Of Beach Bodies and Oreo Cookies...

I have a confession to make:  I thoroughly enjoy reading tabloid magazines.   Now, I do have standards.  I don’t read the really sleazy tabloids (you know the ones...they declare that Bat Boy has been discovered in New York, or that Elvis was beamed up by space aliens).  I’m talking the “higher class” tabloids:  Us Weekly, Life & Style, Star.  Okay, quit mocking me.  I know that this isn’t exactly high quality reading.  Once I purchased some wine coolers and a copy of Us Weekly at the grocery store, and much to my horror a former student was the cashier.  I didn’t know if I should be more horrified that my student was ringing up my booze or the magazine.  Whatever…I’ve learned to embrace this embarrassing quality.   And my husband Chad absolutely fuels my fire.

Our Friday ritual has centered around our bed, Chinese food, and tabloid magazines for the bulk of our marriage.  We have this Friday ritual down to a science.  And to prove this, Chad came home from work this morning with some groceries and two magazines for my Friday enjoyment.  “Check out the headlines!” he exclaimed as he proudly displayed them for me.  “Best and Worst Beach Bodies!”  Chad knows what I like, and beach body stories are right up there with my favorite.  It’s a guilty pleasure, for sure.  I think what I like about this storyline is that you get to see celebrities with flaws.  Let’s face it, when you read a more quality magazine, maybe Fitness Magazine, or Real Simple (one of my favorites), or Glamour, we all know that the photographs have been professionally produced with the best lighting and angles, then they’ve likely been touched up in Photoshop…by the time the photo makes its way into the magazine, it’s a mere shadow of the true representation.  Plus, it’s nice to know that even celebrities have flaws and imperfect lives, despite what we see on television. 

What frustrates me, though, about the beach body storyline is the hypocrisy of the magazine writers themselves.   One story will splash a super-thin celebrity across the page with a headline like, “Scary Skinny!” and then two pages later a headline will read, “Will Jessica Simpson ever lose the baby weight?”  It’s pretty much a whiplash message of confusing body image stories, and it’s no wonder we women are confused about how to feel about our own physiques. 

I don’t have a perfect body.  I’m not terribly athletic, I don’t have a workout regimen, and I do love Oreos.  I don’t really deprive myself of food, but I’m not what I would call an unhealthy eater, either.   I typically wear a size 9 or 10 in jeans.  Would I like to be a size 8?  Absolutely.  Do I try to monitor what I eat?  For sure.  Now that spring has finally shown up, Chad and I enjoy evening walks, and I love taking more rigorous walks on the weekend.  I care about my heath.  I don’t want my creaky knees to get to the point that I need surgery.  But I’m pretty exhausted by all the conflicting images we women are bombarded with on a daily basis.  My ultimate goal is to find a pleasant balance between being good to my body and also just enjoying life without strict barriers holding me back. 

When I see women on the street, or when I hang out with my girlfriends, what I realize is that I don’t spend an awful lot of time noticing their physique.  I know this might sound cliché, but what I see is their internal beauty.  Sometimes when I am people-watching, I will see a woman who, by tabloid standards, would be deemed overweight, but she is in fact very beautiful.  And unique.  It’s funny that I can see that in a stranger, but not in myself.  I am really hard on myself.  I see my rear-end in a mirror, and I swear it looks like the back of a Greyhound bus.  My laptop is currently resting on my tummy pooch.  I want to learn to be okay with that…not in a gluttony sort of way, but in a “I like myself pooch and all” sort of way. 

Eva Longoria was photographed on the beach recently.  She was in a lounge chair, leaning up to get something resting near her feet, and her tummy bulged as the photographer snapped his shot.  Shortly after the photos hit the tabloids, Longoria was on the Dr. Oz show.  In her candid interview, she said that her divorce from Tony Parker was so hard on her that she pretty much stopped eating altogether; she was wasting away.  She said, "That's probably the time I got the most compliments because I was so skinny. I was not eating. I was depressed. I was sad. My diet was coffee. So people kept saying, 'You look amazing. Divorce agrees with you.”  Isn’t that crazy?  To applaud a woman’s weight loss that was caused by such tragedy?  What Longoria discovered, however, is that her body was in big trouble.  She went to a doctor who realized that her body was shutting down from lack of nutrients.  She had to undergo heavy vitamin treatments and finally got back on track.  She gained some much-needed weight....and now she’s in the “Best and Worst Beach Bodies” story for her tummy pooch.  Seriously?  We women need to be kind to our bodies and to each other’s bodies.  I need to accept my bulges that seem to be in all the wrong places.  I need to look at myself the same way that I look at my girlfriends and even strangers on the street, because I give them much more grace than I give myself. 

Thankfully I have a husband who loves me no matter what.  And he frequently (despite my protests) stocks the pantry with Oreos as proof.

"Do Not Be Afraid"

I am sitting here on my couch watching the up-to-the-minute news regarding the tragic events that occurred at the Boston Marathon on Monday.  Two days later we learned of a fertilizer plant explosion in the city of West, Texas.  Four months ago we watched in horror as the school shooting in Newtown, Connecticut was splashed across news outlets.  It seems like these shocking events keep coming, wave upon wave, and with each successive breaker our fears about the future increase.   I’ve heard plenty of conversations about the future of our nation.  I’ve heard lots of comments laced with sorrow, uncertainty, anger….and a lot of fear.

I heard somewhere that the phrase “do not be afraid” appears 365 times in the Bible.  I have not confirmed this fact, so I can’t say definitively that it’s true, but I like the idea.  And a quick search of an online Bible does prove that the phrase appears quite often.  The Book of Joshua is one of my favorite Old Testament texts because the Israelites were confused, afraid, and homeless, but God continues to remind the newbie leader Joshua to fear not and trust in God’s provision.  I’ll bet Joshua was quaking in his sandals at the thought of leading a ragged band of road-weary Israelites into the Promised Land.  And I’ll bet he got some funny looks when he told them the way to defeat Jericho was to march around the walls of the city until Jericho fell.  “Do not be afraid” was at the forefront of Joshua’s leadership.  It was practically his motto.  And we can learn a lot from this command.

I confess that I haven’t spent a lot of time in the Book of Nehemiah.  It’s one of those little Old Testament books that is lost in a forest of other little Old Testament books.  It’s easy to miss.  But Nehemiah has a lot to teach us as well.  His great “commission,” you might call it, is to rebuild Jerusalem for the Jews.  Despite opposition from some very powerful tribes (Philistines, Ammonites, and others), Nehemiah successfully rebuilt the walls of Jerusalem in just over 50 days.  It wasn’t an easy endeavor.  Israel prayed continually and arranged armed guards day and night around the perimeter.  In Chapter 4, which documents the rebuilding process, the people realized this:  “The strength of those who bear the burdens is failing. There is too much rubble. By ourselves we will not be able to rebuild the wall.”  The task looked impossible.  The odds were against them.  They were probably exhausted, worried, and fearful.  The people of Israel needed to pull together to finish the task.  And pull together they did.  Nehemiah recounts his next plan: “So in the lowest parts of the space behind the wall, in open places, I stationed the people by their clans, with their swords, their spears, and their bows.   And I looked and arose and said to the nobles and to the officials and to the rest of the people, “Do not be afraid of them. Remember the Lord, who is great and awesome, and fight for your brothers, your sons, your daughters, your wives, and your homes.”  Stick together, he says.  Clasp hands and keep working.  Don’t quit now. 

Imagine what would have happened if Israel had succumbed to their fear and frustration.  They might have failed to make a working plan.  They might have been overtaken by their enemies when they weren’t looking.  They might have quit altogether.  But they didn’t.  “Do not be afraid,” said Nehemiah.  Why?  Because fear paralyzes.  Fear locks our thoughts in a loop of panic.  It locks our feet to the ground.  Fear leads to inaction.  Some amount of fear is healthy.  Fear of failing can motivate a student to study hard for a final exam.  Fear can protect us from doing something dangerous or unhealthy.  But fear that becomes rooted, fear that doesn’t promote action, is crippling. 

I’m grateful for the news stories that are emerging that highlight acts of heroism in the wake of Boston’s tragedy.  Stories of average citizens springing into action to carry people to safety, bystanders staunching wounds with tourniquets fashioned from T-shirts, or strangers simply comforting others in the midst of chaos.  This is community.  This is the church body.  Action defines both.  Nehemiah did not take for granted the danger that loomed.  He had a plan.  He said, “When our enemies heard that it was known to us and that God had frustrated their plan, we all returned to the wall, each to his work.   From that day on, half of my servants worked on construction, and half held the spears, shields, bows, and coats of mail. And the leaders stood behind the whole house of Judah, who were building on the wall. Those who carried burdens were loaded in such a way that each labored on the work with one hand and held his weapon with the other.   And each of the builders had his sword strapped at his side while he built. The man who sounded the trumpet was beside me.   And I said to the nobles and to the officials and to the rest of the people, ‘The work is great and widely spread, and we are separated on the wall, far from one another.  In the place where you hear the sound of the trumpet, rally to us there. Our God will fight for us.’”  There was some serious multi-tasking going on!  This was not a group paralyzed by fear.  They didn’t ignore the fear, but they also didn’t ignore the work they set out to do.  Their fear perhaps even pushed them to work harder, keep a vigilant eye open for danger, and made their task even more urgent.  And their fear perhaps solidified their community even more. 

The Israelites kept one thought at the front of their mind during this time.  Nehemiah implored that they “Remember the Lord, who is great and awesome….Our God will fight for us.”  Their action and focus kept Israel from becoming proverbial “deer in the headlights.”  They kept their eyes on God and their feet and minds working. 

Even the most terrible darkness cannot snuff out the light.  Even the smallest flame will dispel darkness.  This is what I hope I will remember when I encounter darkness in all its forms, from national tragedies to the smallest personal struggles.  The Apostle Paul reminds us in 2 Corinthians 4 this:  “For God, who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.”  We carry God’s light within us, and we can carry that light wherever we go, whether that is rushing into the smoke created by a detonated bomb, the hunger of a homeless man in need of a meal, or the suffering of a friend who has just had a bad week. 

I offer prayers of healing for all those in the midst of tragedy, and prayers of thanksgiving for all of those who choose to carry light into darkness.

God Doesn't Care about Your Football Team....Or Does He?

This thought might seem cynical:  God doesn’t care about your team winning the playoffs.  I recall watching a football game, and good old Tim Tebow did his famous “Tebow” prayer pose after making a touchdown, and while I am sure that Tebow and his fans were praying for a win, I knew that the opposing team also had scores of people praying that their team would win.  And I realized that all those prayers wafting up to Heaven regarding a playoff win were probably not going to get answers…well, for at least 50% of those praying.  And I can’t help but wonder if God doesn’t find it a little amusing to hear those wistful prayers, especially when there are so many other pressing things going on down here on Earth. 

I didn’t like the pessimistic feeling of that thought in my head, though.  It’s not that I see God as some sort of cosmic Santa Clause who will rain down answers to prayers just because He loves us (which He does, more than we can understand), but I had always held onto the notion that all of our prayers are really important.  But let’s face it:  How many prayers have you prayed that weren’t answered (at least not in the way you were hoping for)?  I’ve got a pretty long list of prayers that have seemingly gone up into the clouds and gotten stuck in the fog.  And looking at my life now, I’m really glad that some of those prayers didn’t go according to my playbook. 

 

I’ve been praying one specific prayer for something like 2-3 months, every day.  I started to feel foolish at some point over praying this prayer again and again and again, and I also began to wonder if I was actually becoming a spiritual nag.  Was God thinking to Himself, Ugh.  Seriously kid.  This same request?  Quit bugging me, girl.  You’re making me nuts! 

I’d feel that way, I suppose, if I had to deal with that. 

After thinking more about this Tebow monkey-wrench and trying to understand the nature of prayer, I’ve come to the conclusion that, though it’s important, the prayer matters less than the pray-er.  If you get what I’m saying.  My approach at God’s throne, the act of coming to God with a plea, a confusion, a question, or a complaint, is the key.  Maybe it’s more about that daily connection with God than it is my specific need.  I’m not saying that our specific needs aren’t important, but maybe prayer is more than just that.

I considered putting that specific prayer out to pasture, worried that I was getting this whole prayer thing wrong.  And then, thanks to that little postcard from God, I realized what I was doing was just fine.  I already mentioned that I receive a daily devotion from Max Lucado in my email inbox.  This Monday, this is what I read:  “God will speak to you differently than He will speak to others.  Just because God spoke to Moses through a burning bush doesn’t mean we should all sit next to a bush waiting for God to speak.  No, God reveals His heart personally to each person.  We learn His will as we take up residence in His house and seek to listen to him every single day.”

This, I think, is what prayer is about:  Taking up residence in God’s house, becoming familiar with His voice, and simply being in His presence.  The more I realize this, the more I suspect that God hears every prayer that I pray.  Perhaps some of them make Him chuckle; perhaps with some He gently shakes His head saying, “Not this time, dear one.  But I have something else…”  And while not all of my prayers will be answered, God IS hearing them all.  And He is providing answers…I just may not connect my prayer with the answer that comes because I am sometimes dim.  But most importantly, I suspect that the more time I spend at God’s feet, the more I change, and then my prayers might change because my heart’s desires change as well.  So, I am going to continue praying that one specific prayer each day, and I’m not even going to fear that I’ve become a nag.  I’ll simply keep my eyes open for an answer, no matter what form the answer takes.