The art of Snapping Part 2: Milestones

"Dad, I CAN'T DO IT!"

I used to only be able to offer support.  "Sure you can, bud.  Just keep practicing.  You'll get it."

Then, after weeks of practice, my son showed me that he could snap.

He doesn't know what he's done!  Now I have a reference point for him to overcome his frustrations.

I ambushed him last week when he was trying to put a shirt on.  I tied him up with his sleeves and tickled him until he gave up.

We were both still laughing when he tried getting his shirt on correctly.  He slipped his head through one of the sleeve holes and couldn't find where his arm was supposed to go.

He got in one of those funks that I get in when I realize the donut I just bit into has jelly in it.  BLECH

He was giving up, pouting and getting ready to blow up when I gently reminded him...

"Jeremiah, snap for me.  Do you remember how frustrated you got when you couldn't snap?  You practiced and now you're an expert snapper!"

Now he has a memory to depend on when times get tough.  He has a victory that can remind him that he has won before and if he stays calm and keeps practicing he can win again.

A few victories on the way to being healthy have kept me motivated to stay active.

But even more than that, reminding Jeremiah to remember has made me do the same.

I'm still too big to shop in most places, but I remember my doctor saying he's proud of me for the weight I've lost so far.

I still have trouble being open about my emotions sometimes, but I remember how much my wife appreciates it and how much better I feel when I share.

I have no idea where God is calling me professionally, but I remember that he has healed my heart, repaired my marriage, blessed my children and used me where I am.

I've been challenged by my son's expert snapping.  My challenge is to not only help him remember victories, but for me to remember how God is moving in my life... even when it feels like he's not there.

Life is hard.  And rather than stay on the surface with platitudes of "being blessed" while ignoring difficulty, I need to dig deep and remember those times where God did work when I didn't expect it.

He continues to use me and speak through me even though I don't know what the future holds.

A lot of times I still feel like I'm tied up in shirt sleeves, flailing around only succeeding to make the trap tighter.

Slowly though, I'm starting to hear the voice of the Father saying, "Jay, slow down.  Concentrate."

One day I hope to become an expert snapper myself.

The Art of Snapping Part 1: Frustration

For the most part, my five year old is peaceful, joyful, jolly...  until he gets frustrated.  He could be having the greatest day imaginable and then he hits a wall.

It happened last month when he came with a simple question.  "Dad, how do you snap your fingers?"  

I showed him.  For the next three days he would ask the question, try to snap and shout, "I JUST CAN'T DO IT." 

Last week he came to show me something.  "Dad, close your eyes."   He had been practicing on his own for three weeks.  Now he's an expert snapper.

For two weeks, we've been working on tying shoes.  He has all the tools.  He knows the bunny ears.  He knows the Through the Tree.  But I hear it again.  "I JUST CAN'T DO IT."  

But before I shake my head and say, "Oh, those five year olds," I remember how ridiculous I get when I don't succeed immediately.

Over the years, I have splintered entertainment centers, treated screwdrivers like throwing stars and Leg Dropped appliance boxes.

Oh, those 32 year olds.

Sometimes I feel like asking for help equals weakness.  If I can't do something then I'm not a man.  I get wrapped up in the idea that if I successfully complete this task it will bestow more masculinity on me.  If I figure this out, I'm strong.  If not, I'm weak.

And I want life to be easy.  Failing strikes to my very core.  For years I thought I was on my own.  I believed that there was no one who could really help me...  What's worse, I didn't know if there was anyone who wanted to help me.  

Feeling alone to deal with the challenges this world offers. 

I daresay I'm not alone in feeling alone.  

And it's not just the frustrating tasks at home.

I'm already running late and now a train's crossing the tracks.  

I'm walking out the door as I spill juice on my shirt.

The smallest failure and we think we're useless...

My son is not useless.  He is not weak.  He has more strength than he knows, strength this world needs.

One of my greatest tasks as a father is to repeatedly remind my son that he isn't alone.  He has a father who loves him and will help him in times of trouble.

...

Why do I forget that I have the same?

Thanks to Jesus, I have a Father who loves me and who will help me in times of trouble.  

As I concentrate on putting that message in my son's heart, he's learning to snap and I notice his fuse is getting longer.

As that lesson slowly invades my thinking, I'm heaving fewer tools and breaking fewer spare parts.  

And now that he knows how to snap, on to the next challenge...

"Bunny ears, bunny ears, playing by a tree..."

Feeling Feelings

It was a strange morning.  I was putting clean dishes away as my five year old son was making up fart jokes. 

(We’ll take a moment for those of you without sons…)

He finds a picture of my in-laws’ scottish terriers that died last year and got really sad.

We talked about how he misses them and about how they were really good dogs.

He sat on the kitchen floor looking at their picture for five minutes. 

To say my son is empathetic is an understatement.  From birth, he has hurt with those who are hurting and rejoiced with those who are rejoicing. 

It does my heart good to see that my son isn’t embarrassed by his emotions. 

By and large, there seems to be only two ways men raise sons.  We teach them either to perfect their poker face or run for the hills.

When I would get hit by a pitch my dad would yell, “You rub it, you’re out!” 

We hear “Walk it off” and “Rub some dirt on it.” 

The message is the same.  Don’t feel your feelings. 

Men don’t hug.  We don’t cry.  We don’t hurt.

We’re kidding ourselves. 

Stuffing our emotions becomes natural and we unwittingly pass it on to our sons.

Well intentioned church people occasionally reinforce it.

Instead of mourning with someone, we offer platitudes.  Someone is struggling through a loss or recovering from emotional devastation and we plaster a smile on our faces and say, “God will take care of it” or, “Everything will work out.”

We’re too scared of emotions to face them, so we push them down...

Unless our dads taught us to run. 

The first sign of bad news has us reaching for the eject button. 

Families are hard so we devote our time to sports or hobbies instead. 

I’m a year into letting myself FEEL things and now I’m faced with a five year old who feels everything!

It’s both exhilarating AND frightening.

I knelt down and hugged him while we both remembered Ivan and Sampson.  I tried to stay quiet for a bit.  My immediate reaction was to remind him that dogs die.  THAT would have been good.  Part of me wanted him to forget those dogs and remember Aunt Sarah’s NEW dog!

Instead, we hugged in front of the dishwasher.  My son was sad and that’s ok.  Sometimes we’re sad.  My son was mourning and that’s ok.  Sometimes we mourn. 

I thanked God for teaching me a lesson on the kitchen floor.

I’m called to walk my son across the tightrope of masculinity and emotion when I still feel like I need a safety net.

And now he’s back to the fart jokes.

I love having a son!

MOMENTUM!!

I started writing this blog four weeks ago.  Three weeks ago I started waking up before work and exercising.

Tuesday I went to the doctor.

For the first time I can remember, I weighed less than I did the time before.

My good cholesterol is up.  My triglycerides and very bad cholesterol are down.

My mind is a bit boggled!

This weekend, my wife and I attended our church’s Fall Retreat.  It was held in the same spot as the youth summer camp.  The auditorium sits on a giant hill. 

I noticed halfway through my second trip to the summit that I was moving faster than I did in August.  I was winded, but less so!

Honestly I thought it would take longer to build momentum.

I’m ready to start again this week.

Part of me expected to have failed by now.  I already had excuses ready for when someone asked how the blog was going.

What’s more, my knee is sore AND I’m NNOOTT using it as a reason to stay on the couch.

Instead of setting unrealistic goals and failing before making it out of the gate, I have set a long-range goal and am content with small victories. 

I’m even starting to think I’ll get there.

And the next time I meet that hill, I’ll sprint up it…

You know, unless this knee’s acting up.

Baby Steps to 150.

Méfiez-vous du fromage

My wife’s family’s annual gathering was this weekend.  She is one of 29 first cousins.  Every year at this time, the family makes the trek to Granny’s cabin.  The population of Mulberry Grove, Illinois doubles when the gang’s all there.

This is my ninth trip to the shindig.  We go for good food, great conversation and Kubb.

This is the first year I’ve gone to Granny’s weighing less than I did the year before.   Pretty impressive, eh?

For two weeks now, I’ve gotten up early and worked out before going out to work.  I’m getting into a pretty firm routine.  My muscles are killing me and I’m loving it.

I had a few options as this weekend approached.

Option A:  I could have avoided it and worked out instead.

 Who would have objected if I stayed home to help incubate this newborn workout ethic.

Option B:  Attend, have fun, eat sensibly.

Probably the best bet.  I could go, make mostly healthy choices and indulge in a few treats.  Hopefully the rest of my life will look like Option B.

But there ended up being a third option.

Option Jay:  Attend, have fun, eat way too much for way too long.

Woops.

We were on the way home before I realized, “Hey, maybe I should have thought about what I was eating!”

For 48 wonderfully terrible hours I reverted back to Eat Everything Guy.

And I blame the cheese. 

A friend of the family brings this garlic Velveeta contraption that captures your imagination.  It boggles the mind.  It controls the will.

I would walk through walls for that stuff.

What is it about family gatherings that tend to make us revert back to what we were? 

I should have asked for help.  Surely one of my wife’s 28 first cousins could have talked me down off the cheese ledge.

I should have gone to the opposite side of the yard where I wouldn’t have heard the siren call.

Instead, I start over this week.  I don't know how much weight I put on this weekend.  I do know that I begin again tomorrow.  

So, what’s the best way to keep motivated at family get-togethers? 

Do you revert?  Do you stand strong?

I'd like to know.  Because knowing is half the battle.

Where's there's a Will there's a Jay

May I interest you in a bit of Sunday Morning Rambling?



I've been thinking a lot about my will lately.


One of Webster's definitions is, "the power of control over one's own actions or emotions."


I've read it five times since I pasted onto this page.  


As a follower of Jesus, I seem to drift to two ends of the extreme.  I either put my faith in my own actions and talents or I don't do anything and use Grace as the reason.


What's the proper view of grace and action in the life of a Christian?


Paul, the author of 2/3 of the New Testament railed against church people who used their resumes as currency yet he also said that he "beat his body" to make it subject to Jesus.


I wish I had a profound answer.


It's strange that I started feeling freedom as I began a stricter regimen than ever before.

Tuna Fish Face

My wife made lunch one Saturday afternoon about three weeks into our marriage.  Anything my beautiful bride did was perfect.  She could do no wrong.  Birds joined her in song and forest creatures helped tie bows in her hair. 

She placed the plate in front of me as I expected a perfectly cooked steak...  And what do my eyes behold? .  Tuna salad on baby spinach leaves.

The familiar scent from my youth mixed with the dreaded sight caused my eyes to roll and head to tilt back into  Sense the Sarcasm territory.

Much to my surprise, my reaction didn’t sit well with Rachel.  She picked her plate up and silently ate in the living room.  (To her credit, she did NOT throw me out the kitchen window.)

I thought I hated Tuna.  I thought I knew better.  My opinion of Tuna was more important than hers…

And that’s been my setting for as long as I can remember.  My opinion good. Your opinion baaaad.

I’m reminded of a passage in Philippians, “…in humility, consider others better than yourselves.” 

I’m wracking my brain trying to count the number of times I’ve done that. 

It’s 10:50 pm and I’m in the middle of a text argument with a friend about a Facebook post.  His opinion is not as valid as mine.  His points aren’t as wise as mine.  His B.O., on the other hand, is definitely better than mine.

How hard is it to give REAL worth to the ideas and opinions of others? 

Even more telling…  How hard is it to even LISTEN to someone giving an opinion that differs from my own?

The International Listening Association (and with a name like that, who can argue?!?) gives a devastating statistic:  Most of us are distracted, preoccupied or forgetful about 75% of the time we should be listening.

That knocked the wind out of me because I think my stats were WORSE!

Instead of planning my next verbal assault, what happens if I attempt to understand what my smelly friend is feeling? 

What if I look for common ground with him from which we can work out the disagreement?

Change comes slowly, doesn’t it?

Seven years into marriage and I’m just NOW starting to listen actively to my wife.

I could have saved myself a lot of trouble if I would have just learned from the tuna. 

After Rachel left the table, I followed her…

“No!  Please!  Comeback!  Look! I’m eating it.  I’m EATING IT!

… 

“Wait.  This is pretty good!  Seriously.  It’s good!  NO, I’M NOT JUST SAYING THAT!”

I love tuna salad.  Maybe there’s hope for the future.  Hopefully I win this battle before my son has to do the same.  Tuna salad all around!

Woops.

Anyone know how to get five year old eyes to roll back down to normal?

Freedom to Work Hard. Wait. WHAT?!?!

Can adults become disciplined? 

Looking back over the first 32 years of Jay, I’ve noticed something.  I like doing things I enjoy.

That last sentence should earn me a Pulitzer.

I like doing things I enjoy.  And I seem to enjoy things that aren’t too difficult. 

I was good at baseball and basketball.  If I would have spent time away from practice working, I could have been really good.  I never got there.

I played the saxophone and, with practice, I could have been Boots Randolph good… nope. 

I tried learning Spanish with cds recently… No bueno.

So the fact that I have purposefully (and a few times, FORCEFULLY) been active this week has surprised me.

I haven’t been this faithful doing something I didn’t enjoy in years.  Seven years to be exact.

During our first few months of marriage in 2003, my wife and I decided to try the Atkins Diet.  We survived the strictest two weeks.  We were proud and surprised.

Jay – “Good job us!”

Rachel – “We should celebrate.”

Jay – “Dominoes?”
Rachel – “Thin crust.”

Jay – “I’ll call”

Best pizza EVER. 

The wall’s coming.  I’ve hit it before and bounced off.  I don’t know if I can feel it or if I’m just scared of it.

So, what is it that keeps people going down this road? 

Desire?  I have it.  But I’ve had it before.

Dedication?  But how do you keep it? 

Fear?  I’m scared of what will happen if I don’t get healthy, but is fear a good enough motivator?

Is this the time passion overpowers apathy?

I once felt stuck.  Stuck in my emotional cage.  Stuck in this obese body.  The stuck-ness led to a malaise that overwhelmed any desire I had to reach out or change.

I gotta be honest.  As I type, I’m surprised I DON’T feel that anymore.  (Maybe I should write a few drafts before posting things!)

It’s like Jesus has taken an emotional ice cream scoop and dug out the old parts of me that kept me from acting.

I used to watch The Biggest Loser and think the emotional breakdowns were just something producers engineered to make the show more endearing. 

I now see the point of their existence.

It’s the wound.

Very few people get stuck like this without one.

Life wounds us and we try to find ways to deal with the pain.

It has to be cleaned out before we can heal.  But I always chose the known pain over the unknown risk.

Maybe it’s not a matter of discipline.  Maybe it’s about Freedom.  Freedom from bondage.  Freedom to work at something that’s difficult.  Jesus promised that whoever he set free would be “free indeed.” 

He has set and is setting me free. 

Unhindered by emotional baggage, I can set my sights on whatever’s next in my life. 

I want to WANT to work out.  Yet part of me still wishes God would see my desire and miraculously turn me into a free runner by morning.

Now I know that I’ll get there, but it’s going to be step by step, inch by inch. 

And one morning in the not-so-distant future, I will wake up a free runner.  Or a SCUBA diver.  Or a tri-athlete.  Or a break dancer… 

…

Well, maybe not a tri-athlete.

Comfort at the Bottom of a Doritos Bag

I wished Festivus was celebrated in October because I need to air some grievances.

Diet foods are terrible. 

There is no good diet soda.  You can keep your Dr Peppers and Coke Whatevers.  Diet soda is nasty.

Tofu should be banned in all 57 states. 

Those 100 calorie “Oreos” ARE NOT OREOS.

If I’m craving a Pepsi and a bag of Doritos, Diet Pepsi and Baked Lays won’t cut it.

If I order a cheeseburger, I will heave that veggie “burger” at you with all my might.

Why in the world would I accept the counterfeit when I want the real thing…

…

Oh GREAT.

For at least a decade I have taken my emotional needs to a frozen pizza and bag of Doritos. 

I went to the counterfeit comfort of food instead of intimacy with a loving Father who longs to free me from this.

Too scared to invite friends or family into my darkest night, I take my pain to that stuffed crust pizza and devour it.

The Apostle Peter wrote that we should “cast all our cares on” Jesus.  I’ve been scared to.  Maybe I was scared.  Maybe I didn’t trust him enough.

I hid my pain from everyone and instead of self medicating with alcohol or drugs, I abused food.

I’m finding that as I open up more of my heart I feel accepted, not condemned.  I feel closer to my friends, not further away. 

For six of our seven years of marriage, I subconsciously thought my wife needed a Knight whose armor shined unblemished by mistakes and pain.  That wasn’t me, so I tried to hide the chinks in my armor. 

Since December I have been methodically revealing that my armor isn’t so shiny.  Surprisingly, she knew.  Turns out, I’m not very good at hiding things. 

And the more I go to her with what’s on my heart… good, bad, indifferent… the more she responds with love and appreciation. 

She had wilted, emotionally.  When I started to simply share what was on my mind, I began to notice that she wasn’t wilted anymore… and neither was I.

Jesus is healing us, not by taking all the hurt away, but by mending our hearts together… something I had never let him do completely.

And as he is doing that, food’s hold over me is now the thing that’s wilting. 

I look forward to the day I no longer wage war against myself to turn away from the 7^th piece of pizza.  But the thing is, I can see that day coming.  That will be a pretty nice day.

And that low fat mayonnaise? 

“IT’S NOT MAYONNAISE”

(And if you were wondering, I did wake up early today and exercise.  I also skipped Doughnut Thursday at work.  And right before adding this post script, I delighted in a Blue Bunny Champ with my wife…  Thanks for the prayer and support, and keep praying!!)

Despair, Thy Name is "Oatmeal"

“…we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.” 2 Corinthians 10:5b

Most school days include my son coming to tell me breakfast is ready.  I finish trying to tame my herd of cowlicks and head to the kitchen.  Behold, my nemesis.

Now, I’m sure oatmeal isn’t evil.  But you would never believe it if you saw my reaction.  I see a bowl and my face contorts like my cheeks are double jointed.

Before I know it, my frown is saying to my wife, “Thanks a lot, jerk!” before my mouth can say, “Thank you, my love!”

Why is it so hard to control my Self? 

I want what I want.  And what I don’t want, I REALLY don’t want!

I wish it stopped at oatmeal, though.  The deeper I dig, the more I realize I’m a whiny baby.

My ears hear, “Honey, would you please help me rearrange furniture” and my eyes roll like they’re part of a slot machine.

I want Doritoes, we have celery.  I want to sit, I need to walk. 

Jesus calls me to “deny” myself.  I didn’t get to 340 lbs by denying myself anything but vegetables. 

I’m selfish.  Self-centered.  Self-involved.

I’m called to think of others before I think of myself.  It’s hard.  No one’s self enjoys being denied, right? 

I don’t remember ever thinking, “MAN, I enjoy sacrificing!”

I think, “BLEEP!  Sacrifice?!?!”

So here I sit… Preparing to take the chair and whip into the cage knowing my selfish desires are ready to attack.

I want to wake up to the smell of bacon tomorrow.

I plan on waking up before my wife and exercising.

If you’re up around 6:15 am Central time, pray for me.

I’ll let you know how it turned out.

And so it Begins

"If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.”  -- Jesus of Nazareth

Really?  Another blog about losing weight?

I searched a few terms before I started.

“Weight Loss Blog” – 147,000 results

“Diet Blog” – 183,000 results

“Christian Weight Loss Blog” – 42,300

“Jay is too fat” – 1 result... by a guy who no type good.

I’m Jay.  I’m 32 and I’m too fat.  150 pounds too fat.

I own eight diet books, four exercise videos and a stationary bike.

I know how to cook.  I am able to walk. 

I have tried to lose weight before.  I have failed every time.

Suffice it to say, this will not be a “How to” blog! 

This, my friends, is a “This $%!+ is haaaarrrrrrdddddd” blog.

Losing weight has been difficult and I don’t do difficult.

My default reaction to anything difficult is to retreat inward, not talk about it, pretend everything is ok and wait it out. 

It took so much energy to keep a fake smile plastered on my face that I was too tired to stay active.  I was too tired to engage my wife in real relationship.  Too tired to play with our five year old son and one year old daughter for more than ten minutes at a time.

Something had to happen.  Eleven months ago, Jesus went to work on some deep hurts in my life.  He’s been cleaning out the pain I’d been burying for years.  I feel so good emotionally that I have finally been able to look at myself in a mirror…  YOWZA.

I used to watch The Biggest Loser and stay detached.  “Sure, they’re as big as I am but they’re REALLY unhealthy.”

Now I can let myself see how far I have to go and am finally willing to face it.

My wife is ready to support me, our son already prays for me and my daughter drools on me a lot… I’m still working on my relationship with my daughter.

The interwebs is as public as it gets.  And I’m no longer willing to hide from life.

This blog is me, not hiding.  This is my attempt at engaging a daunting reality in my life.  And, hopefully, you’ll be able to laugh with me (usually at me) along the way.

I’d love to hear from you along the way.  I will need both comfort and sarcasm.  Hope and pain.  Email me and expect a witty comeback in return

The journey of 150 pounds begins with a single step. 

Now where are those Oreos?

  

“Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your body.”  -- Paul of Tarsus