Consumed, Not Obsessed

My obsession manifested presently in calorie counting (which I justified as gaining information) and weight lifting (research purposes) and spiraled into every aspect of life. 

I was striving striving striving to take control of myself.  

To attempt a summit of the mountain before me. 

Sometimes I was fairly decent at it.  My calories were on track and so was my workout regime.  But who was controlling whom?  I did not feel in control of my heart at all.  This THING had control.  It had become the reason I got up in the morning (to go to the gym). The reason I took every bite (calorie counting).  Every decision was based around this (hit that goal weight).  I was being controlled, not in control. 

When the Lord broke in He said:
The fruit of the Spirit is... SELF CONTROL.

...shame
...condemnation

wait. wait. 


It hit me: self-control was sourced in the Spirit of God.  So if I am connected to His Spirit, the natural outflow is self-control.  Natural.  Orange trees don't strive to make oranges.  Self-control does not mean striving? Where was this striving coming from?  

My obsessive behavior had taken control of me.  It may have appeared to be self-control, but it felt the opposite.  Doing this in my own strength was working out to be lame.  The path I had taken did not lead to any mountain at all, but to a wasteland of self-hatred, self-judgement and disappointment. 

My relationship with the Lord hadn't been the greatest in the last few months.  (Who has time for a quiet time when there are calorie counting numbers to crunch?) My desperation was not for Jesus and I was not fulfilled.  

So I made a decision.

I decided to be consumed with Him.  

I kinda said, "I might as well try Jesus, because this route isn't working out."

Pretty holy of me, right? 

And that's when He started to change things. My desperation for Him grew.  I felt light.  My perspective wasn't so harsh.  As I choose Jesus I could see myself differently.  
I felt... pretty.

Oh, I forgot to mention, I had made a goal for myself that when I reached the goal (the specific weight) (the top of the mountain) I would cut my hair and dye it red.  I didn't tell anyone what these were my plans, it was just some secret motivation tucked away.  

I'm not sure where the idea came from.  I needed a change in a big way, and in my mind red heads are self confident and fun.  They are fun to be around. They are not reserved and they are not afraid.  I wanted that. To have freedom.  But to achieve all that I had to weigh a specific number. Right?

WRONG.

So I dyed my hair.  Actually I got a groupon and had the nice lady at the salon do that.  She also cut it for me. (Which was really scary.  Do you know that the dye goes from pasty white to bright orange before it turns red-ish? I sure didn't. )

(The picture doesn't even give justice to the sunkist glow orange I witnessed appear on my head.)

I was rejecting my expectation for myself.  My hair became a tangible way of agreeing with the idea that I can embrace life right now. Right here on the plateau. 

Maybe the mountain is not a # on a scale.  
Maybe the mountain is BEAUTY.  

One day as a Health and Wellness Consultant I want to come against one of the biggest lies on woman.  The slander of our self-image.  The debeautification of focusing on our physical bodies only.  I want to speak from a place of victory with a voice of authority that WE ARE BEAUTIFUL.  I need to know that for me first.  

I'm not there yet.  I have days that I walk in truth and rock my red hair, and I still have days that I question if I am fooling myself.  But I'm not giving up.  I'm going to keep walking toward that mountain.  I'm going to keep pursuing Jesus.  The images I see daily of "perfect bodies" are difficult for me to process.  The only effective weapon I have found for the visual assault has been choosing Jesus.  There is a hope in His calling.  Hope, riches and greatness of power (Eph 1).  Being consumed isn't quite coming naturally.  I'm having to fight for it.  And in the midst I am seeing a little fruit budding.  My hunch is that it is self-contol. 

Your eyes will see the King in His beauty.

Have you ever hiked to the top of a hill, 

only to discover that it is the bottom of  foothills 

which lead to a taunting, unreachable mountain that lies ahead?  

I think that's where I found myself this month (figuratively speaking). 

I have experienced this in the flesh too.  It's super discouraging. 

The hill I summited was one of health.  I wanted to drop a pant size, be more confident in the mirror, feel stable in my core and be in the kind of shape that I could just hike up a mountain.

I achieved all that.  Shouldn't I be happy?

But atop the hill all I could see was the mountain ahead.  

My mountain was a number on a scale; a specific number of pounds. 

I've never owned a scale.  In the past, I would advise friends to not consult the scale.  It was a non-factor in my health for years.  Until I got a gym membership.  They have a scale in the bathroom.  I was just curious.  Then I made an innocent goal weight with my wonderful husband.  I told him I'd heard the last 5lbs are the hardest.  He scoffed and said, "why not make your goal 5lbs less?  The last 5 would mean nothing. It was so subjective."  

I knew he was being encouraging.  

I knew he didn't care what I weighed.  

He's never seen the numbers.  

But now I had a number.  

It stuck in my brain like a relentless commercial jingle.  

  

(Juicy fruit, it's gonna move ya; 

once you pop, the fun don't stop; 

gimme a break, gimme a break, 

break me off a piece of that...)

I was telling myself that the number on the scale was not important.  (jingle, jingle) But I was lying.  (jingle, jingle)

It had become all too important in my heart. 

Then I started pushing crazy. 

As mentioned in National Treasure:

Ben Gates: But one step short of crazy, what do you get?

Riley Poole: Obsessed.

Ben Gates: Passionate.

I'd say obsessed is the best description for me.  

I started lifting weights, calorie counting, intensifying my workouts. 

Every time I allowed a cheat day or a treat I would badger myself with harsh words,

"Rebecca! You're lack of self-control is appalling!" 
"How will you ever help anyone reach their health goals if you can't reach yours?" 
"You're a fake." 
"Much more of this and you're going to be fat again... look down at that bulging belly."
"You look more like a pregnant woman than a health professional."

The mountain was about more than a number on the scale.
It determined my credibility to become who I long to be.

In the midst of all this I decided to reward myself with a big hair change when I reached the top of the mountain.  Short bangs and red hair.  But I wasn't telling anyone yet.  I didn't know if I'd ever make it there.

My obsession was leading to depression.  My mind was consumed my heart felt sick.
I was notably unhappy.  I didn't even feel like an extrovert anymore.  I wanted to hide in social settings. The shame was wreaking havoc on my soul.

Then the Lord broke in.

(My objective was not to make this a cliff-hanger... my process is just soo long.  I'll write again soon!!)