Monday, August 17, 2009
UBO (Unidentified Blogging Object)
Not much new here; except now I'm working out regularly at the Wellness Center. What?! Who is this writing? I don't know; but she's all sweaty.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Why Day Fourteen Is Actually Only Day Eight
Ms. Brestin tells me that on "Day Four" I'm supposed to fast for 24 hours.
So I was on "Day Three" for quite a while. The better part of a week, really.
Mark tells me that I tend to think in "extremes"--things have to be done right now or never. I'm either (in my mind) a great mom or a terrible mom. Totally right and justified in all my ways; or entirely to blame for all the world's problems. This comes out in my behavior, too. I can be super sweet and patient in the face of tantrums or I can about rip off someone's whining face. (It's true.) I can be an understanding, forebearing, gentle, pleasant, supportive, and encouraging wife or an angry, selfish, snappy, grumpy, unreasonable one. Thinking in extremes sometimes works to my advantage: it motivates me to serve God more whole-heartedly, for instance. But generally speaking, having more moderation in my brain would probably be a good thing.
I have a little familiarity with fasting; I had a friend in high school who would fast two and three days at a time, several times a month. Surely I've read in books about fasting being a good spiritual discipline. Growing up Catholic, I know about meatless Fridays and fasting from chocolate, tv, facebook, etc. "for Lent." And my own pre-Jesus story involves a two-week "fast" in which I lost 38 pounds. So knowing my
(1) general lack of solid understanding about the true meaning and appropriate expression of fasting;
(2) personal baggage associated with weight loss; and
(3) my tendency to be an extremist
I was very nervous about this challenge. First I excused myself by going online to find a website to tell me I couldn't do it while breastfeeding. Got it. Then I further excused myself due to personal history, saying I wouldn't want to have incorrect motives; then I excused myself because of my fear of doing it.
One morning last week I finally got around to reading the rest of the study for Day Four, since I figured I should at least skim it before skipping it and heading on to Day Five. And this is what I read:
Miss one meal. Not a big deal. Really. What was funny is that making this decision immediately threw me into almost a panic. I started to feel weak. My muscles started aching. I felt shaky, desperate for food--even though it had only been a couple hours at most since breakfast.
As I struggled with my 10 a.m. deterioration, I began to see just how much power over me that the promise or crutch of eating had. And I was sad. I prayed while on a little walk that God would take my tiny step and meet me the rest of the way. And that I wouldn't die.
At lunch time, Mark and I had this conversation:
M, at the table: "Are you hungry?"
Me, on the couch: "Yes, I'm starving."
M: "You can eat."
Me, in a moment of profundity: "Yes, the question is can I not eat?"
The hardest part was that first two hours.
During the afternoon, I dutifully read the suggested "Psalm meal" (thinking 'whatever, crazy author lady!') for the day, Psalm 119:25-32. It was the first time I had ever read a Psalm and been able to say, "That is how I feel!" even though it would be very melodramatic of me to claim all of it. But there were some especially key parts:
So I was on "Day Three" for quite a while. The better part of a week, really.
Mark tells me that I tend to think in "extremes"--things have to be done right now or never. I'm either (in my mind) a great mom or a terrible mom. Totally right and justified in all my ways; or entirely to blame for all the world's problems. This comes out in my behavior, too. I can be super sweet and patient in the face of tantrums or I can about rip off someone's whining face. (It's true.) I can be an understanding, forebearing, gentle, pleasant, supportive, and encouraging wife or an angry, selfish, snappy, grumpy, unreasonable one. Thinking in extremes sometimes works to my advantage: it motivates me to serve God more whole-heartedly, for instance. But generally speaking, having more moderation in my brain would probably be a good thing.
I have a little familiarity with fasting; I had a friend in high school who would fast two and three days at a time, several times a month. Surely I've read in books about fasting being a good spiritual discipline. Growing up Catholic, I know about meatless Fridays and fasting from chocolate, tv, facebook, etc. "for Lent." And my own pre-Jesus story involves a two-week "fast" in which I lost 38 pounds. So knowing my
(1) general lack of solid understanding about the true meaning and appropriate expression of fasting;
(2) personal baggage associated with weight loss; and
(3) my tendency to be an extremist
I was very nervous about this challenge. First I excused myself by going online to find a website to tell me I couldn't do it while breastfeeding. Got it. Then I further excused myself due to personal history, saying I wouldn't want to have incorrect motives; then I excused myself because of my fear of doing it.
One morning last week I finally got around to reading the rest of the study for Day Four, since I figured I should at least skim it before skipping it and heading on to Day Five. And this is what I read:
"[John Piper says] 'The purpose of a true fast is to express to God that He is the supreme hunger of our heart--that we are starving for Him'....[Brestin writes] It is crucial that you not only 'stop' eating but 'start' feeding on the Lord...Our problem is that we are often hungrier for other things than we are for God" (21).And I realized that this challenge was for me as much a mental and spiritual battle as anything else. Duh. So having eaten breakfast, I decided rather impulsively to fast until dinner. Half a day. Wanting to show God and myself that I am hungry for Him, and hungrier indeed for Him than for lunch.
Miss one meal. Not a big deal. Really. What was funny is that making this decision immediately threw me into almost a panic. I started to feel weak. My muscles started aching. I felt shaky, desperate for food--even though it had only been a couple hours at most since breakfast.
As I struggled with my 10 a.m. deterioration, I began to see just how much power over me that the promise or crutch of eating had. And I was sad. I prayed while on a little walk that God would take my tiny step and meet me the rest of the way. And that I wouldn't die.
At lunch time, Mark and I had this conversation:
M, at the table: "Are you hungry?"
Me, on the couch: "Yes, I'm starving."
M: "You can eat."
Me, in a moment of profundity: "Yes, the question is can I not eat?"
The hardest part was that first two hours.
During the afternoon, I dutifully read the suggested "Psalm meal" (thinking 'whatever, crazy author lady!') for the day, Psalm 119:25-32. It was the first time I had ever read a Psalm and been able to say, "That is how I feel!" even though it would be very melodramatic of me to claim all of it. But there were some especially key parts:
- "I have told of my ways, and You have answered me; Teach me Your statues" (26).
- "Remove the false way from me, and graciously grant me your law" (29).
- "I shall run the way of Your commandments, For You will enlarge my heart" (32).
And at dinner time, I hadn't perished. So that is my testimony about silly Katie's 1/2 day fast. God did meet me with the strength to finish that offering to Him, and it really did free up more space in my heart for prayer, for His power, and for learning to turn to Him. He is enlarging my heart, and I'm both excited and terrified. Please pray with me that I would be faithful to grow at the rate He pleases.
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