I LIKE BIG “BUTS” AND I CANNOT LIE …

My car has these handy little sensor lights on both of my (interior) doors next to the dashboard that alert me whenever there is a car next to me driving in my blind spot. These sensors have saved me on more than one occasion. I’m easily annoyed by drivers who insist on driving five miles under the speed limit. It’s for this reason, I’ve been known to execute a perfect whip-around (sometimes rather offensive and/or questionable) lane change in an attempt to avoid the snail’s pace that drives me bonkers. Performing this particular maneuver is responsible for me losing my Christian witness on more than one occasion.  Hence, the need for the sensory alert lights.  These sensor alert lights are more than a luxury – but a necessity for someone like me who is so easily annoyed by lollygagging drivers. 

While running errands a few days ago, I started thinking about how great it would be if my brain actually had a similar warning system. You know – for those times when I’m about to put my foot in my mouth and say something I know I probably shouldn’t. A warning light could stop me before I open my mouth and save me from looking the fool.

Who wouldn’t like a few warning lights every time they were about to eat something they know they aren’t supposed to be eating? Or drink something? Or buy something they can’t afford? Or post something in response to some horrible social media troll?

The possibilities are limitless! Every area of life could benefit from some sort of internal warning system.

The thing is – I’m pretty certain I’ve already got an internal early warning system in place. For me, it’s identified by “that gut feeling” or “the voice of reason.” Some might call it intuition, common sense or the prompting of the Holy Spirit. Whatever you want to call it – I know that it’s there inside of me, but I frequently choose to ignore the warnings.

How many times have you – or someone you know, said something like:

I know I shouldn’t eat this – BUT …

I know I shouldn’t buy this – BUT …

I know I shouldn’t drink this – BUT …

I know I probably shouldn’t say this – BUT …

I know I shouldn’t repeat this – BUT …

I know I shouldn’t wear this – BUT …

I know I shouldn’t … BUT, BUT, BUT …

If YOU’VE ever uttered these words: I know I shouldn’t – BUT … you too have an internal warning system! FILL IN THE BLANK WITH YOUR OWN VERSION OF “I KNOW I SHOULDN’T BUT …”  

I don’t even have to be talked into these “I KNOW I SHOULDN’T – BUT …” situations. Most of the time, I’m willing to throw caution to the wind and the consequences be damned. Consequences can always be dealt with later. Obviously, this type of logic has put me in a pickle on more than one occasion. Every fall off the Weight Watcher Wagon began with an “I know I shouldn’t eat this – but …” temptation that was ignored. The warning systems are in place, yet somehow that innocent, seductive coaxing of my arch nemesis – Satan, himself, frequently trumps all sound reasoning, logic and common sense.  How does he always make the forbidden sound so appealing – almost logical, as if I deserve whatever the forbidden fruit is?

I know I’ve likely blogged on this subject before – perhaps even, many times over. Clearly, it’s a lesson that I need to be reminded of time and again. I’m still extremely gullible when it comes to these BIG BUT excuses.

Last week was a particularly difficult week because I felt out of sorts for much of the week. Call it an Indian summer funk. Waiting on winter funk. Perhaps the earth suffered a slight shift on its axis, causing a hormonal imbalance. Maybe it was just an overall, general not feeling like myself all week funk … who knows? What I DO know is, all of this uncharacteristic funk moved me to want to eat more than I normally do. I had this insatiable hunger for all of the wrong things last week. Some days I controlled it better than other days. And then some days – I did not control it at all, BUT rather it controlled me. My craving for carbs of the cracker, cookie and chip persuasion brought me to my knees. Literally. I found myself in a prayerful crouch on my knees several times this week, begging for a little divine intervention.

I suppose on the bright side (if there is one), is that my refusal to heed my internal warning system could have completely derailed my weight maintenance. Sure, I ate some stuff that I shouldn’t have this week – but it’s not so bad that I cannot rebound from my slight fall. I did find myself in familiar territory though with regards to a little resurrected self-loathing. While I know it’s not healthy to wallow in self-pity and self-hatred, I appreciate that God reminds me that I cannot ever afford to think I’ve conquered this weight loss/maintenance battle once and for all. I. Have. Not. I still need the Lord’s guidance and mercy on a daily basis.

Most Emergency Alert Systems (EAS) such as weather warnings, offer steps to follow in the event of a real threat or emergency. Seek shelter. Stay away from windows. Make sure you turn the gas off. Have an emergency kit with flashlights, water, medications, etc. etc. etc.

My internal warning alert system has very specific steps as well. Step away from the pantry! Put the fork (or spoon down)! Remove yourself from the temptation! Submit yourself to God, resist the devil and he will flee! Brush your teeth as soon as possible to eliminate the taste of sin and debauchery in your mouth! Repent and confess my slip-up to God immediately!!! Reach for my Bible. Turn on Christian music. If all else fails – take a walk around the block or get in the car and physically drive away in order to remove myself from whatever it is that is tempting me!

ALL of these are great suggestions, but none of them will work if I choose to ignore the warnings. I’ve got to do my part, so God can do his part. He already knows when I’m falling apart and giving in to temptation. God actually already knows what I’m going to struggle with tomorrow, next week, next month, next year and 10 years from now.

God could supernaturally step in and steer me away from trouble without my asking – but God gives us all free will for a reason. God wants us to come to him on our own and ask for his help. Being the loving Father that he is, he is more than willing to let us make our own mistakes. If we don’t fail from time to time, it’s unlikely that we’ll realize that we NEED God to manage our lives. We need God – no, scratch that. I NEED GOD for everything, because clearly, I’m too stupid for my own good sometimes. This past week is proof of that! I like BIG BUTS, but I cannot lie. I need God to keep me from making those dangerous lane changes in my car. I need God’s mercy in my diet. I need God’s strength to help me when I am too weak or too lazy to exercise. I need God in my relationships. I need God for everything. I cannot do life without him.

I’m praying I will heed the warnings this week coming up. I’m trusting God to give me a boost back up on the wagon. I am believing His strength will guide me through every single challenge or temptation I might face this week. Above all – I pray God will help me to stay in my Weight Watcher lane this week and resist ALL BIG BUT temptations! In His Name, I ask for all these things! AMEN!

QUOTE OF THE WEEK:

The Dream Weaver

The last week I’ve been battling a common malady – common to writers, at least. The proverbial “writer’s block” is spreading through my brain like a flesh-eating bacterium. The flow of creative juices is at a near standstill making me feel as though I’ve developed some sort of creative constipation. I’m in desperate need of a literary plumber’s helper to unstop the blockage.

The blockage can’t even truly be categorized as an inability to put pen to paper (or more aptly, fingers to keyboard). The ideas are there – so many in fact, I can’t possibly hope to transcribe them all this side of heaven – even if I live to be 100 years old. The gray matter between my ears contains multiple plot lines, snippets of dialogue and a multitude of character descriptions – all rolling around in my brain willy-nilly begging to be liberated. At times, I fear the only way to release them would be to unhinge my scalp and attach a few electrodes to the squishy cranial orb renting space between my ears. To have the ability to download my thoughts without actually having to type them all out would certainly save time and effort. Perhaps this isn’t possible in this day and age – but I suspect this will be a common practice at some point in the future – when science meets fiction and science fiction becomes science fact.

Ironically, my mind is frequently overwhelmed with great story possibilities at the most inopportune times. When I’m in the shower, hoofing it on the treadmill or driving in the HOV lane of the freeway – the words flow like a rogue tsunami, flooding my mind with imaginative tales that surely could be award-winning fictional masterpieces. But then when I manage to squeeze in a few minutes to sit down and compose these masterpieces … pfft … nothing! The words disintegrate, my ideas turn to dust, leaving me scratching my head wondering … Wondering what? What was that brilliant idea?

This last week has been particularly challenging in the fact that I’ve been battling some semi-major anxiety, with a side of minor depression. My creative blockage is a direct result of a few recurring problems that have risen to the surface in the last few days. Much like that layer of gelatinous gunk that settles atop your bowl of leftovers when you dare to cook with lard or butter – my unresolved internal struggles have done just that: risen to the top, they have and are currently hijacking my focus and stealing my ability to create.

These are circumstances that clearly cannot be resolved without creating a brand-new set of problems of which will cause irreparable harm. These emotional issues are demanding to be dealt with again. My nature has always been to bury the problems under a mountain of food or my ever-ready supply of guilt. Denial is my middle name and pretending everything is fine is my MO, even when things are not fine. It feels as though I’ve been beating this dead horse forever. Will it ever die so I can finally dismount it once and for all? Why this continual resurrection of buried pain and guilt?

These unresolved circumstances were triggered this week by a recurring nightmare that has plagued me for longer than I can even remember. I’m talking years! The disturbing nightmares have been relentless in their pursuit of my sanity.

I’m a firm believer in prophetic dreams and dreams that are thematic in nature. I believe that dreams can contain timely messages meant to move us to action. God can and does use dreams to communicate with us. My imagination is frequently set on autopilot during slumber. My dreams are vivid, colorful and oftentimes the only outlet suitable for my troubled emotions.

My dreams are so specific, I wrote my second novel, The Name based on a series of dreams God choreographed over the course of a few days. 

I love this story and these characters so much in fact, I suffered major withdrawals and felt a profound sense of loss once I published the book. The characters were so real to me, I felt as if for the six months I was writing and editing this book – these people were MY people; MY family, and I missed them terribly once the book was finished. They were created through my dreams and came to life once my imagination fully engaged in the process of writing their stories.

I love the stories in the Bible that deal with dreams and their interpretations. Daniel, Joseph, Saul – to name just a few had prophetic dreams or were blessed with the ability to interpret dreams. A Google search on the subject of what the Bible says about dreams will provide you with enough reading material to entertain you for hours. My recurring dream starts innocently enough with me chewing a piece of pink bubble gum. (As a rule, I’m not much of a gum chewer. I find chewing gum tedious and at times, uncomfortable.) My dislike of gum carries through in my dreams as well, as the whole point of the dream is to rid myself of this annoying substance. As I attempt to spit the gum out, it clings to my teeth. The harder I try to physically pull the gum from my mouth, the more of it there seems to be as it doubles in size. It sticks to my hands as well as my teeth as I’m pulling it from my mouth until I feel tangled up in pink gum.

My efforts seem futile trying to rid my mouth of the exasperating wad of gum. Just as it seems I’ve nearly bested the tenaciously sticky stuff and I’m pulling what feels like the last of it from my mouth, I realize that with each tug of the stringy, sticky goo – my teeth are being pulled out with the gum. The remaining gum latches onto the rest of my teeth and I can feel all of my teeth moving around in my mouth. I’m left with a mouthful of gum that now is filled with most of my teeth.

It’s usually at this point that I wake up – always automatically counting my teeth with my tongue to make sure everything is intact.

I reached out to a friend this week who has a long history of prophetic dreams. She is fascinated by dream interpretation and is skilled at researching the meaning of dreams. After explaining my dream to her, she promised to investigate the topic of teeth and chewing gum to see if she could discover the root of the recurring nightmare.

My friend responded yesterday with some spot-on insights that were neither new nor surprising. She believes that losing my teeth is indicative of internal anxiety. She explained that there is power in teeth – as they are our tools that help us to eat and speak. She expressed that the fact that my teeth are coming out as they stick to the gum could mean that I have anxiety about expressing myself, or perhaps I’m worried about what people may think of me, especially since I don’t want to expose my shortcomings to anyone for fear of rejection. This is mostly true. I work hard at hiding my emotions and shortcomings as if it were my career. I reveal as little of my true self as possible – even with those closest to me.

There were many other things that she discovered about the elements of my dream, but the most profound thing she said is that because the dream continually recurs, it could signify that I’m simply not dealing with all of these hidden issues. Not surprisingly, the anxiety is likely rooted in the fear I lived with growing up as a child who rarely felt safe in my home. The fear creates the anxiety and depression which in turn, eats away at me and manifests itself in this recurring nightmare.

Again, none of this is new to me. It is however, disturbing as I’m not able to resolve any of the things that are causing the anxiety. Knowing this about myself, my way of dealing  – is now and always has been – writing. Even as a child, I wrote extensively – always including the HEF (happily ever after) in my story lines and their endings since my life rarely mirrored that throughout my childhood.

Chasing the inner demons with words as my only weapon hasn’t always proved successful – which is why I’m thankful for anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medications. Uplifting music and time spent in prayer and meditation of God’s Word pulls me through when my words prove ineffective.

The cycle continues. The dreams recur. Sleep is disrupted. Emotions are pressed down. The enemy pursues. The record plays on a loop in my head, What is wrong with me?  

For God speaks again and again,
    though people do not recognize it.
¹⁵ He speaks in dreams, in visions of the night,
    when deep sleep falls on people
    as they lie in their beds.
¹⁶ He whispers in their ears
    and terrifies them with warnings.
¹⁷ He makes them turn from doing wrong;
    he keeps them from pride.
¹⁸ He protects them from the grave,
    from crossing over the river of death. (Job 33:14-18 NLT)

QUOTE OF THE DAY:

 

RESET THE COOKIES!

Years ago (I’m talking a loooonnnnng time ago, back before Y2K and the turn of the century), when my family purchased our first in-home computer, I possessed very few skills regarding the operation and/or technological capabilities of said computer. As of today, I can say with a certain amount of confidence – I know enough about technology to render myself certifiably insane when any of my electronics are malfunctioning. Roughly translated: I know how to turn my computer, laptop, Smart Phone and television off and on, but little beyond that.

Perhaps that’s a slight exaggeration. I know a few things. However, most of what I know isn’t considered substantial enough to help me when my laptop freezes up or refuses to cooperate.  This generally is guaranteed to happen whenever I’m in the middle of composing a chapter in the next “Bestseller” or waxing poetic in a life-changing blog post.

The first time someone from technical support tried to walk me through deleting my cookies, my first reaction was one of guilt and shame. Having no idea what computer cookies were – I quite naturally imagined oven-baked cookies were somehow magically nesting within the enclosed hard drive or software. I assumed these cookies would appear much the same way the Keebler Elves materialized from their fairyland forest tree carrying platters of these mystical cookie bytes or megabytes that I was somehow supposed to be familiar with simply because I owned a computer.

I mean, it made sense to me. Hard drive versus hard biscuit cookies. Software versus soft-baked, chewy chocolate chips. Bytes, megabytes and terabytes certainly best describe the manner in which the average junk food junkie devours a baker’s dozen of homemade oatmeal raisin cookies. Me? I’m what is considered a “tiny bite” cookie connoisseur. I prefer small, intentional bites for the purpose of pushing the needle on the pleasure meter all the way to maximum satisfaction.

Upon learning that these cookies were nothing more than stored files on my computer, I felt infinitely relieved. I honestly was worried that the infamous “Big Brother” was somehow spying on me from a hidden camera embedded somewhere on my computer. He most assuredly was broadcasting my shame whenever I opted to eat lunch at my desk. And yes – cookies may or may not have been a regular staple on the daily menu back in those early days of computer ownership. For all I knew, my guilt was jettisoned out there somewhere in cyber space, branding me as the poster child for the sin of gluttony. Oh – the shame.

Here we are years later, with me only slightly more educated in all manner of techno-geek speak. I still have trouble remembering the necessary steps to delete my cookies. I rarely perform the necessary actions to clear the clutter from my laptop. I’m negligent in closing out programs. I leave multiple files and windows open. I have to be reminded to power down, back-up my work, restart or refresh on a fairly regular basis.

I know from much trial and error experience though, once I take the time to do the necessary maintenance of my files – my computer is much more willing to perform.

Sometimes, I think the human body needs a manual override, reset function as well. Throughout the summer I admit, I’ve been playing a little fast and loose with my daily menu and caloric intake. It’s been so hot, I rarely cook – but am blessed to be married to man who looks at eating like it’s his job. Because of this – he cooks every Sunday. He believes in the “more is more” food math system, so he cooks enough food to last for most of the week, which works in my favor.

I’m not always a great leftover lover, so I resort to my “I-hate-to-cook-getting-sick-of-leftovers, GO TO’s.” Throughout the long, hot summer, I’ve consumed gallons of protein fruit smoothies, eaten copious amounts of Greek yogurt, simple salads and enough grapes, berries and watermelon – that by all accounts, I should be sprouting vines from every orifice of my body by now.

I’ve been diligent in counting my weekly WW points and activity points on the WW app. I also utilize the My Fitness Pal app where I log daily calories and exercise stats. I’ve been mostly honest with my portion sizes. Okay – maybe not so honest, since I already admitted to that whole fast and loose juggling of calories.

I’ve been wrestling with those annoying 3-5 pounds of fluff overage around my mid-section for the better part of the last three months – most of which is likely comprised of the excess fruit intake. Fruit and most vegetables are now considered zero points in the WW bible – but there is such a thing as eating TOO MUCH FRUIT. Clearly I AM DEFINITELY the poster child for that screw-up. It was only after attending a recent WW meeting that I discovered frozen fruits are not free like their fresh, just-picked counterparts. Frozen fruits must be counted by calculating the statistics of your smoothie recipe. To my horror, I learned that my 4-point smoothie was actually more like 12 or 15 points! Hmm, is it any wonder my weight was slowing creeping up?

They (whoever They are) say knowledge is power. Like many addicts, I’ve been dragging myself to meetings a little more frequently in the last few weeks because these few pounds are making me feel as though I’ve had a major fall off the WW wagon.

Meetings have helped. Information is key – but what has served me best and helped me to banish those pesky few pounds, was the notion that I needed a metabolic reset. I chose to participate in several 24-hour fasts over the last couple of weeks. I should go on record as stating that I HATE TO FAST. For someone with a metabolism that moves slower than sludge in a Saskatchewan winter – NOTHING about me moves quickly. Fasting is one of my least favorite practices!

I know that there are many, many accounts of people in the Bible fasting for long periods of time. Jesus fasted for 40 days. Moses fasted for 40 days as well. Daniel fasted for 21 days. King David, Esther, Ezra and the entire nation of Ninevah fasted after Jonah’s warning to the nation. The apostle Paul regularly fasted. A righteous woman named Anna, from the book of Luke 2:36-37, served God with fasting and prayers night and day as she awaited God’s promised Messiah. Her ongoing testimony to us shows that fasting is an act of worship and service before God.  (Referenced from: https://www.ucg.org/bible-study-tools/bible-questions-and-answers/what-are-some-biblical-examples-of-fasting)

Initially, I wasn’t entertaining the idea of fasting as an act of worship. I approached it purely from the point of needing to shock my body into submission so it would burn those extra pounds off. I entered into fasting for the singular purpose to reset the offset! Did I mention how much I hate to deny my flesh of food? I really, really dislike fasting. My flesh wants, what my flesh wants and it is accustomed to getting what it wants – when it wants.

But a reset is a reset and if a reset is what is needed – a reset it shall be!

I firmly believe in fasting for spiritual enlightenment and discovery for other people, not necessarily as a spiritual discipline for myself. However, I’ve never been a fan of fasting solely for the purpose of weight loss. I opted to negotiate with my brain in an attempt to convince it that any fasting I did would bring me closer to God.  That worked for the first half of my day during my first fast a couple of weeks ago. The second half of that day though – not so much. By the time I reached the 12th hour, I was ready to pluck the buttons off my shirt and slam them back like they were a fistful of peanut M&Ms.

In order to keep my buttons in tact and to prevent a fashion mishap, I opted for extra water. Praise the good Lord and all that is Holy for the never-ending availability of lemon water and flavored water. A rumbling tummy can be temporarily tamed with many, many, many glasses of water, which in my opinion is the nectar of the Gods.

In the end, the fasting that I despise turned out to be the right thing for me. Abstaining from food pulled my focus straight to the Lord – the One who has helped me throughout my weight loss journey. The One who gives me energy for daily exercise. The One who encourages me when I want to eat all of the wrong foods. The One who supernaturally intervened when I wanted to die from depression and obesity. The One who constantly reminds me that I am nothing without Him – but I can do ALL things with His strength guiding me.

As much as I have always avoided fasting, I have learned that when approached from more of a spiritual standpoint, fasting does clear the clutter from a brain that’s gotten fuzzy from too many of the wrong foods. Consuming only water and engaging in frequent prayer and chewing on insightful Scriptures was the necessary reset my brain, my body, my emotions and my spirit all desperately needed.

Fasting isn’t for everyone – especially for anyone with ongoing health challenges or anyone living with diabetes or hypoglycemia. I AM NOT a nutritionist or medical expert – so I HIGHLY recommend consulting with a trained medical professional and/or spiritual adviser before beginning any type of fast. What works for me – may not work for you!

For me – problem pounds appear to have been erased. Stagnant expectations, negative mindsets and overall dieting despair has been reset to the default setting of someone who has successfully piloted the weight watcher wagon into the winner’s circle. I’ve cleared the cookies and pummeled the problem poundage into submission. I believe my body is now able to perform the job it was designed to do much more efficiently. Which makes me think that a more frequent practice of “deleting my cookies,” aka a partial fast – may be more of a necessity as opposed to an occasional metabolic reset. This may be the thing I’ve needed all along, but refused to see. If all goes according to plan (and prayer, faith, hope and God’s grace) I can continue to maintain a healthy weight loss from now until Jesus comes!

How about YOU? Do you need a RESET of any kind – be it emotional, spiritual, physical, financial, career, educational … etc.? Seek out the reset button that will work the best for you in your situation – and don’t be afraid to engage it. QUOTE OF THE DAY:

 

Blame it on Summer!

Nothing strikes fear in the heart of a desert-dwelling Phoenician more than a malfunctioning, or heaven forbid – broken air conditioner in our home or car.  No one can truly appreciate the luxury of a climate-controlled thermostat set at the perfect indoor temperature of 76° unless you’ve actually braved the elements at the pinnacle of a Phoenix summer.

For those of you unfamiliar with a Phoenix summer, it’s a little like taking a vacation on the surface of the sun. This is an actual picture of my Minnesota relatives working on that “kissed by the sun, golden sun tan” over Labor Day weekend.

I firmly believe that anybody who commits a misdemeanor or minor traffic infraction during the months of June through late September (sometimes May through early October), should be allowed to invoke the “I BLAME IT ON SUMMER” defense. The only reason most of us drive overly fast during the summer months is because we are half-crazy which warrants breaking all land-speed limits for the express purpose of arriving home to escape the heat.

Like a lot of my neighboring Phoenix suburbanites, I become largely nocturnal during the summer months. Simple tasks like checking the mail or moving the trash receptacles to the curb is an energy-draining, face-melting activity that requires a minimum of one-hour recovery time.

I am blessed to work from home and really feel for those who must leave the safety of their air-conditioned cocoons to travel to their air-conditioned jobs. I try to limit my outdoor activities, errands and appointments to one (or at the most) two days a week.

Last month as I ventured forth with a “to-do” list as long as my arm (a side-effect of only venturing out one day per week) I discovered that while I’ve been hibernating the past few weeks, retailers have been busy stocking the shelves with a plethora of Christmas decorations, holiday wear and bedazzled fake pine Christmas trees. Most stores have very nearly bypassed the fall and Halloween season – going straight for the money-making, gift-giving holiday. This rare seasonal phenomenon generally begins as early as mid-July.

There is something about wading through whimsical holiday yard ornaments and listening to the faint strains of “Deck the Halls” wafting through the air-conditioned vents, that can push even the most provincial sun-worshipper to the brink of insanity. It’s not just Christmas decorations either. We are forced to push past synthetic sweaters, down-filled jackets, heavy jeans and all manner of fleece while on the hunt for those summer blow-out, super sales. On the plus side to this premature winter marketing strategy, most summer clothes, pool toys, patio furniture and beach wear are all marked down to unbelievably reduced prices smack dab in the middle of summer when we need them the most.

Notwithstanding the radically reduced summer wear and bargain beach umbrellas – there comes a point in every Phoenix summer when we ALL proclaim ENOUGH ALREADY! I’m done – stick a fork in me!

While Labor Day usually heralds the beginning of the “fall season” around the rest of the country – here in Phoenix we are still looking at another six or eight weeks of 100+ degree temperatures. These long, hot summer days make us all a tad cranky, surly, snarky and sour.

I’m tired of carrying my sun tea jar into the house while wearing pot holders. I weary of circling crowded parking lots praying for that coveted parking space under a rare shade tree.  Shade is a treasured commodity in my neck of the woods. Parking under a tree, canopy or covered parking structure might mean a longer walk to the door of your destination, but the difference between a shaded vehicle and one left to the maximum intensity of the summer sun can be a couple hundred degrees; making a car air conditioner that goes from zero to Polar Ice Cap in a matter of seconds, more than a luxury. It’s absolutely essential.  

Yes, it is true that you can bake a pan of cookies on your dashboard or the hood of your car in the middle of summer. It is equally true that you can fry an egg on the sidewalk or suffer third-degree burns on your hands opening any west-facing door.

Watching your weight and exercising are particularly challenging during the summer months. There are those who continue to exercise outside – but outdoor recreational activities are not for the faint of heart or weather wimps – of which I AM one. All of the things I love to do for more than half of the year: biking, hiking, outdoor dining, walking the dogs, playing golf – are all put on hold for the summer. My poor pups tend to pork up over the summer. They are reluctant to use the treadmill, so by the time “fall” arrives and the sidewalks are cool enough for their delicate paw pads, they resemble fat, furry potatoes.

Every aspect of life is affected by the never-ending heat. There are times that even the act of eating becomes too much of a bother. Trying to pick a restaurant that won’t require a long wait outside is far too taxing. Cooking at home is a forgotten art come summertime. My kitchen oven houses only cookie sheets covered with dust bunnies – because NO ONE turns the oven on unless there are no other options. Mostly I find that my summertime menus consist primarily of toast or yogurt and plenty of fresh summer fruits, which are slightly more nutritionally sound than the Icees, Slushies and ice cream bars my flesh craves. (Or their ever-popular adult cousins – wine slushies and Frozen Strawberry Margaritas. Now we’re talking!)

If  compromised appetite and diminished exercise routines aren’t enough – my creative juices have a hard time flowing during the summer. The wellspring of witty repartee is as dried up as my leathered summer skin. I really find it tough to write over the summer months; sometimes barely able to … string … together … coherent comments, dialog diatribes … or …? Hmm, I’ve forgotten the point I was trying to make.

It’s as if my creativity has retired, or perhaps on a temporary holiday hiatus that is synced to an extended summer school vacation timetable. Of course, I may be creatively deficient due to a significant number of brain freezes from imbibing in an over-abundance of those aforementioned wine slushies or Frozen Margarita adult beverages.

In spite of the elevated temperatures, I learned last week that while the heat might be responsible for limiting my outdoor activity time – it hasn’t entirely handicapped my athletic warrior’s spirit. On my weekly errand outing last week, I discovered exactly how weather acclimated I am, as well as how deep my fanatical career dieting roots are.

It was a typical Phoenix summer day; the temperature was hovering somewhere around 175°, give or take. I stopped by the Pharmacy near my house, doing the usual once around the parking lot in search of a shady spot under the covered parking structure. I snagged the only available space under the shady canopy and eyed the front door with much trepidation as it looked to be about a quarter of a mile away.

A courtesy shuttle pulled up behind my car and the driver naturally assumed I’d want a ride to shorten my time in the heat. But noooooooo. Did I mention that it was about 198°outside? Here’s where the crazy-obsessive-always-focusing-on-healthy-weight career dieter’s mentality kicked in. I declined the ride in the shuttle! I told the driver, “No, I’m good – just trying to get more steps on my fitness tracker!” He drove off with a wave, likely muttering under his breath, “Oh yeah – she’s a few bulbs short of a string!”

By the time I reached the front door and air-conditioned respite, I had a full-on “ladies body glow” going on. (i.e. face sweat, boob sweat and every other kind of bodily sweat).  I realized that exercise has become more important to me than comfort. If that’s not crazy – I don’t know what is!

“If you can’t stand the heat, stay out of the kitchen.” Roughly translated, summer is no surprise to those of us who are seasoned, full-time residents. It’s best tolerated if you keep your complaining to a minimum, because WE ALL know it’s hot. Stop reminding us! It also doesn’t hurt if you get your exercise endorphins from inside activities whenever possible to preserve your sanity and be ever-grateful for the fat-burning advantages of living in a sauna for half the year. Most importantly, a well-timed trip to Northern Arizona or San Diego can be very therapeutic when you just can’t stand the heat any longer.

What passes for a Phoenix winter is just around the corner which means Chamber of Commerce weather that draws seasonal snow birds – and an entirely different type of complaining for those of us that endure year round.

Phoenix is hot for nearly half of the year – but the other half more than makes up for it. We are blessed to be able to wear shorts and flip flops year-round.

It bears mentioning that the southwest Arizona desert is one of the few places on earth where the temperatures are so hot, uncomfortable and debilitating that it provides daily prompts to pray for the lost souls who don’t know Jesus and are facing an eternity in the depths of Hell. Arizona may be hot – but Hell is hotter!

 

We are looking forward to much cooler temps next week. Don’t blink though – or you just might miss our Arizona Autumn!

QUOTE OF THE DAY:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Goody-Two-Shoes

If I could have one superpower – it would definitely be INVISIBILITY. It’s actually a skill I’ve been practicing and perfecting my entire life due in part to my birth order as a middle child. Birth order predetermined the roles my siblings and I excelled in. My older sister, who was extremely smart (smart as in Mensa member smart), was also the family rebel. Trouble and chaos followed her everywhere, dogging her through a good part of her life. My younger brother was “the baby,” and mom’s favorite mainly because he was always being picked on. He struggled academically and was occasionally a victim of the neighborhood bully. He likely had undiagnosed Dyslexia, something that wasn’t even on educators’ radar during his formative years.

And then there was me. The forgotten, classic “middle child.” I embraced my status by being neither an over-achiever or a problematic trouble-maker. I followed every assigned rule so as not to draw attention to myself. I always employed good manners, cleaned my plate and rarely talked back.

I was average in every way imaginable, including, but not limited to outward appearance, athleticism, creativity and brains. My personality made nary a blip on the popularity meter. I’m fairly certain that if you look up the word “average” in the dictionary, you’d find a reference to ME, sans picture, because as previously mentioned – I was invisible. And I was extremely good at it.

As invisible as I was, the role of the responsible, caring one, fell to me. I enforced the house rules when my single-mother was at work. I colored between the lines, obeyed curfews (unless I was hanging out with my older sister and her friends), never argued about doing household chores, and always diligent with my homework. These habits and characteristics also assigned me a nickname. My sister dubbed me a “goody-two-shoes” early on in life. She delighted in making fun of me because I never wanted to get in trouble, while trouble was her middle name.

Last week I realized that my goody-two-shoes roots run deep and are still very much a part of my life. I still follow the rules, use my manners, pay my bills on time, adhere to age-appropriate fashion protocols and practice the golden rule whenever possible.

While volunteering last week, serving dinner to my church’s entire pastoral staff and their significant others – I was nearly stripped of my goody-two-shoes medal. Prior to dinner service, I was tasked with preparing appetizers which were little bites of mouth-watering sin, composed of fat juicy dried apricots, goat cheese, honey and almonds. I did fairly well in restricting my intake of said “nummies” by engaging in a lively exchange with my hosts and fellow servers.

Once dinner arrived, I felt the first clawing of the beast within. My “Mr. Hyde” reared his ugly head, demanding release once the catered dinner arrived. The meal was from Oregano’s, originally an Arizona pizza bistro, that is now a nationwide franchise. Mr. Hyde deduced that this would be an artery-clogging, off-the-charts carbo-overload meal and he commanded his fair share.

Four different types of deep-dish pizza, one gigantic thin-crust pizza the size of satellite dish (roughly 3-feet wide), eight large pans of assorted pastas, a pan of meatballs, two large boxes of garlic bread and oh yeah, two large bowls of salad complete with high calorie dressing and croutons crowded the over-sized kitchen island.

The end of the meal boasted four large boxes of pizza cookies, better known as a pizzookie. For those of you unfamiliar with this manna from heaven, an individual pizzookie is more than a half-pound of chocolate chip, peanut butter chocolate, or white chocolate macadamia nut cookie dough, slightly baked in a 6-inch pizza pan, topped with three scoops of vanilla bean ice cream and chocolate chips that usually feeds 2-4 people. The party-size pizzookie (baked in a 12-inch deep-dish pizza pan) rounded out the carb-infused dinner menu. There were FOUR large pizza cookies and a vat of ice cream sprinkled generously with mini chocolate chips. 

Throughout the evening, diners filled their plates with various combinations of high caloric food stuffs, many returning for seconds (or the rare, third-times-a-charm heavy hitter). Conversation was minimal as the only sounds were chewing and the occasional oohing and aahhing of mastication at its finest. 

My service wait-staff cohorts and I were encouraged to fill a plate and participate. All dove in with gusto – save for me. My goody-two-shoes-good-girl-always-watching-her-weight responsible persona ate only salad! However, my inner beast, Mr. Hyde, compiled a systematic check-list of all of the foods he wanted to sample and/or devour and the order in which they would be consumed. (He’s fond of the “Always start with dessert” belief system.)

The battle was real. MUST EAT FATTENING FOODS! My good-two-shoes went toe-to-toe with my Mr. Hyde, arguing with an emotional fencing and parry that left me physically spent by night’s end. Mr. Hyde did his best to convince me that I’d earned the right to at last sample some of the doughy, saucy, carb-y cornucopia of calories because I was after all, performing a great and noble service by volunteering my time.

On my feet for four hours, preparing appetizers, washing dishes, doling out foods forbidden to one maintaining a weight loss – surely that warranted a small sliver of pizza, a crust of bread, or at the very least – that glob of cheese and sauce stuck to the bottom of the pizza box that was going to be discarded in the evening trash! His taunts and jabs were relentless and somewhat convincing.

“Come on! Live a little … you deserve an occasional treat!” 

This was “not my first rodeo,” or a “one-and-done” volunteer effort on my part. I’ve been volunteering for this particular dinner service twice a year, for the past 7 or 8 years. I’ve done the groundwork. I’ve collected the intel, know the pitfalls and typically complete the mission calorically unscathed. Last week’s service, was no different, yet no less torturous for me and my ongoing weight loss maintenance battles.

I know I’ve been tempted before at this gig, but this particular evening found the temptations almost more than I could bear. I don’t remember the internal struggles being quite as tough as this one. Pizza ranks high on the all-time-favorite/junk-food-pyramid food group. I’ve denied my flesh pizza for longer than I can remember. What used to be a weekly past-time has been relegated to the occasional social gathering. Pizza is a rarity these days, definitely on the endangered species list. When the flesh is denied for overly long stretches of time – the flesh wants, what the flesh wants – and it fights tooth-and-nail to get it. And my flesh WANTED pizza – deep dish, thin-crust and of the cookie persuasion. 

Barely surviving my brush with a near face-plant into a pan of pasta, pizza and/or pizza cookie – I find that many days later, I can’t stop thinking about the Herculean, almost “heroic” restraint I exhibited. Part of me feels as though I should receive some sort of cash prize or award – perhaps even, a survivor’s medal for the self-imposed, flesh-denying limitations I practiced. I feel as though the universe owes me! Look what I could have done – but didn’t!

The fact is – I never wake up in the morning and think about robbing a bank or downing a bottle of tequila. I don’t fantasize about getting high or shooting up heroin. I don’t entertain fantasies of marital infidelity, cheating on my taxes or beating my fur babies. I have never once wanted to engage in some sort of death-defying activity or sport.

None of these things have ever tempted, nor will they ever become problematic enticements for me.

FOOD, on the other hand – we have a long, difficult and complicated relationship dating back to the days when my single mom could barely afford to keep her children fed. FOOD temptations are so much a part of me, that I wouldn’t know who I was without them.

The secret for me is to keep these temptations at bay. Incorporate an “occasional” cheat day rather than thinking for a moment that denying my flesh of all fun foods for the rest of my life is even possible. It. Is. Not.

I praise God for the restraint I showed this past week. I thank the Lord that I successfully sent Mr. Hyde packing this time. I am grateful that Jesus goes with me everywhere and gives me strength when I need it most.

It’s true, the flesh wants what the flesh wants, but the spirit obeys the Lord. Life will forever be lived one day at a time; one meal at a time and above all … one bite at a time.

 

 

 

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