Week 11

"The nice thing is we've lost weight, so we take up less room in the bed," said Joseph with a hint of optimism and a dash of sarcasm. The bed he referred to is the full size bed we share at my grandmother's house. We're used to our plush king size bed at home. First world problems. 

We've been at my grandmother's house for a whopping 3, maybe 4, hours, and my jeans already feel tighter. My resolve is slipping. My scale is scared. 

"Home" does that to me. 

It conjures up emotions I've stuffed down with enough fast food and processed pastries to fill out a pair of size 26 jeans with no room to spare. 

"Home" triggers my food reflex faster than anything/anywhere/anyone else. Because I conditioned it to. 

"Home" wasn't always a place I wanted to escape to. More often, it was a place I wanted to escape from. And I did. As quickly as I could. I had to return home to graduate high school, because I had already left town. 

When I couldn't escape physically, I escaped mentally and emotionally, often with a bag of marshmallows or a bowl of ice cream or a roll of cookie dough. Or all three. I zoned out in a dark room, illuminated only by the flicker of the television, and I ate until I was numb. 

As soon as my car reaches Horry County, I'm hungry. 

My grandmother's kitchen beckons me all hours of the day and night. The later in the evening, the louder the siren song grows. 

Tonight is no different. I hear the kitchen calling for me. I already answered it once, eating half a chocolate chip cookie. I only stopped because the cookie was really gross. 

So, tonight, I'm trying something new. I'm praying, and I'm reminding myself of things I know to be true:

God is good.

 

God is wise.

 

God is kind.

 

God is faithful.

 

When no one else wanted me, God adopted me into His family. Because of Jesus, God is my daddy, and I'm His little girl. I am a co-heir with Christ. 

When God looks at me, He sees Jesus. 

Because I placed my trust in Jesus, God sees me not only as though I never sinned but as though I always lived right. Because Jesus paid the price for me. 

The satisfaction of food is fleeting. God is eternal.

The imperfect homes I've had and will continue to have on earth are temporary. I have a perfect home waiting for me in Heaven, and it's eternal, and it's with Jesus!

God loves me because I am His and because of Jesus. He doesn't merely tolerate me. He doesn't love me in spite of my flaws, my failures, my FAT; He just loves me. 

I didn't deserve the grace God extended to me through Jesus, and I need to stop making other people earn grace from me. 

I have been forgiven much, and there is joy in forgiving much. And freedom. 

I can have marshmallows and ice cream and cookie dough and the other things I didn't mention eating. In moderation. And with pure motives. 

I don't need food to cope or to medicate or mask my emotions. I just need Jesus, and He is even more available than convenience food. 

There will be numerous disappointments in this life, but Jesus isn't one of them. 

Food that is seasoned with guilt never tastes as good. 

I probably should have gone to counseling, but I can't change that. I can confide in the Wonderful Counselor anytime and any place. And He won't charge me, because the bill has already been paid. 

There are many other truths worth rejoicing in. What truths do you preach to yourself when you face temptation or when you need strength or encouragement?

I'm skipping my weigh-in this week, but I'll weigh in next Wednesday. Happy Thanksgiving!