Yesterday was a day of victory...of triumph...of gloating over everyone else in my life who can't even get out of bed at 5:00 am, much less pound out a mile. (I know, I've only run a mile once, and already I'm copping an attitude about it. But I think I've earned my attitude...and my very stiff legs.) I was literally floating on air most of the day, so proud of myself. Catching the reflection of collar bones in the mirror (part of my definition of personal beauty is having a nice neck/shoulder/upper chest; makes for nicer V-necks, you know) certainly contributed to my feelings of self-confidence and achievement, of finally winning something in the ongoing battle of the bulge.
Don't the Proverbs tell us that pride goes before a fall? Yes, pride in my newfound discipline and exhilaration in exercise and healthy living took me down the flower-strewn path that led to my downfall: THE SCALE.
Why I had to go and weigh myself I'll never know. 20 years ago I was struggling, not so much to beat the bulge, but to beat a deadlier enemy: bulimia. After years of work, I finally was able to divorce my toxic marriage to the bathroom scale (and toilet, for that matter), and find healthier, more accurate measurements of my fitness and overall health. My clothes are getting too big, my pulse is low (64, not too much higher than a real athlete!), my blood pressure and blood sugar are normal, my cholesterol is just fine...but I had to step on the blasted scale.
It's a very nice scale, mind you. It has the little knobs you scoot around - a regular doctor's scale. Not like the cheap piece of junk I just got rid of (a local preschool sold it for $3.00 at their rummage sale). Certainly, this scale would reflect all the hard work I've put into myself the last little while. It had been 3 weeks since I last weighed...with the clothing that I'm suddenly swimming in, I thought, 7, 8 pounds, at least. I was so excited, so anticipating glorious triumph...
...TWO POUNDS. TWO MEASLY LITTLE FREAKING POUNDS.
Even with all my fitness and nutrition knowledge - muscle weighs more than fat, when you get fit, your body reshapes itself before it drops the fat, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah - something about seeing only a two pound change ruined my whole day. Not only that, but I had a doctor's appointment this afternoon, and their ridiculous scale weighed me 3 pounds heavier than the other one! I just couldn't win. I have been beset and tormented with the fact that all my best efforts have not equalled what I thought they should: more numbers down on a steel and spring contraption.
Have you ever wondered why, as you walk with God, it seems that all your best efforts don't make a flying fig newton's bit of difference? If I've learned one thing, it's that our best efforts aren't supposed to produce anything. God's grace in our lives produce our best efforts. The fact that I enjoy studying Scripture is a gift of grace, a product of God working in my life, not the other way around. My love of worship is a sign that God is at work in my life; it's not my worship that woos Him to me. My growing love of humanity - all humanity - is proof positive that, because of His grace, I am becoming transformed into the likeness of Christ. Whether I'm conscious of it or not, the Holy Spirit is doing His work and I am being changed.
So, tomorrow is a new day. A new day to remember that, even though the scale is a stubborn bit of man made technology, one that refuses to cooperate with my physical best efforts, I have proof positive that, regardless of numbers on said scale, I am being changed. Heck, my new jeans (a size smaller than the last pair) are too big! I have more energy than I've ever had before! I can run a mile! All these things show that the process of nature is indeed happening as it should. And it's a new day to remember that, even if I lose my temper or resent my husband (because I just know he made that cake to torment and tempt me!) or forget to pray or study (who, me? Yes, me...), God's grace is at work in me and yes, I am being changed.
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