"I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not
do, but what I hate I do." (Romans 7:15)
It took me months to lose eight pounds, but only a few days to gain back two. I am without excuse. I have always loved to eat, and much as I hate to admit it, food has become an idol in my life. I run to it for comfort, when I am faced with a task I would rather put off, and in many other instances that have nothing to do with physical hunger. Much as I desire to put an end to this pattern, my short sucesses seem always to end in major falls. For instance, the chicken skin incident.
Motivated by a strong desire to be able to fit into my jeans once again, and by threats from the doc to put me on medication if I didn't do something drastic to lower my cholesterol, I started Weight Watchers. I also started a Bible study on transfering my focus from food to God. Not a diet per se, but rather an adventure in eating the way God intended for me to eat that would set me free from the stronghold food had gained in my life.
For three months I did pretty well--almost four months, actually--but then I started getting cocky. Far from my mind was the warning that pride comes before a fall, and as the day for my bloodwork drew near, Harris Teeter announced a special sale on rotisserie chickens. Three dollars off--and only one to a customer. Now that was a sale too good to pass by.
I hadn't had a rotisserie chicken in months, and visions of one turning slowly on the spit started to invade my mind. I could see the skin--my favorite part--turning golden brown. I could almost smell and taste it too. Where in the beginning I had found many excuses to try and delay revisiting the doc, now it couldn't happen soon enough.
The day of my appointment, I was like an addict craving a fix. I rushed straight from the doctor's office to Harris Teeter and bought myself a freshly rotisseried chicken, still pipng hot. Then another mad rush home and into my kitchen, where I couldn't get the skin off that bird and into my mouth fast enough.
After that, my conscience must have gotten seared or something, because the next couple of days remain a blur of delicacies downed without so much as an iota of remorse. Only when I stepped on the scale and saw the numbers creeping up again was I finally shocked to my senses. What had I been thinking?
Frustrated and annoyed at allowing temptation to gain the upper hand once again, I picked myself up and pushed my restart button, and in that instant I was overcome by floods of gratitude towards a loving God who is merciful and longsuffering, who never gives up on me--even when I feel like giving up on myself--and who gently reminds me that I may not be where I want to be, but I'm not where I was either.