Of the Rambling Variety

Whoa, I'm posting with slightly more regularity! I miss posting, and I'm glad to be writing again.

This morning our band at Rivendell was awesome. I mean, it's not like we normally suck, in fact, I really like what we have going on. Today we were really on. The music was great, the worship was great, and I'm still buzzing from it.

Joined facebook, and it's a lot of fun. I've connected with people from my past, and I like the conversational side of it. It's a nice addition to blogging.

Don't want to make hair a consistent subject on this blog, but I got to say this. I kind of understand that for some of us, the process of our hair falling out is just a part of the normal trajectory of life. I mean, life is a span, with a beginning and an end, right? I get that for part of it you grow stronger and bigger and then you start down the other half. I don't mean that in a depressing sort of way, just, that's human reality. I do have a question or two that are buggin' me. Why is it that as hair loses interest in growing on top of your head that it gets interested in growing elsewhere? I have a hair or two growing out of the middle of my forehead. Like a freakin' unicorn. No, it's not remnants of my old hairline, it's new growth. Some springing up on my ears, too. Now don't expect to see it either place, I cut those bad boys off immediately. But still, the question remains, why? If the hair wants to fall out in the natural progression of life, fine. But, please, don't get some, uh, hair brained idea to just grow at random in other places. Is that too much to ask?

The Lost Isle

It was once a continent, thick with growth, ever changing in color and density and length. Then, it began to look like a peninsula, as the sides narrowed in. Now, it is just a lonely island, surrounded and by itself. What am I talking about? The little island of hair that sits alone at the front of my head. I've been thinning for several years, in fact, I grew my hair out a couple of years ago, kind of one last hurrah. When it first started thinning, I had all the terrible feelings. Now, I mostly just miss messing with it. I used to grow it out, color it, spike it, just generally look for cool cuts and let my stylist go to town. For a while, although it was thin, I left it longer and styled it and it looked alright. Then, for whatever reason, more of it decided to go on permanent vacation, and it became pointless to try and make it appear thick. So, I made the move. Is there a story coming? Naah.

Ok, ok, I was giving my son a haircut. Yeah, I cut it, because the little warrior, so appropriately named, goes in to full scale battle mode when the clippers come out, and I will not subject a stylist or barber to that insanity, nor will I subject my pocket book to it. So I cut it. A couple of days ago I was trying to trim up the sides with the clippers, then use the scissors to trim the top so we could spike it up or faux hawk it, or whatever. It became a Braveheart or Helm's Deep type battle. So, I just used the clippers and buzzed his whole head. I don't mean bald, just real tight and close, which is a cool cut these days. He went from looking like he was two to looking like he was five. My wife was thrilled by that! (Read previous line with dripping sarcasm)

Well, if it's good for the baby goose it's good for the daddy goose, right? Yep, took the clippers after myself next. Geez, i hadn't seen that much of my head in a while. Isn't your forehead actually supposed to, well, stop? You know, I LOVE IT! I feel like I can run real fast, you know, no wind resistance! It takes like, 3 seconds to wash it. If I don't shower and fix it, guess what? It looks the same! Yes, no more showers! (Kidding baby, I'm all about being clean : ) )

Now, do they make clippers for your waistline?

One Rocked Rooster

About a week before our wild ride with my son's sickness my dad read an article about a local festival, Rooster Days in Broken Arrow, needing bands to complete their lineup. He called me and I was game and he decided to check into it to see what they wanted/needed. They indicated to him that our band might be a good fit, and said all they needed was a demo tape or cd. "No problem" says dad, "when do you need it?" "Tomorrow." So after a little negotiating, and their desperate need for acts, we bought ourselves a few days, the weekend. We got together at our drummer Robb's church and "recorded" a few songs. Recording in a live setting without proper gear as opposed to a studio is a difficult thing, and, to not mince words, our demo sucked. Hard. However, we were out of time, and we turned it in. I couldn't help laughing at imagining their faces as they listened. I quit laughing when they called and said "can you play the Sunday 3:30 slot?" "Sure!"

Then my son got sick and everything rightly took a back seat. Suddenly, we were home and gaining health and we were playing our first true public event in three weeks and we hadn't practiced a single thing. After a few false starts we finally got together and started getting some stuff down. Did I mention this was Thursday, and we were to play Sunday? Yeah, well, it was.

Surprisingly, we actually began to get our short set of music pretty decent. I went out Friday night to check out the sound system. Quick background, I worked a booth for the ceramic studio I was employed by at this festival about 9 years ago. It was boring, lightly attended, and just a nice little small town carnival. The weather was really poor that year, and I was misled by the attendance. Friday night, I get there to see a really cool stage, large sound system, and like a jillion people. There were rides, fair food, everything. I began to feel the panic.

The Sunday previous I had begged our fellowship to come support us, and they came in force. I had also sent emails out to my family and friends, and they too, came. It was great! They screamed and behaved like we were actually good! Without pay!

There was really only one controversial undercurrent. Since my dad was the original contact, and because we hadn't had time to come up with a name, the festival had listed us with his name: "The Dan Quinten Band". We tried to no avail to come up with something we liked, but, frankly, we were busy panicking over how we were going to sound on minimal preparation. As we stood waiting to go on stage, Robb says "Lost in Translation". All four of us loved it! That was to be our name. One small problem, it seems some folks were a little "emotionally invested", shall we say, in the "Dan Quinten Band". Two guys made homemade T- shirts declaring their loyalty. When the emcee welcomed "Lost in Translation", I'm pretty sure I saw people pick up rocks and the like. This blog chronicles one fans heartbreak (just a note to those not there, not everything happened exactly as portrayed here, you'll know what part I'm referring to). It was an awkward moment.

That debate continues, but it was an amazing time, and I loved being on that stage and in that moment. And, actually, we were okay. You know how we are, us musicians, we can pick ourselves apart. Unless they were straight lying through their teeth, most of the folks in attendance had really positive things to say.

Up top's a shot of Lost in Translation's first bonafide public gig. That's Chad at the right on lead guitar, Robb in the back on drums, Dan to the left in the cool hat on bass, and your's truly up front on guitar and vocals. Thanks again to all who supported with their presence as well as with their good thoughts and prayers. Here's hoping that was just the first of many...

Scattered

Catching up on a few things. If you've not used my links to Dino or Heather in a while, they both have new things going on and the links are updated to those, so go and enjoy.

Tonight I went and visited a guy from our fellowship who had an appendectomy among other things. I decided to drop in on the PICU where we had lived, so to speak, to see if any of my boys nurses were there, and, in fact two of the ones who had provided most of his care were both working. There were hugs and good reports to go around. In the room right next to his when we were there a little baby was dying. When we were transfered to St Francis, they estimated the baby had five to seven days left. Even in the midst of our struggles that was a sobering reminder that things could get worse, much worse. One of his nurses, Crystal, came out of that room when she saw me there, and I got caught up visiting with her. I did finally glance toward that room to see who was there, and, shock, it was still that mama and little baby. The mama waved at me and held up her little girl, who was awake and looking around! I was just blown away. His other nurse summed it up best: "miracles still happen". Wow! That baby is getting better every day, just amazing.

The road back to eating well has been slow. It's been a lot of factors, including that it's just more expensive to eat healthily (is that just bass ackward?), and just finding our stride and sense of normalcy after our experience has been a bit slow. I've gained back a small amount, but my resolve feels the same. This weekend we will once again restock with more appropriate foods and reembark on our journey. I will resume reporting and posting pictures.

Well, truly that is a short and sweet version of life in the poet lane, I look forward to a bit more frequent posting.

Oh yeah, a couple of my favorite bands listed to the side have had big events. I'm saddened much like everyone else on the untimely passing of Boston's Brad Delp, he of the pristine vocals that were a hallmark, along with the famous Boston guitar distortion, of the band. I'm also saddened at the rumors and accusations floating around regarding this, and hope that it all settles and we can remember Brad with a sense of peace and soberness at how he left us. (This happened during our hospital stay, and I'm just getting a chance to post). Also, much to my excitement, The Police are reunited and touring, here's still hoping that Chad and I will catch a show. If you'd like to contribute to the "Buy Chad and Lindy Police Tickets" fund, just let me know: )

17 Days

"I wish the ring had never come to me." "So do all who live to see such times."

My son acted like he didn't feel well, it was Friday, and he had a little cough. By Saturday, he was good and congested, mostly in his chest, and we started with over the counter meds to clear him up. Wasn't the first time he'd had some congestion, certainly wouldn't be the last. Sunday his breathing seemed a little more difficult, and throughout the day although he continued to play, we knew something wasn't right. We called his doctor and he gave us instructions to do through the night and we were to be at his office by 8 am. By about 11:00 that night we knew there was something really wrong with the way he was breathing, so we went to the ER. We expected to get a couple of breathing treatments and probably a shot and go home. At 2:00 am we were informed we were being admitted into the hospital. We would live and sleep in that and one other other hospital for the next 17 days.

That first night we didn't sleep, our little warrior wouldn't let us put him down, and I don't blame him. His breathing continued to labor and get worse, and I began to have real fear inside of me for his health. After two more breathing treatments, he was struggling even more, and I was feeling angry. Why wasn't God doing something, this is my son! Why is nothing working, where is the doctor, this can't be right! Our respiratory therapist decided to try a different breathing treatment, and, finally, he seemed to make some progress. Still, after a pulmonary specialist had seen him, they decided to admit him to the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit, or PICU, so they could more properly monitor him and give him more frequent breathing treatments. It seemed that Tuesday passed and he continued to improve. Then came Tuesday night. He quite quickly began to struggle to breathe, with even more difficulty than when we checked in. We spent another sleepless night watching his breathing slowly deteriorate. At that point we had slept for six hours in a 72 hour period, and we were filled with anxiety and worry and had the heartbreak of watching our precious, beautiful boy fight for every breath.

By 7:00 am Wednesday morning the specialist prepared us for the fact that he may have to be intubated and put on a ventilator so he could rest and his lungs and throat get clear of the croup and pneumonia. At a little after 10:00 we walked out of the room knowing it would be 3 to 5 days before he would be awake again and we could hold him. I felt empty, exhausted, angry, afraid, and deeply saddened. Good thing we didn't know it would be 12 days before he was carefully lifted off of his bed and placed in his mommy's arms.

He finally began to rest with the breathing tube, and seeing him no longer labor had a degree of relief to it, even though we couldn't hold him. Throughout this process our friends and community wrapped their collective arms around us and refused to let us crumble. That first night we were unsure if we could go get sleep (the hospital had a room for us) and leave him alone in the PICU, so Kyle came and stayed up with him all night, reading and praying over him every thirty minutes (my computer screen is getting blurry from my tears as I type that). What also blew me away was that Kyle's wife Cathy and Steve and his wife Cathy were willing to do the same thing, to take turns taking night watches so we could rest. Dear God, I hope I'm that kind of pastor and friend to those in my life.

The next five days became quite frustrating for us. He just hit this plateau and quit getting better, and no one knew why. Everything they tried didn't work. I stood at my son's bed alone begging God to do something. Look, I know you work through doctors, but dammit! Do something! I felt so impatient and angry! And in the midst of those angry moments, cussing, crying, I would feel this peace begin to creep in, and I felt my trust and faith begin to stretch. You know, I never felt compelled to confess and ask forgiveness of my Heavenly Father, it was like He said, "About time you trusted me enough to be that honest".

At six weeks old my son had a procedure done on his heart, and the doctor at St John's decided it needed to be checked out. After a test and after speaking with the Intensivist at St. Francis, they decided to transport us. Those couple of hours when they believed that maybe it was a problem with his heart felt like someone tore something out of us, my wife put words to what we both felt "I'm afraid we're going to lose him" (blurry screen again). That night, a big group of people showed up at St Francis, our friends, our family, the voice, hands and feet of Jesus. Once they had him hooked up at the new hospital, we went to check on him and visit with the intensivist. He decided to clean him out, an intimidating procedure to watch, but I stayed in there. They squeezed air into his lungs then pumped on his chest to help him cough then sucked out what he was coughing. My teeth were clenched so tight they should have exploded. Then, boom, after they finished, his stats began to change, the first actual positive move in several days. Then the doctor pointed to one of the readings, and said basically "if there's a heart problem that would be different, but I have found a patch of pneumonia that is still really bad. We're going suction him like this every hour, and give the antibiotics time to work." Relief began to flood over me, a sense that we would be okay hit me for the first time in several days.

A little less than 24 hours after that the turn happened. One particular stat they were monitoring, his oxygen saturation, suddenly shot up to the levels they should be at, and they began to ween him off the ventilator. Over the next four days they weened the settings until he was essentially breathing on his own, then, out came the tube, or, in their terms, they extubated him. Shortly after that, they had some oxygen running to his nose and he had several iv's connected, they carefully handed him to my wife. By the next afternoon, which was Sunday and two weeks exactly from our original trip to the ER, he was free of all but one IV.

Three days later, on Wednesday, my wife and I's 10th wedding anniversary, we walked out of St Francis and came home, and our 17 day journey was complete. I had missed 3 weeks of work, my wife would miss two more. We have an appointment one week from today to do what should be our final chest X ray to make sure his lungs are clear, and he will be cleared to go back to church, to go see the fellowship that wrapped him with prayers warmer and softer than any blanket, and to bring to an end this chapter which will have stretched into nearly two months.

I'll do a follow up post to talk more about community and relating to God and each other in a crisis.

"You are bigger than songs, greater than words. And if words escape us now, you will still be God. So hear, hear our souls crying to You, for You, You are good, faithful King.

You are good, You are good. We are free, You are good. You're alive, we're alive and You are good. You are good."

Tribute

Behind me on our bed sleep peacefully my beloved, beautiful, strong wife of 10 years (today!) and my courageous, strong, and yeah, beautiful, son. You want to know what beautiful music sounds like? Slow, peaceful, easy breathing, that's what it sounds like. On Sunday, March 4th, we took our son to the ER as he was working extremely hard to breathe, and today, 17 days later, we sleep in our little duplex together again. I promise to blog shortly on the initial impact of those 17 days, but tonight I have a real struggle, trying to say thanks in a way that captures what our heart feels.

How do you say thanks to a community that has been life and breath, the very words, hands, and feet of Jesus? "Community" has become, unfortunately, just a buzz word to many, but for us, it became peace and truth in a time of upheaval emotionally, physically, and spiritually.

How do we thank my dad and mom and my mother in law? All three endured every moment with us; faithfully, strongly, gently, and consistently. They called their life off to be by our side all day long, and even all night when we changed hospitals. My dad was strength and calm and reinforcement for me moment by moment. What words fit here?

How do I thank my sister who could not spend every moment at the hospital, she has a six month old precious girl, but who endured every moment on the phone, who's questions helped me ask the right questions of the doctors and nurses, and who was most importantly, my sister? And to my brother in law for coming and offering encouragement and strength when events from his past made that extremely difficult emotionally and psychologically.

What can I say to my sister in laws, Terri and Tina, who brought food, love, and laughter? Terri even brought up blankets and pillows for some folks at the St Francis waiting room who had none.

How do we thank my dear, dear friends and pastors, Kyle and Steve? What my wife and mother and mother in law needed from me was strength, courage, calm, and faith. How do I express what it means to me that when I needed those things, they were there, hands on my shoulders, lifting me physically, emotionally, and spiritually? I just don't have the words, my brothers! Kyle even came and stayed up all night at our son's bedside his first night on the ventilator praying so that we could get some much needed rest.

How do we say what's on our hearts to: Chad, for coming and allowing me to get lost in music for just a few minutes, and for bringing his unique sense of humor where it was so needed; to Cathy M, for keeping an early morning prayer vigil and giving my wife some relief and holding my son so she could sleep; to Kara B for coming and holding his hand and gently speaking encouragement to him, and us; to Heather, for coming and giving a really good hug and encouraging words; to Dave for simply coming and offering great conversation and warmth; to Cathy D for two meals, much needed smiles and hugs; to Laura E for listening to us ramble and for a really fantastic salad; to Angela for the use of her laptop, for dinner, and for just thinking of the little things that were so helpful; to Jerry and Jaime for scrambling up after work and getting dinner and superb brownies to us; to Laura L for being there and bringing pillows and blankets; to Daniel for your reassuring presence and smile; to Athena for the gift card, magazines, and drinks; we are so grateful!

To J.D. and Shannon, and Matt and Adrienne, for your deep friendship and support (and for the Bueno, J.D., diet be damned!)

To so many whose prayers weaved amazing support and strength, it was something that we could tangibly feel.

To all those who came to the hospital, to those who couldn't come but prayed fervently, to those who I've undoubtedly forgot to name, you have all been Jesus to us. We feel both incredibly humbled and incredibly loved, and we love you.

First Returns Are In

Well, here it is. I'm actually a little shocked that I can see a difference. Very helpful for the old psyche, and well, emotionally, physically, everything.

Here are the specifics. First a little correction. Matt, J.D, and I weighed New Years Eve after piling down pizza and the like and I weighed 325, as I previously reported. On the morning of January 2nd, when I actually started eating differently and changing my habits, I weighed 320. This morning, just slightly over six weeks from January 2nd, I weighed 287, a weight loss of 33 pounds.

I'm excited and motivated again, but not inhuman. I've found myself more tempted in the past few weeks with some of the food choices I used to make. Finding the balance of occasionally enjoying those things, in other words, keeping those times as the exception and not the rule, is a continual battle. I think Dr Phil's book on weight loss (haven't read it) has a chapter title that captures this: "Weight is managed not cured". It won't be "fixed" one day, it will be a lifetime of making the choices.

So, there it is, the first six week update.

By the way, I hope I'm posting often enough for Kyle, who has talked of "weeding" out infrequent posters. Please, don't delete me, please... ; )

Worth a thousand words...

So coming up soon I'll be posting a new picture of myself. I actually started my new lifestyle on January 2nd, so I've decided to post the first side by side comparison photo approximately six weeks from then. That adds up to about the 16th of February, but that falls on a Friday, and I actually weigh on Tuesdays. In order to give updates on weight lost, I'll be posting the picture on Tuesday, February 20th. I'm pretty nervous, but maybe not for the reasons you would suspect.

Having already crossed the line once, I'm not so nervous about putting a picture out there. What I'm mostly concerned about is if I will actually look any different. I'm actually doing quite well, I won't reveal my current weight loss yet, but I'm getting into an area where I've bailed before. When you have a significant amount of weight to lose, and I believe I need to lose anywhere from 130 to 140 pounds, even significant early losses still leave you very much overweight. In the past, I've lost more than 40 pounds, and then looking in the mirror and seeing virtually no change, I've gotten very discouraged and quit.

Certainly things are different this time, I believe that. However, I know that I'm coming up on one of the mountains I've failed to climb, and it makes me a bit nervous. I guess I'm facing a reality that I've tried to escape in the past. This is a lifestyle change, not a temporary program. I think I used to get so discouraged because I was looking forward to getting my weight off so I could get back to eating whatever I wanted. I think we all want to be able to win our battle, whatever it is, then be done with it and go back to our previous habits. No wonder we are so defeated and discouraged at times, because that is a false hope. To change means exactly that, to change. It's not a diversion, a sabbatical, it's a complete directional shift.

I think that applies to anything in life, and I think in our desire to live without thought and responsibility we sabotage ourselves. We must accept the truth that true freedom from a struggle does not come because you take a temporary route to get it under control, but freedom comes when you take responsibility for the defeat and do something different. Freedom from food abuse does not come when I can eat whatever I want, freedom is when I can eat what's best and turn down what's not.

The Wardrobe Door

When the four Pevensie's exited the wardrobe back into the old mansion after their first adventures in Narnia, they came back looking exactly like they did when they went in, but they were most certainly not who they were when they went in. Hidden and buried in the wardrobe lay their true identity. If you read the stories you know that everyone who went into that "hidden" land and came back out were never the same. Inside that place they were confronted with who they really were, both the good and the bad, and found the courage and strength to no longer hide either.

I said I never "hid" my weight problem. I talked about trying and failing to lose weight on this very blog. What I revealed, however, was basically like cracking the door of the wardrobe and seeing the fur of a few coats. Finding the truth would require someone pushing their way back through the rows of coats until you hit the prickly trees. In this case however, I stood on the inside of the door furiously guarding what was inside. Then something changed. I don't know if it was one thing or a series of things that led to it. A conversation with my dad about how his dad died of a heart attack in his early fifties, after losing a lot of weight, was certainly a sobering, sit down and rethink type moment. You see, I never knew that grandpa, but he was big and built like me, or, I am built like him. When he finally lost weight, the damage was done, he waited too long. That and other things were certainly eye opening "aha" type things, but I also believe that something outside of me had to draw me. The way something drew Lucy to open the door in the first place.

The result was this, my version of flinging open the wardrobe doors and saying "this is it, here I am, no more hiding." Something changed. I knew it then, I know it even more so now, this time is different. I'm not sure if I could've explained it at that moment. In fact, in having a discussion with one of my pastor's and best friend's he pointed out that somehow no longer hiding was a very significant thing for me. I reread that post and found something I had written then but it didn't hit me: "I haven't found it yet, but for all that is a warrior in me I will not hide, at all, anymore".

I think most of us would acknowledge that naming and facing your problem is the first and most important step to overcoming it, I've said that lots of times. I'm certain, though, that I never really understood what that meant, what it means to face and see it for what it really is. That's what I mean by hiding. Can I encourage you and challenge you a little? Find out what it means for you to throw the doors open to your own wardrobe. If it means posting a picture, do it. Don't post a picture if that's not what it means for you, because then the picture just becomes a decoy, but DO something. Post it on your blog, or if you want, I'll post it here and we can struggle together.

Edmund was a traitor, sure enough. I think we feel like if we throw open the doors we'll be found out as well. Uhhm, yeah, actually, you will be found out. It is what it is.

Something else was found out, Edmund was a King, and a hero, and his actions were a pivot point to victory for an entire "nation" of "people".

First Steps

Here are a few things that are playing really important roles in my journey to this point.

Remember the bottom line (gotta be a joke there). No matter how you go about it, there's really only one rule in terms of losing weight. Burn more calories than you take in. Low fat, low carb, South Beach, Weight Watchers, doesn't matter, they work, regardless of all other claims, because they lower your overall intake of calories. I'm not saying there are not provable health and medical benefits of a low fat diet. All research makes it clear that a healthier heart and cardiovascular system result when you lower bad cholesterol. There's no doubt that restricting your carbohydrate intake, especially of specific kinds of carbohydrate, levels your blood sugar and helps you get a better read on your appetite. I'm not saying all the provable researched facts are worthless, it's also proven and you can ask any doctor that regardless of how healthy your food choices are, eat more than you burn and you will gain weight. Remembering this helps me with my second thing:

Pick your battles. I am following for the most part "The Biggest Loser" diet. There are some things it asks that I cannot do. One is the switch to only whole grain breads, pastas, and cereals. I've switched tons of those choices to whole grain, but some things, like the whole grain pastas I've tried, nope, can't do it. So, if I make choices that are outside of this particular diet's "OK" list, I remember the basics, track the calories, and move on. I do have some things that I'm simply training myself to eat. Like veggies. In general, I don't really like anything but corn and green beans. That's it. So I'm learning to enjoy asparagus, broccoli, cauliflower, bell peppers, and the like. Long term health depends on that, so it's a battle worth fighting. Pasta's not. Neither is low fat cheese. See, I need to make permanent change. The easiest way to set myself up for failure is to force myself to choke down stuff I can't stand in the name of losing weight. So I have a few chips now and then, and though I will rarely have it (and haven't since I started), I'll eat regular bacon, not turkey bacon. When I do this, however, I meticulously right down and track the calories. Righting stuff down, that leads me to my last thing.

I have several diverse forms of accountability. My wife beautiful wife is following this with me. I've survived at least two moments when I was ready to pick up fast food simply because she reminded me to ask if it was really worth it. I also right down everything I eat and it's caloric content religiously. I can't tell you how much impact it has to see it in black and white, what you've had, where you stand in terms of calories, and types of foods you've eaten. It also is a good deterrent, Jenni and I decided not to eat Mexican food out one night last week just because it would kill us to have to right down the exhorbatant calories we'd just packed in. I have this blog and a decision to post a picture of myself (brave? insane? not sure which) and to continue posting them. I have a bet with a couple of buddies in which we will weigh in six months and the person with the highest percentage of weight loss will collect from the other two. Then we're gonna weigh again in a year, with more on the line.

It just seems that the more I have in place the better. My life and struggles are not just a neat scripted diet to follow. Sometimes I need to pray and cry out to God, sometimes its a perfectly timed word from my wife, sometimes it's seeing my food log, or thinking of the next picture I promised to post here, or just losing to my boys when I want to spank em. My life is filled with different kinds of struggles and moments of weakness, and giving myself the freedom to be moved and motivated by a variety of people/things is something that I haven't incorporated before, and neither is a no nonsense remember the basics of weight loss.

I'm truly starting to believe that I'm gonna do this. I know some of you are struggling and trying as well. I'm clearly not a weight loss guru, but I've learned some from, oh, 12 years or more of trying and failing. You can do this. I hope any of my thoughts are helpful. I'd love to hear from those who are fighting this fight or other fights.

The journey of a thousand miles begins with...

So, a bit of promised info from the last post:

Starting Weight: 325

I would argue that surely I'm not that big, but, uh, did you catch the picture on the last post? Uhm, yeah.

An interesting thing has been happening this last week. I think I know how to do this. I've been doing a lot of reflecting on past failures and realizing that though they have given birth to discouragement, hopelessness, frustration, and the like, in the midst of that have come some valuable insights to seeing victory. So, I'm gonna post about it. I need to get these thoughts down, see how they read, if you know what I mean.

This post I'm thinking about the seeing the big picture. That's realizing that this problem is physical, spiritual, and emotional. It's happening on more than one level. Now, let me just say this, I'm going to focus on these seperately, but we all know that in real life they don't divide all nice and neat like.

What I have to remember physically is that I'm broken. I've heard it said that "my body knows what it needs if I would just listen to it". While that is true to some extent, I have to acknowledge that I have cravings and desires that my body simply doesn't need at best, and are dangerous and life sucking at worst. That means an intentional plan for how and what and when you will eat is incredibly important. It is practically important to have options within the plan of attack, but the plan needs to be in place. Written, tracked, and followed.

Spiritually I had to realize that I just didn't have bad eating habits alone, but I had placed a value on food that had become an object of worship. If you just see singing or praying as worship, that may sound weird to you. If you see the process of valuing and serving and yielding to as worship, it probably begins to clear up. Honest confession and repentance of raising up an idol needs to be a daily and sometimes meal by meal process.

The emotional part is strongly connected to the spiritual part. The difficulty is at times realizing that God has given us so much to give us joy and a lift, and sometimes a good meal is what He gives. He gives relationships, wine, music, film, and so much more. Being able to let the gift of good food be something that is from God and turning to the food as the Source of emotional healing and soothing and fulfillment are at times foggy lines, but I have to engage and recognize the difference.

I'm off to a really good start, and I see these as things I've not included at some point in my past attempts, or attempted to leave out one or two. I'll post more specifically about my plan and how I'm dealing with the daily temptations next.