When in the course of human events, it becomes necessary...
Wait... that sounds a little familiar. Let me try again.
We the people, in order to form a more perfect union...
Hmmm...
Knowing this, that the testing of your faith worketh patience...
Better, but still plagiarism.
Lemmie 'splain. No - 's too long. Lemmie sum up.
Grrrr...
It's been MONTHS since I've taken the time to write. Which means that absolutely nothing has been happening, right? I would have written if there was stuff going on, right?
Yeah. Right.
No, as is the case with so many of us, life rears its ugly head (or appearance-challenged head, if that's more PC) and we get lost in the grind. The tragedy is, that sometimes the stuff that gets lost is MUCH more important than anything we find in "the grind," but "the grind" has a LOUD voice and DEMANDS our attention and WILL NOT TAKE NO FOR AN ANSWER!!!!!!
Yikes-a-roni... Makes you want to take the batteries out of the ol' Belltone and pass into blissful silence.
So, I says to meself, Self, I says, we gots to get things straightened out. (And yes, for the record, I do have these sort of conversations with myself. And yes, they do often involve character voices and other eccentricities. That's how I roll. I'm pretty sure that if I didn't give my kindergarten teacher a nervous breakdown, I at least persuaded her that teaching wasn't really her calling. It's a service I provide for free.)
(bonus points if you have any clue where I adapted that last sentence from)
So, since the threads of the last 6 months or so are pretty twisted and confused, we're going to use the method taught to me by my beloved: when the yarn is knotted, pull one thread at a time. Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, pets of all ages, we begin...
The State Of The Olson Address (100% Congress free! No Ads! No Standing O's! No Partisanship! Ok... maybe a little...)
1) The Weight Of The Union
Since the surgery March 30th, I've lost 161 pounds (and falling). For those of you who love statistics, you're out of luck. I have NO head for that kind of poopy. But a few facts? Lemmie try these:
Total weight down from 414 lbs to present weight of 253. Granted, that was a week or so ago, so the might be gone by now. From January 2009, I've gone from 480 lbs to 253.
Shirt size: from 5XL (or 6XL) to XL. Even some L, for wearing under other garments. Dress shirts - 22 neck down to 18.5.
Pants: from a 58 waist (in stretch jeans - 60 or 62 in dress pants) to the pair of 46 waist jeans (NON-stretch, VERY non-stretch) I'm wearing right now.
What I didn't expect: my hat size is changing. The 2XL hats I have are a little big on me. Evidently the kid that called me a fathead in school wasn't kidding...
2) The Health Of The Union
Diabetic meds: GONE. If I weren't already diagnosed as a diabetic, I wouldn't be classified as one today. Technically, I'm a diabetic controlled by diet. No complications from it, nothing lingering. As if it never was.
Sleep Apnea: When I was first diagnosed, my episode rate (the number of times I stop breathing in my sleep per hour) was 126. You read that right - I stopped breathing about every 30 seconds. As of the most recent sleep study, the episode rate is 30. Yow. My pressure level for the CPAP machine is down from 14 to 7. I can actually sleep without the mask sometimes. Not the best thing, but it can be done.
Which begs the question: will I ever be rid of the CPAP? Probably not. My airway is very small and constricted - they have a tough time getting a breathing tube into me for surgery. My tonsils were taken out in 3rd grade, just to provide more room for me to breathe and swallow. And, I snore at decibel levels approaching a chainsaw. So, CPAP probably stays, but with a lot less pressure.
Addendum: I originally started writing this October 27th. Shows how much I know... As of a follow-up appointment November 19th, guess what? We discovered in my last study that if I sleep on my side, I don't have ANY episodes. So now I'll be spending 30 nights with a "trainer" - a rig involving a piece of PVC pipe and a tennis ball - to teach me not to roll over on my back. A solid month of training, and using it once or twice a week to remind myself, and Cal doesn't need the CPAP. Never EVER thought I'd see that...
High Blood Pressure: not changing. This one looks like it's more of a hereditary thing than a weight-related one. But I'm responding well to the meds, so we should be able to stay on top of it.
3) The Movin' Of The Union
I haven't really blogged about this, but my Facebook peeps have heard more than they probably want to about my trike...
In mid-June, I got Rover, and life got good. OK - life always was and always is good. It just got a little gooder.
Rover is the newest model from the amazing folks at TerraTrike (www.terratrike.com), with a higher weight capacity (400 lbs, which I was just below when I got it in June) and a seat that's folding chair height (unlike Vicki's trike, where the seat is about 13" off the ground).
To say that Rover has changed my life is a colossal understatement. Pre-Rover: 3 miles at Riverside Park? *sigh* Maybe someday. Post-Rover: 3 miles? That's just a warmup. Now 10 miles? 12? 14? That's what I'm talkin' about! Ride 4 miles to church for a rehearsal? Sure! 7 miles round trip to WCSG to track and home again? Heck yeah! Home to Walgreen's and back? Yuppers. In fact, I find myself looking at routes to places that I usually drive to get to and wondering, "how could I get there via trike?" We might look into a two wheel "regular" bike (a "wedgie" bike) for me - one I could put on the bike rack of a city bus. That would open up a LOT of options...
There's still a couple of milestones to go before the snow files: a trip out the pier at Grand Haven for some sunset photos, and a trip to Chicago to ride along the lakeshore. Hopefully those will both happen.
Addendum: they didn't. That's alright - training this winter will leave me hungry for spring and ready to ride.
It's a known fact that in order to overcome an addiction, one must find a replacement behavior. Riding has become my replacement for food, and has given me one of the best summers I can remember. And fall has been pretty sweet too. Which brings up the question, what am I going to do when the snow piles up? We'll talk about that in a bit.
4) The Mind Of The Union
When you become a candidate for bariatric surgery, one of the things you are told is that the mental adjustments post-surgery are huge. But no one can give you specifics, since everyone adjusts in a different way. Attitudes change, passions shift, relationships can suffer or collapse - anything can happen.
So you know it's coming, but you have no idea what it will look like when it gets here.
9 months down the road, I now have some idea of what it looks like, and I can honestly say that the mental adjustments are way WAY more demanding than the physical adjustments. The physical, while complex, is almost automatic... Live within the restraints of your new system. Obey the signs your body gives you. Use the rules to keep you comfortable, nourished, and healthy. Do these and live. A lot to learn and live, but pretty black and white, especially if you just listen to what your new system is telling you. The point where it hits the air circulation device is when you ignore your body and just have at it, resulting in (at best) discomfort and (at worst) "complications." (want details? No, you don't.)
Oh, and saddle up for a fast ride. The physical changes come on fast and hard - faster than you thought possible and sometimes harder than you think you can endure.
The mental adjustments, on the other hand, are NOT black and white. They are NOT obedient to rules and predictable. They are NOT a matter of just listening and responding. And while the physical changes are fast, the mental changes are S-L-O-W. Very, very, v-e-r-y slow. I've written a little about this, and will continue to do so, because I'm still figuring out everything that goes along with it. But the latin phrase Tabula Rasa sums it up so well - "blank slate." Everything changes to some degree, and the only thing you can count on is that everything changes.
So, counseling continues, and it should. The changes are so massive that outside help and insight is essential. Potential surgery candidates: you CANNOT do this alone. You must have the help and support of others, lest you get lost in the swirling whiteout conditions in your own mind.
Insight from others at this stage will shine light on the dark path. It will give you a litmus test to help separate truth from lies. Without those external voices, everything has equal weight and equal validity in the chaos that is your mind. God's word, the ultimate source of truth, will light your path as it always does, but in the chaos you might not be able to hear it. The help of trusted friends and loved ones (and professionals) to speak truth over you is so important when you can't hear or distinguish that truth for yourself.
Am I a basket case right now? Some days, yes. Most days, no... a little.
There will come a time when I will write and tell you of the bravest, most loving and caring person I know - my beloved Vicki. But for this moment, let me just say that every time you encourage me in this walk, every time you tell me that I'm inspiring you, that I'm having such great success, that I'm doing such good work, believe me - it's Vicki who is doing the hard work, Vicki who is walking the path, and Vicki who is so excited to see her hubby zip up the XL down vest and have it fit. She walks with me, and NONE of this would have happened without her.
As I said, I started writing this October 27th, and it's sat on the ol' iPad since then. Today is January 5th, 2011, and while most of this is still true, some has changed. I made some corrections and some notes where appropriate, and am kind of amazed at how the path changes, even over a couple of months. Good to know that God goes ahead of us down the path, and that He knows every twist and turn better than the most super luxo GPS ever produced. Unlike "Susan," (it's easier to call our GPS by name, than just "the box") God not only guides but takes an active part in our path, clearing the way before us or throwing up roadblocks when necessary.
The state of the Olson? A state of wonder, amazement, confusion and humility that God should pour out blessings to someone so unworthy. His love endures forever, His mercies are new every morning, and His faithfulness continues to all generations.
Random Fluffy Foto!
Writing in bed, and Beka editing by ear. Really. The ear typed some letters. Really.
Wednesday, January 05, 2011
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Captain Cal - now and ever!
The other day, I walked into a room and a friend said, “Captain Cal! Or, um, maybe you don’t want to be called that after...” (After the layoff, is what he was saying. After spending 5 or so years of my life as Captain Cal on His Kids Radio.) And I’ll admit, in the first few years after being laid off, hearing that name did sting a little, because so much of my world was wrapped up in my identity with that job.
Interestingly, and in a typical example of God always being about 2 million steps ahead of us, Vicki and I had talked about just this thing - how hearing the name “Captain Cal” sometimes jabbed me a little, usually from specific people in a specific place. It provided a place for Sightblinder to zing me one more time, remind me of what is past and perhaps get in a few digs about how I must have failed miserably or else I wouldn’t have been “dumped.”
I’m not going to let Mr. Big Ol’ Poopy Headed Person get away with that.
(I’m a little immature sometimes. Didn’t know if you noticed that.)
What I had remembered when Vicki and I talked about it was this: I’ve been Captain Cal for way, w-a-a-y longer than my history on His Kids Radio - that’s been my name for years and years. Actually, I was graced with that name by someone my freshman year in college - he just started calling me Captain Cal, and it hung around in the background for a while. When I started doing magic and storytelling, that was the logical name to use as my stage name. And, for lots of kiddos over the years, Captain Cal and Miss Vicki became a good alternative to Aunt and Uncle or Mr. and Mrs. I’ve been wearing my “Captain” for a lot longer than my time on the air.
It’s amazing what our enemy will try and use to make us miserable - even a name. Sightblinder will try and hang all sorts of associations on something as simple as a nickname, and then tie that to a big ol’ anchor and try to throw us over the side to drown. And all too often, I’ll stand there and let him do it - I’ll give him the rope, watch as he ties the knots, even provide the anchor as I get thrown over, and think “poor pitiful me” as I’m sinking.
But, if I open all the doors and windows so that God’s light shines in to every corner of my life, then all the raw materials of shame, regret, anger, bitterness and so many others are exposed for the lies they really are. They can’t stand in the reality of God’s love, grace and mercy.
Here’s the tough part: too often, I allow that crap to just roll around in my head, gaining momentum and speed instead of allowing God to show me they are lies. I’d much rather wallow in self-misery than turn to the One who can make everything plain and clear.
So I try once again to develop the discipline of turning to Him first, now and always when darkness threatens to cloud my mind. To live in His light and truth, rather than living in my own misconceptions. Every day, every hour, every minute - all to Him.
So, please... call me Captain. :-D
Interestingly, and in a typical example of God always being about 2 million steps ahead of us, Vicki and I had talked about just this thing - how hearing the name “Captain Cal” sometimes jabbed me a little, usually from specific people in a specific place. It provided a place for Sightblinder to zing me one more time, remind me of what is past and perhaps get in a few digs about how I must have failed miserably or else I wouldn’t have been “dumped.”
I’m not going to let Mr. Big Ol’ Poopy Headed Person get away with that.
(I’m a little immature sometimes. Didn’t know if you noticed that.)
What I had remembered when Vicki and I talked about it was this: I’ve been Captain Cal for way, w-a-a-y longer than my history on His Kids Radio - that’s been my name for years and years. Actually, I was graced with that name by someone my freshman year in college - he just started calling me Captain Cal, and it hung around in the background for a while. When I started doing magic and storytelling, that was the logical name to use as my stage name. And, for lots of kiddos over the years, Captain Cal and Miss Vicki became a good alternative to Aunt and Uncle or Mr. and Mrs. I’ve been wearing my “Captain” for a lot longer than my time on the air.
It’s amazing what our enemy will try and use to make us miserable - even a name. Sightblinder will try and hang all sorts of associations on something as simple as a nickname, and then tie that to a big ol’ anchor and try to throw us over the side to drown. And all too often, I’ll stand there and let him do it - I’ll give him the rope, watch as he ties the knots, even provide the anchor as I get thrown over, and think “poor pitiful me” as I’m sinking.
But, if I open all the doors and windows so that God’s light shines in to every corner of my life, then all the raw materials of shame, regret, anger, bitterness and so many others are exposed for the lies they really are. They can’t stand in the reality of God’s love, grace and mercy.
Here’s the tough part: too often, I allow that crap to just roll around in my head, gaining momentum and speed instead of allowing God to show me they are lies. I’d much rather wallow in self-misery than turn to the One who can make everything plain and clear.
So I try once again to develop the discipline of turning to Him first, now and always when darkness threatens to cloud my mind. To live in His light and truth, rather than living in my own misconceptions. Every day, every hour, every minute - all to Him.
So, please... call me Captain. :-D
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Tabula Rasa... again
Tabula Rasa = “clean slate”
I’ll have to admit - my brain isn’t really normal these days. (Of course, if you know me at all, you know that the word “normal” hasn’t really ever been something used to describe me.) But it goes a little beyond the usual eccentricity that I’m known for - beyond purple shoes, a three wheeled pedal conveyance, a walking staff with a bear on top, or a fez with a wingnut embroidered on it.
The only way I can express it is, I don’t know what I’m passionate about. I should say, I don’t know what I’m passionate about doing. I love my wife, I love the Lord, I love my dog, I love my church family - there’s no doubt about those. I love riding my trike - again, no question. But when it comes to what I should be or want to be doing, I’m not sure. Even as I’m writing this, there are a number of creative projects that I should be working on, but don’t really feel a desire to pursue.
“Grow up!” I know - there are times when we all must quit waiting for our muse, stop sitting around until the mood strikes us, and just get to work and get stuff done. I understand that - all too well. And one theory I’ve been kicking around is that I’m just lazy. Or that I’m being exactly the type of creative person I despise - the one who is of no use whatsoever unless “inspiration” strikes them. If they don’t feel inspired, they simply do nothing. Grrrr... Useless. But I don’t think terminal lazyness is the problem here. Granted, I’m an expert at putting off ‘til tomorrow what I ought to be doing today, but I think something deeper seems to be going on...
Over the past few months (almost 4, to be not quite exact), my world in general and my body in particular has been through tremendous changes. As I write this, my weight is 312.3 lbs, which is over one hundred pounds away from where I started before surgery March 30th, at 414. And is worlds away from when this whole process started at Weigh to Wellness in January of 2009, when I weighed 480. I’ve went from not being able to stand more than a minute or two before my knees wouldn’t hold me up to riding 14 miles on my trike without stopping. The only time I use my wheelchair these days is when I have time to shop for more than an hour and I want to work my upper body.
But my head hasn’t quite figured out what that means yet...
At times I’m overcome with excitement - the possibilities are endless of what I can be and do. From hopeless to unlimited is quite a journey to make, and it staggers me to think of where this path might lead even a year from now. Vicki can get her arms all the way around me to give me a hug, and that delights her. I can move, I can walk with her in the store, I can do things around the house, I can go down to the basement or upstairs for the first time in years...
But I have no idea what I want to do.
It almost feels like I’m waiting for something - something to happen, permission to be granted, an act of Congress (hope I don’t have to wait that long...), or some switch to be thrown that turns everything on. Maybe a door to be unlocked or at least a key given. I don’t seem to move forward... I just wait.
The things I seem to spend my time on are the most mindless things I can find... Spool knitting or kumihimo. Loom knitting. Riding the trike, where the body is engaged but the mind is in neutral - sort of. Anything that asks for more of me than those simple tasks gets put off. Why? I have no idea.
Some folks whose counsel I trust have said that time is needed - my mind needs time to catch up with the tremendous changes my body has been going through. It’s like someone who has spent the last 30 years imprisoned in one cell. That’s all they’ve seen for the last 30 years. Now, quite suddenly, the door has been unlocked and they’re free to walk out into the sunlight. But their head is still in the cell - still in prison. The body is walking free, but the mind hasn’t grasped that freedom yet. I notice that in myself somewhat - I’ll sit down, not because I’m tired but because “I can only stand for a minute or two before I have to sit down.“ The habit takes over before I realize it.
It’s been months - maybe even over a year - since I seriously worked on music. My keyboard has sat silent for a long time, and I’m not sure how to begin again. It’s been almost a year since my job ended at CBH when Gilead wrapped, and I haven’t done any serious audio work since then - I have projects waiting, but it’s like I don’t even know where to start to pick them up.
I play music every week, between my gigs at coffee houses and the worship team at church. But to work with it - to construct and compose, to arrange and record - I’ve been a long time away from it. Back when my energy was all used up just trying to live through a day. Somewhere along the way, between my most recent lowest weight (366) through being laid off and getting back up to 480, and now at 312, I’ve lost the process of making music - the routine of getting into a creative mindset, finding inspiration and working toward producing music.
When the Lord shattered my chains, when He set me free from food, He did it completely. The human side of me is waiting for the old habits to come back, but the part of me that trusts Him knows that they won’t. There’s a reason He put those words into my mind when I awoke in the hospital - “my chains are gone, I’ve been set free.” But Sightblinder is never happy unless he has someplace to nail us. I told Vicki I believe that my mind is the battleground now, and not my body. By His grace I’ve been set free from bondage to food, but the enemy won’t stop coming after me - he’ll just find a new place to attack.
In the end, I have to realize that I AM Tabula Rasa - a clean slate. And it’s going to take some time - a lot of time - to see that reality. I’ll never be the same, but in God’s grace I’ll be right where He wants me. So we keep moving forward, one foot in front of the other. Finding my way back to creative pursuits, from a whole new perspective. And perhaps letting some things go - I’m sure that some of the things I’ve pursued in the past simply won’t seem as interesting or important anymore.
Patience. It’s not that the passion is gone, but rather that the scene has changed. The slate is clean, and what comes next will be from a heart that understands how deep and high and wide is the love of Christ. So I officially give myself permission to take time. Starting a new life doesn’t happen instantly. Living without chains takes some getting used to - all the opportunities and options seem more than I can take in. Time and patience along with an abundance of God’s grace will sort it out.
So ease up on yourself a little, Cal. Don’t stop moving, but don’t get frustrated when you’re not sure where to put your feet. Until recently, walking wasn’t all that easy for you. One step, one move at a time, “’till by turning, turning, we come ‘round right.”
I’ll have to admit - my brain isn’t really normal these days. (Of course, if you know me at all, you know that the word “normal” hasn’t really ever been something used to describe me.) But it goes a little beyond the usual eccentricity that I’m known for - beyond purple shoes, a three wheeled pedal conveyance, a walking staff with a bear on top, or a fez with a wingnut embroidered on it.
The only way I can express it is, I don’t know what I’m passionate about. I should say, I don’t know what I’m passionate about doing. I love my wife, I love the Lord, I love my dog, I love my church family - there’s no doubt about those. I love riding my trike - again, no question. But when it comes to what I should be or want to be doing, I’m not sure. Even as I’m writing this, there are a number of creative projects that I should be working on, but don’t really feel a desire to pursue.
“Grow up!” I know - there are times when we all must quit waiting for our muse, stop sitting around until the mood strikes us, and just get to work and get stuff done. I understand that - all too well. And one theory I’ve been kicking around is that I’m just lazy. Or that I’m being exactly the type of creative person I despise - the one who is of no use whatsoever unless “inspiration” strikes them. If they don’t feel inspired, they simply do nothing. Grrrr... Useless. But I don’t think terminal lazyness is the problem here. Granted, I’m an expert at putting off ‘til tomorrow what I ought to be doing today, but I think something deeper seems to be going on...
Over the past few months (almost 4, to be not quite exact), my world in general and my body in particular has been through tremendous changes. As I write this, my weight is 312.3 lbs, which is over one hundred pounds away from where I started before surgery March 30th, at 414. And is worlds away from when this whole process started at Weigh to Wellness in January of 2009, when I weighed 480. I’ve went from not being able to stand more than a minute or two before my knees wouldn’t hold me up to riding 14 miles on my trike without stopping. The only time I use my wheelchair these days is when I have time to shop for more than an hour and I want to work my upper body.
But my head hasn’t quite figured out what that means yet...
At times I’m overcome with excitement - the possibilities are endless of what I can be and do. From hopeless to unlimited is quite a journey to make, and it staggers me to think of where this path might lead even a year from now. Vicki can get her arms all the way around me to give me a hug, and that delights her. I can move, I can walk with her in the store, I can do things around the house, I can go down to the basement or upstairs for the first time in years...
But I have no idea what I want to do.
It almost feels like I’m waiting for something - something to happen, permission to be granted, an act of Congress (hope I don’t have to wait that long...), or some switch to be thrown that turns everything on. Maybe a door to be unlocked or at least a key given. I don’t seem to move forward... I just wait.
The things I seem to spend my time on are the most mindless things I can find... Spool knitting or kumihimo. Loom knitting. Riding the trike, where the body is engaged but the mind is in neutral - sort of. Anything that asks for more of me than those simple tasks gets put off. Why? I have no idea.
Some folks whose counsel I trust have said that time is needed - my mind needs time to catch up with the tremendous changes my body has been going through. It’s like someone who has spent the last 30 years imprisoned in one cell. That’s all they’ve seen for the last 30 years. Now, quite suddenly, the door has been unlocked and they’re free to walk out into the sunlight. But their head is still in the cell - still in prison. The body is walking free, but the mind hasn’t grasped that freedom yet. I notice that in myself somewhat - I’ll sit down, not because I’m tired but because “I can only stand for a minute or two before I have to sit down.“ The habit takes over before I realize it.
It’s been months - maybe even over a year - since I seriously worked on music. My keyboard has sat silent for a long time, and I’m not sure how to begin again. It’s been almost a year since my job ended at CBH when Gilead wrapped, and I haven’t done any serious audio work since then - I have projects waiting, but it’s like I don’t even know where to start to pick them up.
I play music every week, between my gigs at coffee houses and the worship team at church. But to work with it - to construct and compose, to arrange and record - I’ve been a long time away from it. Back when my energy was all used up just trying to live through a day. Somewhere along the way, between my most recent lowest weight (366) through being laid off and getting back up to 480, and now at 312, I’ve lost the process of making music - the routine of getting into a creative mindset, finding inspiration and working toward producing music.
When the Lord shattered my chains, when He set me free from food, He did it completely. The human side of me is waiting for the old habits to come back, but the part of me that trusts Him knows that they won’t. There’s a reason He put those words into my mind when I awoke in the hospital - “my chains are gone, I’ve been set free.” But Sightblinder is never happy unless he has someplace to nail us. I told Vicki I believe that my mind is the battleground now, and not my body. By His grace I’ve been set free from bondage to food, but the enemy won’t stop coming after me - he’ll just find a new place to attack.
In the end, I have to realize that I AM Tabula Rasa - a clean slate. And it’s going to take some time - a lot of time - to see that reality. I’ll never be the same, but in God’s grace I’ll be right where He wants me. So we keep moving forward, one foot in front of the other. Finding my way back to creative pursuits, from a whole new perspective. And perhaps letting some things go - I’m sure that some of the things I’ve pursued in the past simply won’t seem as interesting or important anymore.
Patience. It’s not that the passion is gone, but rather that the scene has changed. The slate is clean, and what comes next will be from a heart that understands how deep and high and wide is the love of Christ. So I officially give myself permission to take time. Starting a new life doesn’t happen instantly. Living without chains takes some getting used to - all the opportunities and options seem more than I can take in. Time and patience along with an abundance of God’s grace will sort it out.
So ease up on yourself a little, Cal. Don’t stop moving, but don’t get frustrated when you’re not sure where to put your feet. Until recently, walking wasn’t all that easy for you. One step, one move at a time, “’till by turning, turning, we come ‘round right.”
Friday, July 16, 2010
My Chains are Gone...
“My chains are gone, I’ve been set free.
My God, my Savior has ransomed me.
And like a flood, His mercy rains -
Unending love, amazing grace.”
- Chris Tomlin
The phrase “my chains are gone, I’ve been set free” is one of the first thoughts I remember when I woke up in my hospital room on March 30th. That sense that God had delivered me from a chain that had held me prisoner all my life was so overwhelming, that it brought tears to my eyes. And so far, He has shown me that breaking the chain is exactly what He did. No difficulties adapting to my new life, no long times of lamenting over cookies and rolls never to be eaten again, and no regrets on following His path into this new way of living.
In short, there is nothing I’ve given up that is worth everything He has brought me to. My body is changing daily, my health is improving, and I’ve smiled more in the last three months than I think I did in the previous three years (or more). (and did I mention that Vicki and I went twelve miles on our trikes last Monday??) Am I tempted to see what I can “get away with?” No, not really. Does food still look good to me? Of course - it was my stomach that was taken, not my eyeballs. So do I then grab what looks good and eat it regardless of the consequences? Nope. I don’t know what some things would do to me, and I don’t feel like finding out.
“Wow. You must have some will power.”
No - not really. I mean, look at me. If will power is what was needed, how did I end up looking like this? It took Divine mercy and grace to free me from bondage. Nothing less than the power of God to release me from something that had held me in its grip all my life.
And realizing something important that will help keep me on this path...
Long, long ago - so far away that I can’t remember when - I made a decision. I decided that I would never consciously consume alcohol. I’m sure that somewhere along the line I’ve eaten something at some restaurant that contained alcohol, but I made a decision to never drink. Ever. As the child of an alcoholic, I knew that the same thing could be released in me if I let it. Better to never know what it’s like - the taste, the effect it has on me, all of it - than to try and walk away after the fact. And that’s a decision I’ve never broken. I won’t consume it, I won’t cook with it, and even though I’m sure I drive Vicki to the point of wanting to drink sometimes, she’s joined me in this lifestyle.
(For the record, I have no issues with someone’s decision to drink. I do think it’s something that you need to give careful thought to, just as we should with most areas of our lives, and to listen to God’s guidance in that decision. That being said, it’s an area of liberty that believers can decide for themselves. My decision is just that - mine. Your mileage may vary...)
I was and am a food addict - my dad chose alcohol, and I chose cupcakes. And hamburgers. And fried chicken. And donuts. And... sorry. You get the idea. But then God intervened, setting me free in ways that I’m just starting to realize. And the decision not to eat things that I know will harm me is becoming a decision very much like a decision to not drink alcohol. That same resolve, that same “no question about it” has begun to apply to more than just drinking. When God released my chains, He did more than unhook them - He shattered them. Does that cinnamon roll look amazing, gooey and tempting? Oh yeah. Am I going to eat it? No - not really interested. I’d much rather keep on this path and see where it leads.
Finally, I do realize that I’m still in the “honeymoon phase” of my new life. Just over three months out, the weight is dropping off, I’m doing things I haven’t been able to do in years, and all is groovy. But at six months? A year? After I hit the first plateau and stop dead in my tracks? What will happen to all my sunny resolve then?
That’s why I’m laying these words down. I’ll need them soon, to keep my eyes and my focus where they should be. So that when it’s snowing and ten below outside, and the trike is all bundled away for the season, and I’m stuck inside with nothing but a recliner and a bag of chips to keep me company, I can be reminded of how incredible today is, and where God has brought us over the last three months. And I can remember that just like that decision I made so long ago, I’ve made another decision - with the same resolve - to keep on this new path and live this adventure that the Lord has put in front of us.
(My nephew has volunteered to help with this - something about “if we see you slipping, we’ll slap you.” That’ll keep a guy on the straight and narrow, eh?)
Then we’ll throw the trikes into the van, pack a bag and head down to Andy & Shan’s place. Hopefully they won’t have too much snow and we can get a little mid-winter trike riding in. Or really late fall. Or really early spring. Come to think of it, it might be time to go visit that lot in Arizona we’re interested in. Should be nice triking weather down there! We’re gonna be spending a lot on gas...
Saddle up, buttercup - it’s gonna be a great ride!
My God, my Savior has ransomed me.
And like a flood, His mercy rains -
Unending love, amazing grace.”
- Chris Tomlin
The phrase “my chains are gone, I’ve been set free” is one of the first thoughts I remember when I woke up in my hospital room on March 30th. That sense that God had delivered me from a chain that had held me prisoner all my life was so overwhelming, that it brought tears to my eyes. And so far, He has shown me that breaking the chain is exactly what He did. No difficulties adapting to my new life, no long times of lamenting over cookies and rolls never to be eaten again, and no regrets on following His path into this new way of living.
In short, there is nothing I’ve given up that is worth everything He has brought me to. My body is changing daily, my health is improving, and I’ve smiled more in the last three months than I think I did in the previous three years (or more). (and did I mention that Vicki and I went twelve miles on our trikes last Monday??) Am I tempted to see what I can “get away with?” No, not really. Does food still look good to me? Of course - it was my stomach that was taken, not my eyeballs. So do I then grab what looks good and eat it regardless of the consequences? Nope. I don’t know what some things would do to me, and I don’t feel like finding out.
“Wow. You must have some will power.”
No - not really. I mean, look at me. If will power is what was needed, how did I end up looking like this? It took Divine mercy and grace to free me from bondage. Nothing less than the power of God to release me from something that had held me in its grip all my life.
And realizing something important that will help keep me on this path...
Long, long ago - so far away that I can’t remember when - I made a decision. I decided that I would never consciously consume alcohol. I’m sure that somewhere along the line I’ve eaten something at some restaurant that contained alcohol, but I made a decision to never drink. Ever. As the child of an alcoholic, I knew that the same thing could be released in me if I let it. Better to never know what it’s like - the taste, the effect it has on me, all of it - than to try and walk away after the fact. And that’s a decision I’ve never broken. I won’t consume it, I won’t cook with it, and even though I’m sure I drive Vicki to the point of wanting to drink sometimes, she’s joined me in this lifestyle.
(For the record, I have no issues with someone’s decision to drink. I do think it’s something that you need to give careful thought to, just as we should with most areas of our lives, and to listen to God’s guidance in that decision. That being said, it’s an area of liberty that believers can decide for themselves. My decision is just that - mine. Your mileage may vary...)
I was and am a food addict - my dad chose alcohol, and I chose cupcakes. And hamburgers. And fried chicken. And donuts. And... sorry. You get the idea. But then God intervened, setting me free in ways that I’m just starting to realize. And the decision not to eat things that I know will harm me is becoming a decision very much like a decision to not drink alcohol. That same resolve, that same “no question about it” has begun to apply to more than just drinking. When God released my chains, He did more than unhook them - He shattered them. Does that cinnamon roll look amazing, gooey and tempting? Oh yeah. Am I going to eat it? No - not really interested. I’d much rather keep on this path and see where it leads.
Finally, I do realize that I’m still in the “honeymoon phase” of my new life. Just over three months out, the weight is dropping off, I’m doing things I haven’t been able to do in years, and all is groovy. But at six months? A year? After I hit the first plateau and stop dead in my tracks? What will happen to all my sunny resolve then?
That’s why I’m laying these words down. I’ll need them soon, to keep my eyes and my focus where they should be. So that when it’s snowing and ten below outside, and the trike is all bundled away for the season, and I’m stuck inside with nothing but a recliner and a bag of chips to keep me company, I can be reminded of how incredible today is, and where God has brought us over the last three months. And I can remember that just like that decision I made so long ago, I’ve made another decision - with the same resolve - to keep on this new path and live this adventure that the Lord has put in front of us.
(My nephew has volunteered to help with this - something about “if we see you slipping, we’ll slap you.” That’ll keep a guy on the straight and narrow, eh?)
Then we’ll throw the trikes into the van, pack a bag and head down to Andy & Shan’s place. Hopefully they won’t have too much snow and we can get a little mid-winter trike riding in. Or really late fall. Or really early spring. Come to think of it, it might be time to go visit that lot in Arizona we’re interested in. Should be nice triking weather down there! We’re gonna be spending a lot on gas...
Saddle up, buttercup - it’s gonna be a great ride!
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Come to the Table
I am so long overdue to begin writing again that I almost wonder if it’s worth getting back into the habit. (rhetorical question - I know that writing is something I need to do!)
As I’ve said before, writing is where I take some of the chaos that fills my mind and get it out there where I can take a look at it. Some of the stuff is “Stones” - reminders of places I’ve been on this journey and God’s faithfulness through it all. Some of it is lessons to be looked at, learned, and filed. Then there’s a whole pile of garbage - things that simply aren’t true, and that need to be taken out and exposed for the lies that they are. If those stay floating around inside for too long, they gradually become part of the way I think - lies that I begin to believe.
I guess writing is like flushing the biffy. Sort of. At least parts of it.
(Anybody from Oscoda remember this? “Go, Tawas, Go! Go, Tawas, Go! Around the bowl and down the hole - Go, Tawas, Go!”)
(Apologies to folks from the fine and friendly communities of East Tawas and Tawas City. Some old rivalries die hard - and probably should be flushed down the biffy.)
Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah...
When I don’t write for long periods of time, the clutter in my head grows almost as fast as the clutter that fills my house - and that is truly frightening. Problem is, I always seem to need to go “somewhere” to write. So that means packing up my laptop, heading out, deciding what to drink at whatever coffee house I end up at, and then getting lost in reading feeds in Google Reader. Not very productive.
Today, I think I finally found a place to write at home...
Whenever my mom would come and visit us, her favorite spot in our house is what we call “the Nook.” It’s off the kitchen, not really a breakfast nook but the closest our old dwelling comes to one. It has windows on three sides, so it gets the most light of any room in the house. Mom would usually get up before us, head out here and make some coffee, and spend time in the Word and in prayer.
(Sometimes, she’d also make some toast... and our cross-eyed German Shepherd, Buddy, would make his way out here for a little toast date with Grandma. It was years before we knew that was going on...)
The Nook was overrun with clutter, and we haven’t used this room for a long time. (Other than a crap catcher, that is.) Earlier this year, my nephew and I made a start into reclaiming the Nook, but it was nowhere near useable, until today.
Today, I decided to make a path to the table, clear an area, and see if I could find a place where I could write. Not perfect, it’s an island in the midst of stuff. But it’s enough room for my MacBook, a chair, and a rug for Ezri if she feels like joining me. There’s even room next to me for a coffee mug. And it makes me smile to think that I’ll be sitting in Mom’s favorite room with a cup of coffee, writing and reading and praying.
But not sharing toast with Ezri. She doesn’t get people food, and I stay away from bread. Poor Ezri - life is so unfair.
The table I’m sitting at has a connection to her as well. This oak table is the only custom piece of furniture we’ve ever owned (or are likely to...). It was made in a size to fit here in the Nook, although it expands when needed. (Not that there’s room to expand it - the Nook is pretty tiny.) The finish of the oak matches the paneling in the Nook, and we even have a napkin holder and lazy Susan that match it. (There’s also a thimble case, which needs to be hung someday.)
We bought this table with money from our inheritance when Mom died. I think she’d be pleased with that - a lovely table for her favorite room.
So I begin to write once again, sorting through the thoughts, ideas, memories, lessons and garbage roaming around in my noggin. Trying to make sense of it all - one sentence at a time.
See you at the table in the Nook - soon.
As I’ve said before, writing is where I take some of the chaos that fills my mind and get it out there where I can take a look at it. Some of the stuff is “Stones” - reminders of places I’ve been on this journey and God’s faithfulness through it all. Some of it is lessons to be looked at, learned, and filed. Then there’s a whole pile of garbage - things that simply aren’t true, and that need to be taken out and exposed for the lies that they are. If those stay floating around inside for too long, they gradually become part of the way I think - lies that I begin to believe.
I guess writing is like flushing the biffy. Sort of. At least parts of it.
(Anybody from Oscoda remember this? “Go, Tawas, Go! Go, Tawas, Go! Around the bowl and down the hole - Go, Tawas, Go!”)
(Apologies to folks from the fine and friendly communities of East Tawas and Tawas City. Some old rivalries die hard - and probably should be flushed down the biffy.)
Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah...
When I don’t write for long periods of time, the clutter in my head grows almost as fast as the clutter that fills my house - and that is truly frightening. Problem is, I always seem to need to go “somewhere” to write. So that means packing up my laptop, heading out, deciding what to drink at whatever coffee house I end up at, and then getting lost in reading feeds in Google Reader. Not very productive.
Today, I think I finally found a place to write at home...
Whenever my mom would come and visit us, her favorite spot in our house is what we call “the Nook.” It’s off the kitchen, not really a breakfast nook but the closest our old dwelling comes to one. It has windows on three sides, so it gets the most light of any room in the house. Mom would usually get up before us, head out here and make some coffee, and spend time in the Word and in prayer.
(Sometimes, she’d also make some toast... and our cross-eyed German Shepherd, Buddy, would make his way out here for a little toast date with Grandma. It was years before we knew that was going on...)
The Nook was overrun with clutter, and we haven’t used this room for a long time. (Other than a crap catcher, that is.) Earlier this year, my nephew and I made a start into reclaiming the Nook, but it was nowhere near useable, until today.
Today, I decided to make a path to the table, clear an area, and see if I could find a place where I could write. Not perfect, it’s an island in the midst of stuff. But it’s enough room for my MacBook, a chair, and a rug for Ezri if she feels like joining me. There’s even room next to me for a coffee mug. And it makes me smile to think that I’ll be sitting in Mom’s favorite room with a cup of coffee, writing and reading and praying.
But not sharing toast with Ezri. She doesn’t get people food, and I stay away from bread. Poor Ezri - life is so unfair.
The table I’m sitting at has a connection to her as well. This oak table is the only custom piece of furniture we’ve ever owned (or are likely to...). It was made in a size to fit here in the Nook, although it expands when needed. (Not that there’s room to expand it - the Nook is pretty tiny.) The finish of the oak matches the paneling in the Nook, and we even have a napkin holder and lazy Susan that match it. (There’s also a thimble case, which needs to be hung someday.)
We bought this table with money from our inheritance when Mom died. I think she’d be pleased with that - a lovely table for her favorite room.
So I begin to write once again, sorting through the thoughts, ideas, memories, lessons and garbage roaming around in my noggin. Trying to make sense of it all - one sentence at a time.
See you at the table in the Nook - soon.
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