Oh, come on, like you aren’t willing to try anything? You’ve tried other ridiculous diets, right?
We spend our nickels and dimes on things that we hope to perfect us. The myriad of products I have in my bathroom is a crime against my designer pocketbook with this super cute embroidered Volkswagen bug on the front.
Alas… I am vain.
I like pretty, shiny things.
I love lipstick, perfume, diamonds, pearls, blushes, liners, highlighters, soaps, lotions, shadows, exfoliators, rehydrators, line diminishors, enhancers, minimizers, and all things aromatic, lovely or those that give the hope of any aspect of the aforementioned.
I am easily distracted.
And sure, I live a fast paced distractible life. One minute I am writing a book, the next I am changing poopy pants, the next I am fixing a financial debacle for a college-baby, then I am desperately trying to get a child’s head unstuck from the link-n-log canister, and the next I am making a meatloaf.
I have little time to myself, and when I do, I usually want what I want when I want it.
I don’t know that I am selfish or just spread thin. But when and if I ever have a moment for a coherent thought I think of my folly.
Rarely, wait… never, have I plopped into my chair and thought to myself, “Wow. Everything about my life is freaking fantastic.”
No, I plop into my chair and think about how tight my pants are, how fleshy my upper arm is, or how jiggly I am. I lament the scraps of PB&J I finished off the vandal’s, our 5 and 3-year-old sons, plates because that was all I had time for… that and 11 cups of coffee and a teething biscuit the baby dropped down the front of my blouse.
So in the moments I have all to myself this is the mental anguish I pursue.
It’s more habitual than ritual and more ritual than spiritual, yet… I add a spiritual aspect to it – just because eternal damnation is an excellent way to make myself feel every bit of 60+ pounds overweight.
I revel in the ick.
Then I dig around in my bra for another teething biscuit.
And you may have already heard about my naturally thin husband, Justin. He can eat whatever he wants whenever he wants and his pant size never changes.
I fully suspect that he is a serial killer or sociopath, as he is famous in the small town 10 minutes from our ranch for his morning breakfast routine of… one, plain cake donut.
I try not to dwell on this but it is fascinating to me.
Who does this strange thing? This donut shop is probably only making the one donut, Justin’s donut. I can’t fathom a rush on plain cake donuts. But they know Justin will meander in about 7:20 and order that single, dry, flavorless pastry.
The display is filled with ooey, gooey, deliciously glazed HOT donuts. They are little masterpieces of yeast, flour, lard, and sugar. These delicacies are all the things right with this crazy mixed up world.
And I cannot have them.
I cannot go near them.
I cannot be trusted within 25 feet of the premises.
Once I asked Justin to eat one while I watched. And he looked at me like I WAS CRAZY and said, “Ew no, they make me feel bad.”
I don’t know, he seemed normal when I pledged my life to him.
But I can reasonably deduct that he is either clinically insane or he is apart from the law of do not taste.
That law is not for him.
He doesn’t need it.
He doesn’t think about it.
Similarly, I don’t think of killing someone.
Stay with me.
I never worry I am going to kill someone. That law is not for me. It isn’t an issue for me. I have people I dislike, but I never ever worry that I will stab, poison, chop to bits, hang, mutilate, or shank a fellow human being.
I did kill a guinea pig once. The weight of his little lifeless body in my hands sent me to the bushes to vomit. It was an accident, one my kids won’t let me ever forget.
And apart from the law sin is dead, so there is the hyper-grace concern that having been told I can murder and Jesus will still love me, I may go postal and kill someone. However, my spirit cannot fathom. My heart is not in the business of killing. The spirit that dwells in me, who loved us while we were still murders and gluttons, loves us unto His death… and just as He has no desire to kill anyone, neither do I.
Furthermore, free from the law of “do not…” what do I want?
Without the harsh condemnation, I had grown accustom to, free from the slavery of THOU SHALL NOT… what shall I choose?
In a Grace filled existence, the question is no longer what is permissible… but what is beneficial.
The donuts from our little hometown are not off limits, I can have them, and in reality they are only thirty-cents… so I can have a lot of them.
But like Justin, there is an aspect of what it means to eat one or a dozen of these yeasty pastries.
The feeling a potato is lodged in my esophagus.
And the cream filling… self-loathing.
These things are of no benefit to me. The spirit who dwells in me and wants all good for me has no craving for this indulgence that is of no benefit.
And in His wisdom, I grow in mine and of this, I am certain, no matter the law… there is never a reasonable excuse for a plain cake donut.
1 Corinthians 10:23 Everything is permissible, but not everything is beneficial.
May your floors be sticky and your calling ordained. Love Jami
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