It calls to me, without relent. It taunts me from afar, on my plate, and later on my body. I have told myself that it’s okay to eat the way I eat and the amount that I eat because I exercise. But throughout seasons of inadequate exercise, I’ve had to find a new excuse. So, I told myself that it was okay because I have a fast metabolism. But without exercise and with the passing years, I find my excuse once again faulted. I’ve also used celebration, sadness, stress, and boredom as my meager excuses, each leaving me prey to guilt and shame.

I have turned to excuses instead of solutions to manage my relationship with food, but it’s starting to  wear on me – physically, emotionally, mentally…and as I’m coming to realize, spiritually.

First of all, you must understand that you can struggle with food whether you’re skinny, of healthy weight, or obese. I know I’ve said this before, but it bears repeating. Technically, I wear the same pant size that I have been wearing since I was in high school (although there are a few pairs  that are now too snug for comfort!). It doesn’t matter. What I know about my relationship with food is measured by the way my body feels, the energy I have (or don’t have), and the tightness of my clothes. It is not, for me, measured by weight.

This might be contradictory to what we see on TV, but I’ll be the first to say that my transition from college to now has seen me at 137 lbs to 142 down to 132 and from there up to 150, now trying to find solace around 142 once more. Those are real weights. My weight. You see, my weight does not bother me. In fact, when I was the most fit in college, I weighed more than I weigh now.

That’s the trick of muscle vs. fat.

But I know when I’m not being healthy. And it isn’t just the fast food bags that I leave in my car out of fear of visual confession. That’s another story. I don’t even LIKE fast food! What am I doing? It’s not just the bag of workout gear that’s been sitting, untouched, in my car for the past several months. It’s not just anything. It’s a combination of things, all of which point to one sorry excuse: Lack of willpower. No, not willpower. Because willpower has become this thing that we joke about. “I just don’t have it!” we cry! And somehow that’s become an acceptable excuse among our friends, laughable even.

What I lack: Determination. Commitment. Hard work. My real issue with food is that I am always looking for an excuse. I love food. I hate food. Either way, I find myself eating when I’m full or eating things I instantly regret. It’s a problem that I’ve had, maybe secretly, since at least 5th grade. And it’s left me sluggish, and upset, and full of shame and defensiveness.

I don’t believe in diets.

I don’t like people telling me what I can and cannot eat.

I’ve been carefully stepping on a slippery slope, always telling myself that I can still get back to my healthy lifestyle when I make the decision to do so. All the while, I’m absolutely aware that life happens. Excuses happen. And I could very well find myself years down the road cursing the fact that I didn’t start now.

I picked up a book the other day. Every once in a while, I get a book or magazine about healthy eating or lifestyles to make me feel healthy. It’s pathetic, I know. (I had a habit of reciting Bob Greene’s The Best Life Diet for some time, but it’s now been replaced). This book, Made To Crave, is different.

Made To Crave by Lysa Terkeurst is a spiritual approach to a healthy lifestyle. In it, Lysa examines our draw to food from a biblical standpoint. She embraces that we are made to crave but encourages us to use our cravings as they were intended, to honor God. She challenges herself and her readers to see their unhealthy food cravings as roadblocks to our true purpose to crave a close relationship with God.

I know it might seem far fetched to non-believers, but I really don’t have the determination/commitment/hard work to do this on my own. I think Lysa is onto something. In fact, I think that she might have tapped into the most important diet secret of all…

Anyway, I’ll let you know how my spiritual life improves as I join her on this journey. Hopefully, it will come with a report of renewed energy too!

I roll over in an attempt to ignore my alarm clock and realize that sometime between going to bed and waking up, I’ve been joined by my handsome husband. The thought of leaving him so soon on one of our mutually free mornings seems cruel.

He gently reminds me to get up and I finally come around. No time to shower. Start the coffee and grab a bowl of cereal. Who knows how long this day could be.

I borrow the Jeep for traction and head off. When I arrive, I’m not surprised to see that I’m the last one in.

Five hours sneak past me and I look up to find myself no longer surrounded by a team, but rather I am with only one other woman who has stuck out the day with me. I tell her to pack up and head home. I need a break and I’ll come back to finish.

One hour is all I can afford to see my husband before he goes to work for the evening. I plan to shower him with attention but by the time I walk in, my stomach is growling. I need lunch.

He makes me a lunch and patiently listens to my exhausted babble before sending me back to work to finish out my day. I hate to leave again but I go, knowing I have less than two hours to meet my deadline to ship; FedEx should have later pick-ups on Saturdays.

I get to work and the door doesn’t open. Locked as locked can be. I pull out my extra set of keys to trigger the unlock and remember I took the pass off during the week. It’s on my main set now so I can have them when I need them. But I took the Jeep today. A week too late.

A phone call and a few minutes later, Fred pulls up and hands off my keys, giving me a small pep talk before zooming off to work. I truly love that man.

Race the clock. One hour down. After losing so much time with my key debacle, I now have to cut my losses. I pack up the Jeep and head off to FedEx to make the 4pm delivery. On the way, I call Fred for reinforcement. He tells me to back and finish the job. Whether FedEx delivers or not, I’ll have done my part.

I know he’s right so I head back to work for the third time today. I let myself in and this time, I turn on the radio. Black Keys. I get into a rhythm and start to feel a little rush of energy now that my deadline’s blown. I go over the paperwork for the shipment carefully and, once convinced that I have everything in order, I head back to FedEx.

The woman smiles when she sees me. “You again?” she asks.

“Last one of the day.” I reply and turn to leave.

“Just in time.” she says. “They haven’t come yet.”

…

I, forty-five minutes past pick-up, make the deadline. The rush of relief is tangible – formed into tiny droplets that well-up under my eyes.

I hastily exit with a smile and tears on my face and take a deep breath of the cold air outside.

God is ever-present in our lives.

I don’t know how people can go through life denying His hand… He is there.

My heart is humbled and joyed on my ride home and my head is full of thankful prayers. It might seem simple, but it is the simple things that make up our days.

I turn into our apartment complex and see “reverse” lights coming toward me. She’ll see me. I’m driving a big, red Jeep. She has to see me.

I reach for the horn to tap a warning but the horn hasn’t worked in over a year. It’s not my car and I’ve wasted precious reaction time.

CRUNCH.

I look down my driver’s side window and see a hood dented up toward me. The driver drives back into her parking spot and I park on the opposite side. I open the door, expecting the worst.

The door swings freely and I shut it with no extra force. I look at the door. Then I look at the front. Then the back. Then I rub my hand along the side. I crouch down and look at different angles.

That car did hit my driver’s side, didn’t it?

I replay the collision in my head and I’m certain she back up into my driver’s side door.

At this time, she walks over. She’s young. She seems apologetic and admits that she didn’t see me. I continue to look at the car and ask her how she is. She was doing fine until now but I tell her my day had started poorly and that unexpected things happened to make it better.

“It’s weird.” I tell her. “I don’t see any damage on my car. I think this is another one of those good things.”

By this time, her mother has come out to join us. She asks what happens and her daughter explains the situation. Now all three of us are looking at the car. After some disbelief and relief, an offer to come over if I see anything later, and well-wishes, we part ways.

This is strange. Strange, but good. Strange because it is unexpected. And certainly from God. I am not deserving, but He loves me. And it won’t happen to me often (though it might), but He wants me to feel His love in my life.

I am loved.

I started my day with stress, regret, and guilt. After blowing my deadline, I started to struggle with the choice between husband and work while conflicted that the deadline wasn’t entirely my own to begin with.

I believe that God used the snow’s delay at FedEx to let me know that He values my relationship with my husband. To remind me that I am a hard worker and that I should find some peace in that, even if I miss a deadline. I believe that a car collision without damage or harm is a definite warning that the horn needs to be looked after – that God gives us the tools to be safe and that we need to empower ourselves to use them. I also believe it will be a warning for the young woman who backed into me – a “painless” lesson in the importance of staying alert.

I believe that today has been a very loud message from God to say nothing more than: “I am here. You are looked after.”

And that says it all.

Today, I got my new sewing machine out of the box (Thank you, hubby!). I went to the store to buy Christmas surprises for my brother-in-law / hunter (I know nothing about hunting). I got some outdoors-men ideas from my coworkers and a few more from the man behind the bow counter at Gander Mountain (he was awesomely helpful). I then made a quick stop at Joann Fabrics to pick up material and ribbon and swung by Field’s Fabrics right before heading home to pick up a package of pins.

I know next to nothing about sewing.

I asked a customer at Joann’s if she could tell me whether or not you buy the small thread roll… You know, the little one with the same color thread as the big thread but it’s small? She laughed when I told her that my sewing machine was still in the box and kindly explained the bobbin for me.

Amateur or not, I was inspired to craft a hunter’s stocking with no Pinterest-fed instructions or patterns. I make my own rules.

Let me stop to tell you that sewing is not quite as easy at it looks. I picked a very simple shape, but I probably scrapped half a roll of thread before I figured out all of my mistakes. But I DID figure out my mistakes.

Let me also tell you that I realized after I had finished the naked stocking that there was a much easier way to sew on the top. That would have meant tearing out seams however, which I was unwilling to do.

Several phone calls to my mother later and we have the finished product:

I am posting this for no other reason than to gloat about my success (And that dumb face I’m making actually is  the face of success. I didn’t make the call on that one; I just honor it). Pinterest didn’t teach me this (Lies. It DID teach me the bow but, let’s be real, the stocking is way cooler!). I taught me this. And I feel awesome.

Stocked and stuffed with hand and feet warmers, arrow lights, a drag rag, and deer pee. If this doesn’t rock your camo socks, I don’t know what will!

Side-note: Written 12/20/11 but kept UNDER WRAPS until after the Christmas gift exchange. I am so freakin’ excited!

In 90 minutes, I’m defeated. I have crap and scrap up to my ears and I’m tripping over tangible failure.

It started with a casserole. And my first time using corn starch.

Corn starch is terrifying. I don’t know what it really is, but it sank to the bottom of my pan and sat, jelly-like, until I scraped it up. It balled up and separated into clumps while I called my husband and cried that I had ruined everything I had slaved over. He was on his way home, so I just stood waiting, panicking and stirring in front of the stove. Apparently corn starch requires adrenaline and tears to activate because after a few minutes, it loosened up and all but disappeared. Alien ingredient. I don’t like it one bit.

My second venture through Pinterest pages led me to an ornament wreath. A wire hanger? Not suitable for clothing but, by the looks of it, perfect for DIY wreaths! I picked out bunches of ornaments and heated up my hot glue gun. I wanted it to lay  flat on a door, so I sectioned it off and glued the sections together to hold form.

Little by little, I built up the wreath. I lifted it to check that it wouldn’t turn. Good to go. I finally reached the very top with ornaments and realized that I still need to make the ends of the hanger into clasps. Carefully, I twisted the wire.

Carefully, sure, but it’s still wire and that wire is temperamental! I twisted and twisted and grunted and let out a scream as the ornaments shifted and popped free of their glued places. Shattered ornaments slid down and around to the back. I tried several times to piece them back together but a wreath once broken can never be repaired. In the end, I gave up. I wrapped the last of my green wedding tulle around the top and threw it on the door. Who needs a full wreath anyway?

After the wreath, I decided I didn’t need to pay for a bow to tie around my next craft. So I bought gold, wired ribbon and went about fashioning my own. Pinterest supplied the blueprint, but I learned too late in the game that both sides must be the same in order to achieve the desired look. Otherwise, you must twist it each time you come to center to maintain the same look around the bow. It’s a hassle. And it makes it harder to get an even bow. Which I now know.

Feeling inspired by some saved mishaps, I went back to food. Pinterest led me to Nutella cookies. I love Nutella. And I love cookies. This had to be a no-brainer.

There were only three other ingredients; I thought this would mean success but four-ingredient cookies are chalky. And they burn. Or turn into cement. I’m not sure why. Just take my word for it.

The point is, Pinterest tricks me into thinking I’m something I’m not. I get so excited only to realize that I’ve missed a step, or don’t have the touch, or didn’t think the project through. But that’s not the worst part. The worst part is: I keep going back to it.

Pinterest leads me to believe I can make those things or bake those things or create those things. It makes them look easy. Easy enough for me.

Damn you, Pinterest.

• Leaving food in the fridge longer than it needed to be left in the fridge out of sheer laziness.
• This one backfired on me more than once. So you know, a carrot, left unattended, changes from solid to liquid. I’m not proud.
• Going a day…or two…or three without showering.
• A baseball cap is a magical accessory; of this, I am sure.
• Collapsing into bed fully clothed, and fully sober, because I didn’t want to experience those few seconds of cold while putting on my pajamas.
• Living room dance parties. Alone. With the lights dimmed so neighbors wouldn’t see my shadow as I tried to learn the moves to “Run the World” by Beyoncé.
• Consuming a full pizza from Jets by myself and immediately disposing the evidence in the dumpster so I didn’t have to face my guilt the next day.
• Laundry. Up to my ears.
• Here’s a word of advice: If you’re looking at an apartment without a laundry room inside, stop.
• Uncontrollable sobbing in response to the latest Grey’s Anatomy episode that lasted well beyond the end of the show.
• Hours out of my day spent in my towel.
• If you haven’t done this, you probably have a roommate. It’s advisable. But typically ends with an unplanned nap. I’m not sure why.
• Beauty regimen…with the bathroom door open!

Anyway, it’s a short list but these are some of the things that I’ve shamefully enjoyed while living on my own.

Being married is like having a roommate…only that roommate isn’t across the hall while you shorten your hours of towel-wear into the 15 minutes just after your shower. (Oh, no. There’s no chance of that. He’s in the room with you!)

So you get out of the shower and you get dressed.

You may skip your morning shower but you’ll hurry to get in the shower when you return so you’re clean before he comes home from work.

You do not eat an entire pizza. Period. Because that’s never sexy.

You limit your Grey’s Anatomy tears to certain points in the show and pretend that you’re not devastated over Meredith and Derrick’s loss of their baby (she’s their baby!).

Long story short, there aren’t secrets here. My bad habits pile up like unattended laundry. They rack up like hours spent on Facebook when I’m not being watched (if I remember them correctly).

I’m exposed. Unhidden.

And part of me wishes to harbor my secret consumption of Sun Chips alone for dinner so badly that it’s almost comical. Like Gollum with his precious…and those of you who know my deep, deep-rooted fear of the Lord of the Rings character now realize how desperately I wish to keep my bad habits hidden!

…

You know what’s funny about marriage though?

He’s already caught me red-handed more than once. He might tease me or squeeze me when he sees just how bad I can be, but he loves me just the same.

It’s great, preparing to marry your companion. It’s exciting and fun and joyful. It doesn’t feel strange either. Looking up marriage license information doesn’t seem strange to me at all. Nor does calling to confirm appointments or putting on my wedding dress at the fitting. It’s not strange to pick up our keys to our new place. These things just aren’t strange to me!

But for whatever reason, today when I put a stop notice on my gas utility service for October 24, it flipped my stomach.

No more favorite little apartment.

No more coming home to my own space.

I will never go home to something that is just mine ever again.

Don’t get me wrong! Every night I come home to my little apartment now, I wish Freddy would come too. That’s why it is strange that I feel this ping that I’m leaving something behind. A heart tug over utilities?!?!?

I went to a church service once about change. (Well, to be fair, I’ve heard many sermons about change…but this one sticks out in my head.) I’m certain I’ve mentioned it before, but the idea behind it was that change is difficult for us. End of story. Be it bad, good, or great change – we must go through a season of mourning for whatever we leave behind in change.

So here I am, mourning my little apartment while at the same time decorating our new apartment in my mind, filling it with pictures and laughter and Freddy’s guitar playing and piano.

The whole thing is just an unexpected reminder that we, as people, struggle with change even when we yearn for it.

It’s a good lesson to come across with such a happy heart. Remind me of this later in life. I’m certain that I will need it!

Yes, I realize that statement might leave you wondering exactly what qualifies me for such a series at 24 years-old. However, if you are sitting at your desk wondering that same thought, I have already considered your doubt and would, therefore, like to state my credentials for you now:

This very year, I found my first gray white hair.

It’s true.

Well, to be completely honest, I never really did find it. Rather it was brought to my attention amid cheers, clapping and glee as my fiance’s eyes grew very large (a particular feat, as they are already quite large). He let out an excited gasp, which was followed immediately by a sharp tug felt on the top of my head.

“Look!” he exclaimed as he brought down a single strand of colorless hair.

Oh, how I wished it would slip from his fingers as he moved his arm downward, but his grasp seemed strengthened with maddening joy.

I took it between my fingers to examine the foreign strand and I admit, I felt a sickening twinge of betrayal deep within my gut. My own body had already begun to turn against me after only 24 years of living. How awful. It wasn’t just the hair either. Those fine lines that I had earlier blamed on an overabundance of makeup began to morph into a permanent fixture in my eyes.

And perhaps it was that day that I finally raised a flag to aging: White…the color of surrender.

I’m sorry I ever stopped eating you. I promise I won’t make that mistake again.

Forever yours,

Meg

• Clean dishes
• Weekends with Freddy
• Check marks on my wedding to-do list
• Sunshine
• Family
• Countdowns
• Gatherings with friends
• Dark-chocolate-covered raisins
• H2O
• Snail mail
• My fiance’s ability to set me up for success
• September parties with family
• God’s plan
• Ada Bible Church messages
• Pandora, my workout buddy

I don’t know how I feel about that.

Torn.