Skating Toward Self Control
When the Holy Spirit controls our lives, he will produce this kind of fruit in us; love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self control. - Galatians 5:22
When the Holy Spirit controls our lives, he will produce this kind of fruit in us; love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self control. - Galatians 5:22
Isn’t it a breeze to do the things we want to do, but a raging battle to accomplish the tasks we dread? Seems the number on the scale is never quite what I want it to be, and the treadmill is always beckoning from the corner of the bedroom. The thing has cobwebs growing from one pedal to the other and the handlebars have an inch of dust on them. At night, I dream I’m pedaling away and sweat is pouring down my neck, only to wake up with the painful realization that I’m having one of those horrid hot flashes, and I swear, the treadmill looks like it’s laughing at me from the shadows of the moonlit bedroom.
Self Control. I really hate those two little words. Particularly when I’m out to dinner and the hot, flaky, sour-dough bread has just been placed before me, wrapped beautifully in a white linen napkin, more tantalizing than a red-bowed Christmas present under the tree. Let’s not even discuss the soft pads of butter served on the side, just waiting to be slathered on that luscious piece of bread. Making you hungry? And that’s a chronic and predictable state for me, always hungry. Everyone has answers for their diet dilemma, and try as I may, the bottom line really comes down to this; you can attempt every diet on the planet but none of them will be successful without the primary ingredient for success. Self Control. Egads. The very sound of those two little words makes me shudder.
I’m really not the sort of woman who likes to fast, though I was raised with the spiritual philosophy that fasting brings you closer to God….the ability to control the body in submission to the spirit, and hopefully in this state of sacrifice, to draw God’s pity and attention to the reason for the fast. After I’ve gone without food for one meal I feel like I’m in a state of starvation. My head hurts, my stomach is doing the rumba and I’m light headed and dizzy. Pathetic to think I can’t go without one meal, isn’t it? It must be psychological, considering factual evidence that children are starving in Africa and other parts of the world most every day. I hardly think they came to that desperate situation by missing one breakfast.
I think the operative word here is control, and the obvious question we must ask ourselves is ‘who is the Captain of this ship?’ I don’t know about you, but I’ve spent plenty of time heading my own directions, making my own choices and sailing down my own rivers, the self-assured skipper of my own dingy. But I’ve found I am the least able to stick with personal choices and after repeated failures, have gladly handed over the helm to the One who is far more able to direct the course of my life and who knows what’s truly best for it.
Why is it I struggle so painfully over the numbers on the scale? I’d really like to throw it out the window and stop peeking through half closed eyes and spread fingers at the ominous number mocking me. My mother was a voluptuous, plump woman who was always struggling with those twenty-five or so unwanted pounds. I think I’m scared to death that I will unwillingly follow in her shoes. I have to admit, I care what people think, and I’m just vain enough to want to fit into my smallest size jeans.
And here I am again, faced with the dilemma of releasing control of my over-bearing, stubborn appetite and my fear of the opinions of others. Though all of this seems simple in comparison to the larger issues of life, it is nevertheless troublesome to a woman who enjoys her food, and loves to eat.
What to do, when the hot, flaky sourdough bread is sweetly calling my name? Weigh the consequences, quite literally. And ask for some Divine type of intervention to help navigate my ship toward a direction better for my health, my body mass, and my self esteem. Seems to me that when we choose to stand with another in our struggle, the load becomes easier to bear and the self-control necessary to achieve the goal falls more readily into place. I think that’s why Jesus said to ‘Cast your cares upon me, because I care for you.’ Right now, I’m caring a little too much for that sour dough bread and need Jesus to direct my ship to the tread mill waiting patiently in the corner of my bedroom. What ever did I do with that dust mop?
