You guys are gonna get sick of my overshare. But it is sooooo cathartic. It really is like having a therapist without the bills. So you don’t have to read any farther, I just need to get it out there.

As I talked about in my last post, I’m struggling with my weight issues and what that means for me, my church, my faith. But really it makes me pay attention to my family and what we eat, which I think is a good thing. I want to make smart choices. I want us all to be healthy and live long lives marked by health and the ability to serve as best we can. Well, I’ve begun to notice that when I love something, especially the way I love my family, I want to control every aspect of it. Every. Single. Aspect. This is not good for anyone, least of all me. This led to a (ahem) discussion between Marty and myself this weekend.

Most of you know that about a year ago Marty had a pulmonary embolism, which is a blod clot in the lungs. He had 2 of them. This was brought on by his flight to and from Romania last summer. I think knowing what he knows now, he would do the same thing. I know that he was obedient to the Lord’s will in that trip. But what he hasn’t known is my side of the story. It was a Tuesday, I had gone to Jackson to eat brunch with my sister before she headed back to Texas for Seminary. I got home right about lunchtime, which I just decided to put the kids straight to bed, they had lunch earlier with us and were really tired. We had just started the Prism diet and Marty was struggling with it. For a man who only ate fried food and meat and potatoes this was a huge change. He had been feeling bad, it was a really hot August, he has asthma, combined with the new diet that’s what we thought it was. I also thought this vast change in diet was gonna tell us that he/I/we have diabetes. So I was determined that was part of it. So we were putting the kids to bed, Marty sat down, I turned around to do something and I hear Isaac saying, “Daddy wake up!” I turned around thinking he was playing and see that Marty has passed out or was dead. That’s really what I thought, he has died, I ran for my phone, punched in 911 and was hitting send when he woke up (Isaac pounced on him about that time). But in my mind, he’s had a low blood sugar thing (I’m still convinced it’s diabetes) and I get him a banana. We make some phone calls, and decide he needs to go to the emergency room. I have to stay with the kids cause I don’t want them waking with both of us gone. Evan, one of our college students, drives him to the hospital.

Word gets out and I get several calls to watch the kids, I’m convinced they’re gonna tell me everything is fine and Evan will drive him home. Finally Regina Stanfill shows up on my doorstep and tells me to go (thank you for that btw). Long story short, 8 days in the hospital, and he comes home on blood thinners with the knowledge that only 5% of people survive what he’s been through.

After that, I took a personal vendetta against junk in my home. It was gone, no sodas, no high sugar, highly processed snacks, lots of fruit and veggies. It was then that we determined we were not doing ourselves any favors by letting Isaac dictate his own meal for the night, so that stopped and the policy of “if you don’t eat what’s put before you, you don’t eat” was instituted. I became very concerned with everything everyone ate, and my parents and in-laws can attest to the fact that if I didn’t like what you were giving them you would know it. I was determined that any bad habit Marty and I had the kids were not going to have it. TV time became more limited (it had always been only pbs, disney jr. or nick jr. but there was never really a time limit) outside activities became more of a must. They were not going to end up 30 something and in terrible shape if I had anything to do with it!

I realize I sound at times like a total nut job to some people. I know that I cannot control every aspect of everyone’s life (no matter how badly I want to). I used to (8th grade) say things like, “America should go back to a monarchy and realize that I’m royalty, cause these idiots are messing everything up!” I don’t know where that comes from, cause I don’t want to control things I don’t care about. But the people I love, I want my hand in every bit of it, and I want it done my way. I don’t want to miss a moment and I want it all to be done “right.”

But then I know that when I’m in control, things get messed up, and often they’re not happening the way they should. I have to let go of my ego and remind myself who is in control. That I can do small things by my own power, but if it’s done by my power it’s not done with God’s. I want His power to be in control of my life, of my children’s life, of my husband’s life. That is the best way that I can love them. Release my control for Christ’s, get over myself and move on.

Note: This is not in anyway slamming anyone in.  This is me dealing with my issues in a public forum.  Of course this is just one side of the story, I am completely aware that the opposite side of the coin can be just as bad.

(Me at 9 months – look at those cheeks!)

I was born a 9.5 lb baby.  I was 9 days overdue.  I come from a large boned people, but those are also people who love food.  And not just any food, we love good food.  Homemade chicken and dumplings.  Shrimp and grits.  Brisket and twice baked potatoes.  Don’t get me wrong, I love vegetables, but I love them even more when they are covered in flour or meal and deep fried.  I grew up in a family that believed you had to clean your plate to get dessert.  We stayed with my Ma and Pa in the summer while Mom worked, and they always had dessert.  There was just something in me that loved food.  Some experts would say it was because I was bottle fed, some would say that I have a gene that makes me overweight, others would say that I have some deep psychological issue.

(Why on earth do they make flowery fat girl clothes? Why on earth did no one stop me from wearing this?  Sara I’m looking at you, you’re the one with fashion sense in our family!)

Like I said, I’ve always been fat.  For a long time I couldn’t say that word, there was so much emotion tied to it.  But let’s call a spade a spade.  I am a fat girl.  College was when I became okay with it.  Since then it really hasn’t been an issue.  In Kindergarten, I was roly-poly Foley, in 4th grade I was lard butt (the sad thing was I knew this was an insult because of the venom it was said with but I had no clue what lard was), and by 8th grade I had to start shopping at Lane Bryant.  At 15 I was freezing Slim fast cans overnight and bringing them to school in my purse.  I lost quite a bit of weight, slimming down to a size 16.  Still plus sized.  That’s the smallest I’ve been in 17 years.  I kept the weight off for a little while, then came college, working crazy hours and eating out a lot, a horrible break up, and marrying a man who gagged at the sight of vegetables.  Understand me, none of those are excuses.  I made choices: horrible, bad choices.

I have felt that my whole life is controlled by my weight.  I assume people are going to judge me because of it. I know people will not like me because of it.  We even began to pass it on to our children.  Isaac’s first table food was french fries from Wendy’s.  We’re paying for that one to this day.

(Me at 16 and a size 16 with my Winter Formal date Matt Medearis, who was my go to date for any function, bless his heart!)

A year and a half ago we began the Prism diet.  We made a commitment, we counted calories, we turned in our sheets and for the first time we talked honestly about weight and food in a church setting.  Then Christmas came and the diet ended.  I have maintained what I lost, but old bad habits have started to creep back in.

I guess my issue is the way the church has handled this problem.  I don’t mean our local church, but the global community of believers.

Never in a sermon have I heard that overeating is sin.  I know it is, it’s in the Bible right beside some of the things I’ve heard various sermons about.  I was not born with a desire to drink myself into a stupor, but some people were.  I was not born with a desire to be in sexual relationship with a person of the same gender as myself, but some people were.  I was born with a desire to eat myself silly.

Until just a few days ago no one had ever tried to hold me accountable in the church with what I ate or drank.  Yes, a fellow church member had confessed that they’d been making fun of me behind my back when I was 9 months pregnant with Annaliese, and in my opinion, they could have kept that confession private!  I have made the commitment to not drink soda for 2012 (why would i want to? have you seen what that stuff will do to a car window?).  I’ve told a few people.  Well, I was at a baby shower Sunday and poured myself a big ole glass of punch not thinking about the ingredients.  I sat down with a few ladies and had taken one drink when they said, you know that has Sprite in it right?  And I did, I watched them make the punch, but because I don’t drink Sprite, Coke Zero is my downfall, I totally did not make the connection.  So I had to make a decision: keep drinking or keep my commitment.  I was very appreciative of the rebuke, I want to keep my commitment.

So I guess that’s my question, why do we preach so hard about some sins and totally ignore others?  Why do we preach against the “big” ones, but the little things like over eating, overspending, gossip, slander we ignore?  Why have I not been kicked out of the church for my sin?  Instead, we laugh that fried chicken is the Baptist bird. Here I have one huge obvious flaw, probably more visible than if I were attracted to girls.  What damage have I done to the cause of Christ by very visibly not living according to His principles?  Where is my self-control?  Where is my love of Christ rather than loving myself?

I think it’s pretty evident by my pant size.

But, and that is a wonderful word, Jesus promises that He makes all things new.  He promises that He will give me a way out when temptation comes.  He promises that I will get a second chance (and a third and a fourth).  He promises that I am free from sin.  Sin that He wants to keep me from, to keep me safe.

It all started with a haircut.

Isaac and Annaliese got their hair cut this weekend.  It happened in Lexington with a business we’ve used before, but not our regular stylist.  Isaac’s hair was shaggy and in his eyes and way too long in the back for my liking.  We asked for his hair to be shaped up and thinned out, keeping the basic hairstyle we had.  And she kept the hairstyle, shaggy, in his eyes, and way too long in the back for my liking.  You know, in the shop, it looked ok.  I think it’s whatever they use to clean their instruments, clouds our vision.  We even commented that he looked like Justin Bieber.

But he’s 4, not 16, so the Bieber look was not working for Mama.  I kept saying, I’m gonna trim it just a little bit more.  And never got  around to it.  Which is how this whole issue started, I usually cut his hair or send him to a barber.  I had looked at it for 3 days and by today it was just stressing me out.  I couldn’t look at him without getting upset, the hair hanging over his ears was driving me crazy!

So I got out my scissors, water bottle, and towel and went to work.  Here’s where I learned the lessons.

Number 1 – Don’t go to a stylist you don’t know well and expect not to be very specific in what you want.  I have taken him in the past and said the exact same thing and gotten a satisfactory (to me) hair cut.  I’m sure she does a great job, she did for Annaliese, she just didn’t know what his hair looks like normally.  Totally not her fault, I should have spoken up.  I have a hard time with that.  I sometimes sound really harsh when I don’t mean to, I get it from my Daddy.

Number 2 – Don’t attempt to cut his hair at home if he hasn’t had a nap.  I know a lot of his peers don’t take naps anymore, but he needs one.  If he doesn’t get one, he survives until about 6:00 p.m. and he becomes overly emotional, hyper, uncooperative.  If the hair hanging over his ears weren’t driving me mad (we can talk about my issues later) I would have never done it.  When he doesn’t get a nap, I try to have them headed towards bed at 7:00.  So at 6:15, we sat down on the floor and I began to hack,   I took about an inch off all the way around.  I think the stylist used razor scissors to cut instead of regular scissors.  We made it through with lots of tears, and promises I would never allow her to cut his hair again.  (He hates having his hair combed so 2 cuts in one week is too much for him!)  We went into the bath room to get Marty’s beard trimmer to shape it up.  Everything was going fine, he loves this part, it tickles.  So I’m shaping away, when he begins to prance.  I ask him to please stop, to settle down so I can finish.  Well, then you throw Annaliese into the mix, who is playing Mail Carrier, stuffing “letters” under the door.  He turns as I move in and this is what we got.

Lesson learned.