I read the other day that, in the age of Facebook, Instagram, and Snapchat, social media venues that have launched a whole new “selfie” industry, our society is breeding more and more narcissists. Wikipedia, that font of all knowledge, tells the story of a young man named Narcissus:
“In Greek mythology, Narcissus (/nɑːrˈsɪsəs/; Greek: Νάρκισσος, Nárkissos) was a hunter from Thespiae in Boeotia who was known for his beauty. He was the son of the river god Cephissus and nymph Liriope.He was proud, in that he disdained those who loved him. Nemesis noticed this behavior and attracted Narcissus to a pool, where he saw his own reflection in the water and fell in love with it, not realizing it was merely an image. Unable to leave the beauty of his reflection, Narcissus lost his will to live. He stared at his reflection until he died. Narcissus is the origin of the term narcissism, a fixation with oneself and one’s physical appearance and/or public perception” (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Narcissus_(mythology)).
Having been a social worker, clinical and otherwise, I can professionally attest that to be diagnosed a narcissist takes a lot – and I mean a lot – more than being obsessed with one’s physical appearance and/or public perception. When I left social work, I gave away my DSM (diagnostic manual), so I won’t go any further than that. But I will say that, as so many others, I do get tired of seeing selfies…
…unless they’re mine. Oh, I have become a selfie queen. When I started losing weight 2 years ago, I discovered that I’m kind of cute! And I really liked seeing my new, thinner self on screen. Since then, I have mastered the art of manipulating light and angle and facial position to successfully camoflage jowls, multiple chins, and wrinkles. The power of retouching is harnessed in a cell phone and is mine for the clicking!
My selfies are GORGEOUS…and they hide so much:
days when makeup is too much work to deal with
moments when my dazzling smile is overwhelmed by stress and tears
30 pounds of weight gain
Yes, I have gained 30 pounds since last September. That’s roughly three pounds a month, and it’s a whole lot easier to put on than to take off.
This ticks me off, because it had been coming off so easily. Already being gluten- and caffeine-free, it seemed I could eat anything as long as I hit my bike and kept up with my walking and yoga.
There’s a big difference between 45 and 47, however; we won’t talk about the hormonal shifts that have commenced in just the last few months. We can talk about being middle-aged and in grad school again, the hours my backside has been stuck to a chair instead of on my bike, the stress of a new position that brought it’s own cortisol-inducing situations, and my growing addiction to SUGAR.
Well. At least it wasn’t 50.
And, my Heavenly Father, with His inimitable tender mercy, crossed my path with another woman whose midlife looked an awful lot like mine. As had her waist. She shared with me what she’d been doing to shed her own midlife baggage, and inspired me to do the same.
My life is, for the most part, an open book, so I’m going to post my Day 1 photos and, every now and again, I’ll share how my journey to optimal health is going. Unlike my myriad of adorable selfies, these photos are raw and uncensored: nothing hidden, nothing retouched – just an honest reflection of the state of this temple, which is now undergoing some serious remodeling and long overdue maintenance.
Here we go – front view:
Aaaaaand side view (just breathe!):
I’m 47 years old. I started my first diet when I was four. I remember the nurse who told my mother to only let me have one piece of toast, rather than two. That was the start of my battle against my body.
The body that God Himself crafted for me, I tried to destroy – fad diets, bulimia, overexercise – I tried it all. And the one time I seemed to be losing weight effortlessly and naturally – two years ago – turned out to be a trauma response. Life isn’t traumatic anymore, so it came right back.
But something has changed in the last two years, the two years I’ve been nestling into the God who loves me and calls me “daughter”: I’ve come to truly love myself.
Which is why I can post my fat pictures. Because even though this temple in which I reside is very unhealthy right now, it is still beautiful because it houses a princess. It has carried me, sheltered me, protected me [I also won’t go into how fat can be quite the protective mechanism]. It has walked and biked and danced and sang. It is worthy of my respect and my love. Not in a narcissistic, obsessive way, but in a let’s-give-you-what-you-need-to-thrive sort of way. It’s time I gave it that respect, that love in return.
If I hadn’t seen my friend’s Facebook post a few weeks ago, about her own amazing journey to health, I would still be stuck. As it is, I have taken my first step on my own amazing journey, surrounded by encouraging and inspiring people who walk with me.
My favorite statement from Kayla’s beautiful blog – and she’s SPOT ON: “Sometimes, I realized, as I stopped dead in my tracks to catch my breath, realizing there was yet another switchback that hinted at us being nowhere near the trailhead–the journey is ugly. “
This blog post came to me precisely around the time the snow pack shifted under my hiking boot and I felt my ankle “crack”.
It wasn’t a break–I knew that right away. But it was uncomfortable enough that the 8 or so miles to go didn’t sound too exciting at that moment.
It was around that time when my cute partner turned around with his hiking poles in hand, his eyes covered by dark glasses to keep away the glare from the white–and he said genuinely, “Babe, do we need to turn back?”
No, was my response of course–as I winced, adjusted my hiking boot, and continued onward. I’m stubborn like that–and he knows it.
It was the very last hike of our weekend and I wasn’t about to let it slow me down. He had planned the perfect anniversary weekend. We stayed in a train car that was…
Today is Good Shepherd Sunday! And what is Good Shepherd Sunday? Well, from that fount of all contemporary knowledge (no, you weren’t mistaken, that was sarcastic), Wikipedia, here is a fairly accurate definition:
In the Episcopal, and many other “liturgical” churches, the Scripture lessons are predetermined by the lectionary, or the established schedule of Scripture readings over the course of three years. Apparently, it’s set up so that, if you follow it daily, you will read the Old and New Testaments (additional, alternative Scriptures not included, although on occasion they do sneak in some of the Apocrypha) over the course of three years. There’s an Old Testament reading, a Psalm or other poetry/wisdom passage, a selection from one of the Epistles, and, last but certainly not least, a reading from the Gospels – Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John. The one that gets the most attention, with lots of pomp and procession as THE BOOK is carried into the midst of the congregation who are all standing in reverence, of course, is the Gospel reading. The one that gets the least attention and is even sometimes skipped, is the Psalm. But it’s the Psalm that got my attention today, because it’s what’s been getting my attention all week. Fitting, I suppose.
On Good Shepherd Sunday, what do you think a suitable psalm would be? It’s kind of a no-brainer: “The Lord is my shepherd” immediately comes to mind, and you’re right. Today’s Psalm, dutifully read in responsive fashion, was Psalm 23.
I have warm, fond memories of Psalm 23, hearkening back to my nearly-faded-from-memory toddler years. Psalm 23 was very important to me, because, in Sunday School, if we could memorize and recite 50 scripture verses, we would win our VERY OWN New Testament. Not that my home didn’t have shelves upon shelves full of Bibles, but this New Testament spoke to me, called my name: “Han-nah, you want me!”. It had a little girl and boy with Jesus on the cover and by golly, I was gonna get it.
And I did. I memorized 50 scripture verses, straight from the hallowed pages of the AUTHORIZED King James Version. (On a completely unrelated side note, I didn’t deviate from that narrow path until I was 18, when I gave in and went New International. I have since returned to my King James home. I once had a sweet Baptist friend who called the NIV the “Nearly Inspired Version”…my apologies to those of you love it…really. Whatever floats your boat.) Those 50 verses included the standard John 3:16, “For God so loved the world that he gave His only begotten Son, that whosever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” It included Romans 3:23, “For all have sinned, and have fallen short of the glory of God”, as well as the rest of that evangelical super-highway, “The Romans Road” (Billy Graham, eat your heart out). I don’t know what else it included, except for this: Psalm 23.
“The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want.” I could recite it, but I couldn’t quite understand it. To my little 3-year old brain (and this 3-year old knew exactly who Jesus was), it didn’t make any sense that I should not want the Shepherd. That’s what I heard every time I repeated it: “The Lord is my Shepherd I shall not want.” Of course I wanted the Shepherd! Who wouldn’t want the Shepherd, what with all the green pastures and still waters and tables placed and oil running over and dwelling in the house of the Lord forever! Who wouldn’t want that?
Nonetheless, 50 scripture verses later, I got that New Testament.
I loved it well. I made sure I would always remember why I got it,
practiced writing my name in it, and, as any 3-year old girl would, promptly fell in love with the handsome shepherd boy depicted there.
But it it took me a long time to really understand what Psalm 23 meant. I certainly missed what I now know really is the message of that Psalm…by the time I could really read the Living paraphrase of that psalm on the back cover, I’d moved on to my first King James Bible, an 8th-birthday present; it was white bonded leather with GOLD LETTERING ON THE COVER and a ZIPPER! I don’t have that white Bible any more; somehow part of the Noah and the Ark story went missing and I stopped using it, but I still have this very loved and worn Living New Testament; it’s been with me for just over 44 years now and sits in my living room with my collection of Bibles in multiple translations. When I look at it, I feel immense gratitude for being taught to love the Savior at such a young age.
And, those same 44 years later, I am reminded that, still, I sometimes don’t know what that Psalm really means. Life gets hard. As we follow Jesus Christ, we often forget that He warned us, basically, “If you follow me, you’ll get what I got. It ain’t a rose garden; in fact, it’s usually more thorns than roses on any given day.” We like to skip to exaltation and glory without putting in our slow-going, right choosing, intentionally-placed-there, seemingly unending wilderness time, much like my piano students want to skip to being awesome without putting in the requisite thousands of hours of slow, correct, intentional, and seemingly unending practice. And we whine, and pray for deliverance, and wonder just when the wilderness will end.
Some people desert the Shepherd in the middle of the wilderness: “The Lord is my Shepherd I shall not want [anymore]”. It reminds me of the account given by John, in his gospel. John 6 has Jesus feeding the 5,000 off of a few tuna sandwiches – now we’re talking green pastures! The crowds followed Him willingly. But when tuna sandwiches turned into the idea of true loyalty to Jesus Christ (who was starting to suggest that He, Himself, was the Messiah), and the difficulty that following Him often entails, the change of heart and mind and walking away from what we think we know and understand…well then, we have 6:68: “From that time many of his disciples went back, and walked no more with him.” When the green pastures turn into rocky cliffs, many turn back. “We remember the fish, which we did eat in Egypt freely; the cucumbers, and the melons, and the leeks, and the onions, and the garlick: but now our soul is dried away: there is nothing at all, beside this manna, before our eyes” (Numbers 11:5-6).
(Another side note: how many remember Keith Green? Can’t continue without leaving this; he really nails it.)
As I was considering my own personal wilderness (and we each have our own, tailor-made, in fact), which happened to coincide with a mindless browse through my Facebook news feed post, this popped up. I’m sure it was just a coincidence…(yes, more sarcasm). Take five minutes out of your life and watch it; it’s really good:
Belly deep alfalfa. I love how Mr. vander Laan depicts our understanding of “green pastures”, and how he shows, so clearly, what this psalm is talking about. The Living paraphrase nails it: “The Lord is my Shepherd; I have everything I need.” How would my life have been different if, at the age of three, I had absorbed that, instead of the images of belly deep alfalfa in my spiritual life? And for sheep in Israel, there is never belly deep alfalfa, only the sparsely scattered tufts of grass, just enough for them to keep going.
Mary Poppins is another fount of all wisdom…probably more reliable than Wikipedia! In that scene where she’s giving the kids some cough syrup (that magically tastes like their favorite treats, which are different from person to person…wonder if she went to Hogwarts?), Michael starts begging for more, to which she replies:
My dad used to, at holiday gatherings (usually at my mom’s folks’ house with her family), stand up and, in his booming New York accented voice, declare, “Thou hast prepared a table before me in the presence of mine enemies.” Yes, there’s a double entendre there…but he generally meant that he was grateful for the immense amount of food he was about to pack into his belly (which was sizable). As disciples of Christ, we so often are deluded to think that God’s provision – materially or spiritually – means that we will never want for anything, that said table prepared for us in the presence of our enemies means that we are feasting as gluttons while they starve.
But that’s not what scripture says. It says that, as we follow the Shepherd, who leads us into those green pastures (which look an awful lot like rocky wildernesses!), we will have everything we need. If we don’t have it, we obviously don’t need it but, like children, we often think that we need many things we don’t. Nonetheless, our Shepherd, our Savior, knows exactly what we need, and He delivers all our needs right when we need them the most, just enough to get us over that next rise, where our next need will be fulfilled. And He does this, truly, to the amazement and often conversion of onlookers, and He does this to bring glory to His, and our, Heavenly Father, as He brings many, many children of God to glory.
It really reframed how I look at what has been a very long journey, or what I think has been a long journey, through the wilderness. But, in the distance, I can smell the water, I can see a slightly more abundant patch of grass. We’ll get there. He won’t leave me, and I truly do, and will, have all that I need, in this life, and in the next.
Because the Lord is my shepherd, I have everything I need…Your goodness and failing kindness shall be with me all of my life, and afterwards I will live with You forever in Your home. (Psalm 23:1,6 – The Living Bible)
I grew up in the ’70s and ’80s, right about the time that hippie-style “Jesus Folk” music was becoming a staple in *gulp* dare I say it? – stodgy – mainline, evangelical churches. Hymnals were being replaced by songsheets and the occasional overhead projection; organs, pianos, and, in our case, brass bands were being supplemented (not replaced) by guitars; and defined song selections gave way to pick-your-favorite sing-a-longs (this was, you realize, years before “seeker-sensitive” and super-tech-savvy productions happened; we still hadn’t become production-oriented).
At the time, it was all very hip and wonderful. Now, though, as a solidly middle-aged person who has run the church gamut multiple times, I tend to gravitate toward the grander hymns of the faith and have to admit, nothing stirs my soul like a well-played organ (especially if that organ is playing Kingsfold or something else by Ralph Vaughn Williams). Nonetheless, there are some of those “pick-your-favorite” sing-a-long songs that, on occasion, really stir my soul. Here’s one of them:
Today was just such a day. Started yesterday, actually. Maybe it’s the “late-winter-bucket-of-suck” time of year, maybe it’s the grad school schedule I’m pulling on top of full-time-plus work, maybe it’s the 20 pounds I’ve packed on since September, maybe it’s all of those things. Whatever it is, I’m tired. So, so very tired. Waiting for this particular season (meteorological, professional, spiritual, personal…again, whatever…) to pass and for spring to bloom in my heart and mind and soul and, for Pete’s sake, in my yard! Right before I went to sleep, as I was getting in my read-through-the-Bible-in-a-year chapters (5 on a good day, 15 on a catch-up day; that was last night), this is what popped up on my phone:
Timely, right? Nonetheless, I cried myself to sleep, praying, “Hasten the day, Father…please, hasten the day.”
Now, if you’ve read my previous posts, you’ll remember that, on occasion, I’ve been known to treat Facebook posts like fortune cookies. Sometimes, it’s amusing; other times, it’s absolutely uncanny. This morning has been uncanny. First, while I was slapping on my pretty-for-the-public face:
Just like a 19th-century preacher to slap me in the face. They were good at that, you know. (Smith Wigglesworth smacked a corpse – well, kind of threw it against a wall – it got up and went home. True story.) But let’s not leave it to revivalists; here’s what came from, for cryin’ out loud, Toby Mac:
My season of waiting. Waiting for spring – new life, new purpose, new vision, new hope – to burst through the cold, unyielding, frozen ground of winter. But winter is when all that life gathers energy to explode at just the right time. And while I wait, I must remember that the Lord Himself is renewing my strength…not to run forward, but to wait. The mounting up, and the running, and the walking all come after the waiting.
When I was in the 4th and 5th grades, I attended a little Christian school where we had chapel every morning. One of the “pick-your-favorite sing-a-long” songs we sang frequently was a musical setting of Isaiah 40:31. The emphasis wasn’t on mounting up, or running, or walking. Look at the lyric structure and notice how it begins and ends:
They that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength:
They shall mount up with wings as eagles,
They shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.
Teach me Lord, teach me Lord, to wait.
The emphasis is on not the forward or upward or explosive motion, it’s on the waiting. In waiting on God is our strength renewed. And in remembering this, I feel my strength and resolve and joy being renewed. It’s like Proverbs 15:23 says so beautifully: “A man hath joy by the answers of his mouth: and a word spoken in due season, how good it is!”
God’s word to me today – word spoken in due season – is truly good, and His mercies, so tender and compassionate and tailor-made for me, are new every morning! Great is His faithfulness!
It’s 4:38 am as I write this, yet another post in a long line of multiple blogs. My last blog went the way of my hacked and stolen email account, and even WordPress, God bless them, can’t retrieve it for me. But as I sit here at 4:39 am, thinking about the many times I’ve started blogging because it’s true! I love to share my life with others, with whomever can derive pleasure, joy, or blessing from my journey, I am forced to ask myself, Really? What do you really have to offer? What makes your story so interesting that you just have to write about it at 4:41 am?
Not that my journey will be adequately reflected in a blog post, or even a series of them, but, at now 47 years old, here’s what I finally determined I have to offer the world, here’s my testimony, my “as God is my witness” statement:
Chesed is a word I learned in seminary, what seems like multiple lifetimes ago. Chesed is a beautiful Hebrew word meaning “lovingkindness” or, as the title of this blog indicates, tender mercy. In the Old Testament, chesed is used to describe how God relates to His people, people who ran the gamut from noble and praiseworthy to deceitful and shameful. No matter what the state of the people, God always dealt with them as a kind, loving, nurturing parent, always acting in their best interest and with compassion at the root of even what looked like harsh discipline.
Looking over my life, I see the same thing: chesed. Every step I have taken, even those markedly outside of my understanding of God’s plan, has been flanked by God’s tender mercy, leading me, ultimately, closer to Him.
I have a sweet friend who has encouraged me, perhaps unknowingly, to keep my eyes open and watch for God’s tender mercy in my life each day. Whether it’s a Facebook post, an act of kindness, a surprise blessing…what it is matters less than the fact that I am now being more mindful of God’s intentional interaction with me, every day. My hope is that, by sharing the tender mercy of God in my life, you will realize His tender mercy in yours, as well.