Destination Discipline

Somewhere along the way, we’ve gotten lost. We un-learned how to nourish our bodies. We reached for the convenient and consumed food that made us ill. Maybe not immediately; but eventually. We have developed food allergies, diabetes, chemical dependencies, and bulging waistbands. We feel bad and we want to feel better. But we also want the foods we have come to crave.

Companies are eager to sell us remedies. These products promise to help us “detox”, “lose weight”, and “rejuvenate”. For a “small fee” we are promised a heaping helping of health. Some food companies have even developed “health foods” but the taste isn’t exactly what we want or we still overindulge. We are caught in an endless cycle of trying and failing and feeling guilty until (at last) most of us just give up.

When my acquaintances sat down next to me at the airport with boxes of fried chicken, my mouth began to water. I watched as they opened the boxes and I thought, “Are you really going to eat that?” Lest the dear reader think I am a jerk, I thought this while also wishing I could “eat that.” I saw the French fries, the chicken strips and the sodas and sighed to myself. There was a time when I would have been powerless to resist such fare. But those days are over. I have reclaimed the power over my choices. And you can too.

Temptation is not a dirty word. It is not in itself evil. But it should not be dealt with lightly or made light of. Part of our problem is the way in which our culture approaches temptation; namely, that we are powerless over it or that it’s “fun” to give into it. The reality is, we give up our power when we give in to temptation.

Think of it this way, temptation is the choice we make between good and evil. Deep down in our hearts, unless we have become hardened by the deceitfulness of sin, we know what is right and what is wrong. It is right to honor God with our bodies by consuming food that nourishes rather than poisons us. It is right to eat until we are full and no further. It is evil to overindulge to our detriment. It is evil to ignore the beauty of how God created our bodies to function. The sooner we recognize these truths, the more we will begin to resist temptation.

But you say, Margaret, don’t you understand how hard it is?

Ah, but I do.

But, Margaret, you say, this is a complicated issue. I mean, I have all of these emotional issues that drive me to self-medicate with food. You are mean to say I’m evil when I don’t resist temptation.

Well, I would like to respond by saying that is a very good place to start. When we recognize our sin with food, we are then able to cry out to God for help to heal us of our sin. God not only wants to heal us of past sin, but the sin we are prone to commit. When we yield/surrender to Him, he will give us the strength to resist temptation by His Holy Spirit. If you do not believe this, repent. After all, this is what God’s word says and I believe every word in the bible is true.

I read an article recently in the Wall Street Journal titled, “I Beat Addiction Without God.” The title provoked me but also piqued my curiosity. How did she do it? The author, Mary Beth O’Connor, said she made better choices, formed healthy habits and sought the help of a therapist. At the end of the article she writes, “Being forced to find my own path ultimately made me stronger. My pain never has been eradicated, but I can bear what remains. Despite jitters, I’m always looking to the next goal.” I commend her on sobriety. It takes grit to make good choices and fight temptation. But I am also sad to see she has “pain that has never been eradicated.” Jesus came to save us from our sin—and yes, to finally eradicate all of our pain. While we may not experience a painless existence in our lifetime, His promise is to return for us and wipe every tear from our eyes. Heaven is the place we will taste, touch and feel a sinless existence to the glory of God. His promises are not like human promises—here today, gone tomorrow. Therefore, if we believe and trust Jesus, we know we will one day have perfect bodies that weep no more.

Ms. O’Connor is still forming goals as coping mechanisms. She does not have ultimate peace. And, I found it interesting that two professors (Em. Prof. William R. Miller and Em. Prof. Harold D. Delaney wrote in a response that acknowledged, yes, people are able to recover without faith in God, but, “even if people believe that God wasn’t present in their healing, it isn’t necessarily so.”

The Apostle Paul once spoke in front of the Areopagus and said, “The God who made the world and everything in it, being Lord of heaven and earth, does not live in temples built by man, nor is he served by human hands, as though he needed anything, since he himself gives to all mankind life and breath and everything.” (Acts 17:24-25)

So, you ask, what does all this have to do with eating food that is unhealthy?

I’m glad you asked that question!

God created each one of us for a purpose. Our main purpose is to glorify Him in all things. How do we do that? We enjoy the good food he has given us to eat and reject that which harms our bodies. And that is why I did not consume any of the food I saw (and smelled!) in the Charlotte, NC airport. I thoroughly enjoyed eating my blueberries and pistachios in front of my chicken toting friends without a hint of judgement or self-righteousness. I simply knew that the temptation to eat things that would harm my body was real and I prayed that God would give me the strength to resist. I did this because I have learned through habit that fried and hyper processed foods make me ill. This is not a complicated choice—though it can be filled with emotion. I thank God for the strength and fortitude to lose the excess weight and continue to make healthy choices. It is only by His grace that I continue to succeed.

Next time… Examining labels: What is in the Food I eat?

I stepped off the plane and into the Charlotte International Airport. I was weary from the strain of travel and not looking forward to my layover. I carried two heavy bags on my shoulders and the frustration of having to walk from the far end of one terminal to another. Worse, when I arrived at the other terminal and sat down, the flight attendant announced the gate had changed to the end of a different terminal.

I loudly said, “You have got to be kidding me!”

“That’s what I said.” She stood there on crutches; her right foot encased in a large medical boot.

I felt rather foolish. I said, “I guess I shouldn’t complain.”

She hobbled over to two other women and I saw they were gathering their things. They seemed to have a lot so I said, “Do you need help?”

“No.” she said. “I have medical transport coming with a wheelchair.”

So I waved politely and left them.

I found myself walking on one of those speed belts that carries people quickly across the terminal. It was lunchtime and I was hungry. All I wanted to do was sit down with my blueberries and pistachios (my healthy lunch!) and eat. But when I reached the beginning of the terminal, I discovered a food court of sorts between it and the next. I stood on the beltway and ogled the parade of restaurants as if I had never seen junk food before.

I thought I had entered some kind of food carnival—which I suppose it was. I kid you not—the set up was incredibly enchanting; as in, it put a spell on me!

Candy-cornucopia!

I saw a booth with every kind of candy imaginable. I saw Cinnabon. Chick Fil A. A pizza joint. A Mexican eatery. Like a bright pink beacon, I observed Dunkin Donuts and then TCBY. Saliva threatened to fall from my mouth so I closed it. The smells were intoxicating. I had not experienced such temptation since before Covid and I was ill prepared. Fortunately, I was on a belted walkway and was not able to jump over the rails and dive into the nearest soda fountain. It was the first time I was grateful for my heavy bags. Still, I noticed the comfortable looking white rocking chairs—not unlike those outside of Cracker Barrel—and I thought how easy it would be to grab some food and slip into one. I had complete anonymity. No one would ever know. No one—that is—except me.

Have you ever stared temptation in the face? How did you respond? Did you bare your teeth and growl like a wildebeest guarding its young or did you simply hand them over and roll on your back?

I suppose that seems like a coarse analogy but its truer than we realize. With temptation there is no middle ground. At any given moment we are either actively fighting or willfully surrendering.

For the first time in my life, I asked myself why the food was such a temptation to me. I had two of my favorite snacks and was excited to eat them. I also knew how crappy I would feel if—for instance— I ate Chick Fil A. Was it the colors? The smells? The presentation of the food? Was it the sheer number of choices? Was it the fact that it was lunch time and I was extremely hungry? I mentally checked off all of these as possibilities and then a thought hit me square between the eyes: the airport food court had been specifically designed to ensnare weary travelers.

Professional farmers tell us we are far removed from the harvest to table process. We don’t see the seed go into the ground nor the plant grow. We don’t see the crop shrivel for lack of rain or thrive under perfect conditions. We don’t celebrate a “bumper crop” nor weep when we lose everything. We simply walk into a grocery store and poke at produce with the privileged air of a debutante dismissing ugly suitors. We also infrequently consider how the food we eat affects our bodies. We simply approach the counter, select what looks most appealing, and eat it as quickly as possible.

Our thought process usually runs something like this: eat first; ask questions later. Although we usually skip the second part.

I used to lament my slow metabolism. Why, after all, was I so fat when others ate plenty of junk food and remained slender? My focus was fixed on the injustice of one body type versus another instead of the overall purpose for eating. I never considered food as a source of nourishment for the body. It was simply something one consumed for pleasure or comfort. Worse, my emotions were so tied up in what I ate (it was an erroneous coping mechanism) that I did not want to know what I consumed had the capability to harm or heal me. It’s almost as if I had been primed to be a food addict, and worse—the only advice I received from the culture was that it was my fault because I had no willpower. Sound familiar? I mean, would you even be reading this if you weren’t interested in learning discipline? (Or maybe you’re just a kind friend or family member who is curious about my latest travel exploits.)

(What) to eat or not to eat? That is the question.

It is a question many people don’t like to ask, but it is the question I asked myself while I sat in the terminal. While I contemplated if I could make it to the food court and back before my flight left, the companions of my booted friend approached me with boxes of fried chicken and asked if they could sit down.

Next time… “Are you really going to eat that?”

As soon as I opened the back door, I heard the commotion. The urgent cries from a pair of robins alerted me to what I could only surmise was the imminent danger of their young. I walked under the sycamore tree with my chin in the air–looking for a nest and a predator. I saw the falcon–with the baby clutched in his talons–flying away as the brave robins vainly followed suit. Like an opera singer striving for that perfect note to shatter glass, it was clear their shrill cries would have percussed him to dust if they could. Instead, they returned a few minutes later and continued to wail over their empty nest.

Nature is cruel. For one to eat, one must die. It doesn’t seem so harsh when the robin’s are consuming worms. It is another thing entirely when the helpless babe is snatched from the nest.

People are no less brutal. Propelled by perpetually poisonous political passions, they stoke the fires of their emotions by lobbing charred logs at anyone who happens to disagree with them. Only when exhausted–or simply feeling charitable–will they remind the listener to “remember to vote” as if they were gently swaddling a baby and not sharpening their tongue for the next iteration of venom.

When did we start believing the news medias definition of those who disagree with us rather than the person we know and love? Why do we hold political narratives in our hands like swords ready to draw on loved ones? We bait them into debates and then skewer them with rhetoric. He who is wittier (or the most acerbic) wins! Surrender–or death to the relationship!

I miss the days when I could politely disengage. When I could easily change the subject. When I could discourse (and digress!) about the latest Netflix release. When did it become less dangerous to call someone fat to their face than to profess support for a political party?

I had a panic attack in Aldi this past weekend as I stood in line. I suddenly couldn’t breathe. My heart raced and I began pulling at my face covering. The more people stared at me, the more frantic I became. The lines were long and slow–something unusual for my favorite store. I started to feel dizzy and feared I would pass out, so I pulled the mask away from my face. The cashier glared at me and I blurted out, “I’m having a panic attack! I can’t breathe!”

She said, “I understand. My sister has that problem.”

As if everything was normal. As if I had just said, “It’s too bad you are out of olives.”

I struggled to bag my groceries and get them to my car. Once there I ripped the mask off and jacked up the air conditioning. I sat there for a few minutes trying to collect myself. Once at a reasonable state of calm, I raced home and began to eat my feelings–something I have not done for a very long time.

Then I got sick.

Then I had bad dreams.

I feel like the falcon of bad feelings has stolen my future and there is nothing left to do but lament. I sit near the empty nest of my hopes and dreams and cry. Does anyone hear me? Do they care? Or are they more worried about who is most politically correct?

I watched the robin parents fly back and forth from Sycamore to Oak tree when a curious phenomenon occurred; two small wrens joined them. The male perched on a limb near the robin and began to sing a slow and jaunting melody. It was not cheerful like his morning trills. Instead, he seemed to console the robin parents in their grief. The female wren flicked her tail and flitted around the robins–as if performing a dance. I could not believe what I was seeing. There seemed to be no precedent for such a display. The wrens sang a dirge while the robins mourned.

What a great lot of compassion we have to learn from these simple creatures.