up at a neighbor's across the building from where I had been living and took up a few nights there.

She was an older lady, definitely a grandmother and possibly old enough to be a great grandma. She took in this crying, abandoned girl who was several hours away from home, trying to make it on her own, working a dead end job at a Burger King she walked to and from. I remember crying in the dark and too sad and somewhat afraid to go to sleep in this stranger's home.

It had been many years since I had thought about that time in my life. Even now, the details are vague. I tried to recall her name, the lady who came to my aid. I'm not sure if it was in her livingroom that she set up a place for me to sleep or in a spare room.  It was something I had suppressed in my mind. An oddity of sorts, being how I pride myself in remembering the past. This memory though didn't resurface until this family had come, looking for help.

I know today that God never lets anything go to waste. Whether it be pain or victory, He finds a way to use it to bring glory. That night in 1993 came full circle on January 31, 2015. 22 years later, my pain was applied to further grow the kingdom of my loving and merciful God. I knew what that felt like, to have no home to rest my weary heart. I knew what it was like to have no money or resources to save myself. I needed an angel to pick me up off the ground and help me get back home. Maybe it was my turn to be that angel. Maybe, in the crazy scheme of things, the obedience in my heart and my willingness to follow Christ was what He needed me to do. To trust the outcome and not question the process. Afterall, is it not true that 'What you do for the least of my brothers that you do unto Me'?

Here I am, Lord. Is it I, Lord? I have heard You calling in the night. I will go, Lord, if You lead me. I will hold Your people in my heart.

I Didn't Win The Mom Lottery

Friends, coworkers, neighbors, spouses, partners. Exhusband, old roommate, acquaintance. One thing that these people all have in common is relationship. 

I used to think that relationship was a verb, describing what we are doing with an individual. Being in a relationship used to mean a romantic or physical connection I had with a man. In my 40s it means much more.

I have lots of relationships. It doesn't limit me to being physically involved with a man.There are different levels of intimacy I experience with each person in my life. My ongoing struggle with intimacy in my relationships continues to be with women. 

I attribute many of my struggles to my nonexistent relationship with my mother. For most of my growing up years my memories include a woman who was highly critical of me, who belittled and put me down for my weight/grades/behavior/choices and used different forms of abuse to rule over me. As I transitioned into adulthood and discovered that I was pregnant, unmarried and scared four and a half months after I turned 18, the level of cruelty my mother portrayed reached a new high. When I needed her the most she was anything but a support. 

The first few days of my oldest son's life were some of the most painful days in my life. At the persuasion of both my parents, I made a life-changing decision to place my newborn baby for adoption. My birthing plan included specific instructions to shield me from seeing my son after he came out of the birth canal in hopes that a glance at him would change my mind. I had promised his adoptive parents that I would make their dreams of becoming parents a reality and couldn't take that back. Another birth mom had gone back on her word and they had to give back an infant who was already in their home, when she changed her mind. 

So what does this have to do with my mom? A lot. 

She was very much aware of all the details. I had been told by the hospital staff that I could change my mind at any time. Even the state social worker gave me a proverbial "get out of jail free" card mentioning what my rights were and my ability to change if I decided to. I can still remember staring blankly at the walls and the clock in my hospital room for hours at a time, with the thought of just wanting the pain in my heart to stop. Knowing all this, my mother had her own agenda (as she often did) & made arrangements to go and see "her grandson" without my permission or knowledge. I wouldn't learn of this until much later, when she informed me of her covert visits to the nursery to spend time with my son. She even went as far as to lie to my face the last day of my hospital stay when she arrived with bloodshot, puffy eyes claiming she had gotten bad news about her grandfather being sick. The truth? She had said her goodbyes and had just come back from the nursery after spending time with my son. 

These scenarios would be just several over the course of my life that my mother caused me tremendous pain and betrayal in my life. Add other instances of gossip, secret meetings, and two faced behavior to the mix and one can see why there is no relationship between me and the woman who birthed me.