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…my soon to be released diet book…

14 Aug

Several months back, one of my facebook friends posted that she had run 6.2 miles. She then boasted that during her run she had burned 841 calories. My first thought upon considering her statistics, was that I need to write a diet book.

Her post brought to me clarity rarely experienced by the dieting world. Her statistics brought the whole dieting / exercising regimen into sharp focus. It’s time for me to write a book…a diet book that sets free those being held captive in a calorie counting world.

Although I’m an open minded individual, a person who rarely judges the decisions and actions of others, it seems obvious to me that my running friend is wasting her energy. Why in the world would any sensible human being run 6.2 miles just to burn 841 calories?

This is not to say however, that I couldn’t stand to lose 841 calories. In reality I would definitely benefit from losing said number of calories. I would benefit from losing that number of calories every day…for many, many days. But to run 6.2 miles… for a measly 841 calories? Not on your life!

To my way of thinking, I’d be “burnt calories” ahead to simply NOT EAT A BIG MAC every day. You see, a Big Mac claims to be 910 calories. This means that if I refuse to eat a daily Big Mac, during that same time that my friend is running her daily 6.2 miles…I will in some ways, be burning 69 more calories than her.

As I now ponder the words I’ve just written, I think it best draw this article to a close. It makes no sense to give away such wisdom for free. This is a diet book that will sell!!

 
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Posted in New Life

 

Remains #3

03 Aug

…to react or to respond…

Every difficult situation we encounter offers us a choice. We can either react or we can respond. And there’s a world of difference between those two replies. Unfortunately, it is our nature to react…which is a negative reply. It is far better to respond!

Imagine that you’re sick enough to visit the doctor, and the doctor prescribes a particular medication. If the new meds cause you to break out in a rash and spike a fever, you would be “having a reaction” to the medication. (In the medical world there’s no question…a reaction is bad!)

If however, after you begin taking the new meds you notice that your condition is improving, you would be “responding to the medication.” (In the medical world, responding is good!)

And so it is in life. Reacting to a situation is deadly…responding to a situation is life-giving.

When a child brings home a lousy report card, the parent has a choice. The parent can react by saying, “You’re as dumb as your father! You’re grounded for a week.” Or the parent can respond by saying, “It looks like you’re going to need to study better. Let’s set aside time each night when we can work on homework.”

Those of us struggling with addictions must learn to respond rather than to react. When faced with intense situations, our natural instinct to react leads us to drink, or drug, or eat. Yet when facing that same difficult situation, our ability to respond, allows us to consider all aspects of the situation…and to grasp whatever lesson lays waiting to be learned.

 
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…a pool of unshed tears…

25 Jul

Deep within the inner recesses of my soul, resides a place…a private place…a deep, dark, and sometimes dangerous place of unshed tears. This place contains a pool, a holding pond for the tears I failed to shed.

In kindergarten, my friend Eddie sat directly in front of me. He used to turn around and eat my paste…which made me laugh. Mom said that Eddie ate my paste because he mother couldn’t feed him properly. Looking back, I realize that I should have cried for him…but not knowing better…I laughed at him and didn’t shed a tear.

In Junior High School, my friend Phil’s father died. Not knowing what to say to him, I chose to avoid him. I’m sure Phil shed countless tears about his loss…but I didn’t shed a single one. A really good friend would have shed a few tears of empathy.

As the decade of the 60’s wore on, I failed to understand the magnitude of the events that shook our world. I didn’t cry when John Kennedy was assassinated…or Bobby…or Martin Luther King Jr. Their tragic deaths confused and angered me, but I didn’t shed a single tear.

Yes, somewhere in the inner recesses of my soul, resides a pool of unshed tears.

But now that I’m in my 60’s, my eyes begin to mist quite freely. A hurricane hits land, and I cry. Earthquakes destroy nations, tornados eliminate entire cities, a gunman murders innocent youth in Norway…and I cry.

I’m beginning to understand that my tears come so much easier now, not because I’m older, but because I have such a deep reservoir of unshed tears available. Yes…today I cried for the people of Norway…but my tears were also for Eddie, and Phil, and for John and Bobby and Martin. The more I’ve come to understand the world…the more I tap into that pool of previously unshed tears.

 
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…sand boxes…

22 Jul

Stream of consciousness is a strange thing. I was told a story last week about a seemingly homeless man who died with several thousand dollars in his pockets. My mind began to wonder…as it often does, when someone other than myself is talking. I suddenly remembered an elderly old man, with an even older truck, who used to deliver sand every summer for my sandbox.

We all thought the old guy was “dirt poor” but when the he died years later we discovered that he had been quite wealthy…which was a complete shock to everyone who knew him.

Anyway, thinking of the masquerade of wealth, reminded me of that old guy which reminded me of the sand…which reminded me of my childhood sandbox. Our sandbox must have been rather large, since the swing set sat within the confines of the box. All in all it was a pretty nifty contraption: the swing set had a basketball hoop on one end, a slide on the other, and the whole thing sat inside the sandbox.

On really hot days, Mom would let me take the water hose into the sandbox so I could make sand castles…which my brother would quickly destroy. (Please note here that I’m attempting to control my stream of consciousness…lest I begin a tirade about being the second sibling.)

Needless to say, I’ve got good memories of my sandbox. So now, I’m forced to ponder, why didn’t I provide my children with sandboxes of their own? Was I too lazy to build the box, too cheap to purchase the sand…or was I more concerned with raising grass than with raising children?

Why is it that nobody has sandboxes anymore?

 
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Remains #2

18 Jul

…the most hated woman in America…

Casey Anthony was released from jail two days ago. As she left the jail, she needed the protective custody of two law enforcement officers, who thought they needed the protection of the full swat gear they wore.

It seems obvious that Casey Anthony is currently “the most hated woman in America.” Officers say she has received numerous death threats…at least 7 of which they consider to be sincere. Her close relatives have disowned her, and her distant relatives have advised her to get plastic surgery to disguise her appearance. Others have encouraged her to change her name and leave the country.

It really doesn’t matter how I feel about the verdict. It’s unimportant whether I believe the reports and speculations. I’m not even in a position to voice my opinion of our judicial system, though my opinions are quite strong.

But most importantly, I’m not in a position to become judge and jury of any other human being. I too have committed more than my share of damage in this world. Were it not for the grace and forgiveness of God, shown through God’s people, I would not have survived.

I know how it feels to have the mercy of God wash over your soul. And having experienced that rebirth, that cleansing, that open embrace…I could never deny that gift to another.

 
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…the dirt doesn’t care…

15 Jul

For the first time in years, we’ve got some good dirt at our place! We had it delivered…I forget how much, but I know it was several yards more than we really needed. I discovered we’d ordered too much when I set out trying to carry and spread the rich top soil to the top of the hill…where we’d ridiculously decided to plant our garden. Anyway, we’ve got good dirt.

It’s good dirt, but to be honest, it’s rather apathetic. You see, the dirt just doesn’t care.

If I plant zucchini or squash seeds, the dirt will grow zucchini or squash. The dirt really doesn’t care. If I plant poison sumac seeds, the dirt will grow poison sumac. The dirt is like that…it really doesn’t care what seeds I plant.

The land will return whatever is planted, watered and nurtured. If I sow zucchini, I reap zucchini. If I sow sumac, I reap sumac. (This is starting to sound almost Biblical!)

My mind is somewhat like the dirt, and please don’t carry this analogy too far. My mind is somewhat like the dirt, in that it too tends to produce whatever is planted and nurtured. In fact, my mind (and yours) is more incredibly fertile than any available topsoil.

But like the apathetic dirt, our minds don’t care what gets planted. If we plant sadness, fear and anger; then sadness, fear and anger will grow. If we plant joy and forgiveness, joy and forgiveness will grow.

I’m starting to learn how to control my emotions. When the darker, more poisonous moods start to surface…I realize my need to immediately plant some better seeds. I’m trying to remember that “the dirt doesn’t care.”

 
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Remains #1 …a new creation…

09 Jul

Those close to me are well-aware of my many trials and tribulations. They know of my mental, professional, and legal struggles. They know of my addictions and of my path of recovery.

While this blog initially consisted of random thoughts and observations, I’m now adding a new feature that will chronicle the insights and lessons that I continue to stumble upon as I travel the rather steep and sometimes treacherous path of recovery.

This feature will not be a casual glance in the morning mirror…a glance taken only after the image has been showered, shaved and combed. This will be an intense examination of my “remains.”

Remains are the left-over’s, the remnants and the ruins. To the fraud, the remains are the pressure marks left upon the face when the mask has been removed. To the gambler, the remains are the coins left in one’s pocket after the fortune has been spent.
To the funeral director, the remains are the dead body whose spirit has departed.

But to me…my remains are much more! To me, my remains are the person I’ve admitted myself to be…melded into the person God is allowing me to become. To me, my remains are the mosaic that God is creating out of the broken pieces of my life.

 
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…quiet people…

08 Jun

I was approached by a middle-aged business man following a meeting the other day. After introducing himself he rather shyly, almost apologetically said, “I’m uncomfortable talking with quiet people.”

Needless to say, I was taken aback. I suppose that in my younger days, I may have been more loud and boisterous than I am today…but when did I become “quiet?”

Maybe I ceased being loud when I first realized how frequently I was also wrong. Maybe I ceased speaking out when I began to see how deeply a misspoken word can cut into an unprotected and often unsuspecting listener.

You probably know these guidelines for speaking, that I have so slowly come to realize:
1. Only speak if what you’re about to say is 100% true.
2. Only speak if what you’re about to say is kind.
3. Only speak if what you’re about to say must be said by you.

A noted television psychologist, known for making cruel assessments, usually hides behind her calloused philosophy that “the truth hurts.” I find her philosophy insensitive and abhorrent. There is always a way to be honest without being brutal.

I agree with whoever said that we should keep our words “sweet and tender, since we never know when we’ll have to eat them.” Having eaten my own words more often than I care to remember, I have to agree!

 
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…a sigh of relief, not a shout of joy…

18 May

Much has been said in recent weeks about the death of Osama Bin Laden. Naturally, the western world breathed a unanimous sigh of relief…and many Americans took to the streets with victorious shouts of joy and celebration. Since his death, I too have slept a little more soundly at night. But the celebrations seemed somehow inappropriate.

In ancient times, Rabbis Johanan and Eleazar wrestled with how to respond to the death of evil people. Since they doubted that God would rejoice in the downfall of wicked persons, they offered the following mythological story about God’s response to the Hebrews’ escape from the Egyptians in the book of Exodus.

After the Hebrews had escaped and the Egyptians had been drowned, the angels in heaven apparently began to celebrate with singing and dancing. When God questioned the party-like atmosphere, one of the angels explained, “We are celebrating because your children, the Hebrews are free.”

But God rebuked the angels saying, “The work of my hands has been drowned in the sea, and you want to sing songs? How can you celebrate when my children, the Egyptians are dead?”

Their story captures the essence of my emotions at the death of such an evil man as Bin Laden. Yes, I breathe a sigh of relief…but I cannot shout with joy and celebration.

 
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…filling our low spots…

28 Apr

Well the April rains have come to Missouri in a big way! And if April showers bring May flowers, then April downpours bring May floods. We live less than a mile from the Meramec River which seems to flood every spring…and this year is no exception.

Yesterday the Meramec closed the River Road. By this afternoon the river had reached the bottom of our stop sign…and it’s yet to crest.

The Mississippi River is also approaching flood stage, and the Army Corps of Engineers is considering the possibility of breaching the levies in rural areas to protect the more populated cities.

Their logic is simple: If they poke a hole in the levies the water will flow from the river into the lowest lying farm land. Water always flows to the lowest elevation…and fills the lowest spots.

And so it is with God, our Living Water. When we allow our walls to be breached, when we drop our defenses, God flows into our lowest places. Life is difficult for all of us, we all have problems. We have low places, stale and empty spaces that beg to be filled with Living Water.

 
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