Comfort

I knew it was coming, felt the shadow of the familiar September cloud hovering weeks ago, and I even felt strong enough to resist its downward pull on my spirit…for a while.  Today, I miss Steve more than ever, nearly five years since our souls’ tethering was severed in death.  It’s different, but it’s definite.  Widowhood is not for sissies, and it doesn’t matter what the social situation (or romantic for that matter) happens to be:  when the mate of your soul goes to the other side of the Veil, you miss them forever.

This morning, I visited a self-destructive (and ineffective) form of self-medication in the form of chocolate.  It was an entire bag of chocolate, in a short amount of time, and though I attempted to exercise some control over the speed of consumption, the empty bag was an inevitability…in roughly an hour.  It’s not the same as overeating – it’s a binge in the clinical and practical sense of the word.  It’s embarrassing, shaming, and guilt inducing; and none of those things assist me in any way with the grief and sadness I feel – instead, it is only magnified.

Don’t get me wrong:  I’m not lonely.

I’m not.  Really.

It’s more like the feeling of being homesick.  I miss him/home, and I need to want something else.  I know I need to rid myself of this heart hunger and that food will not make me less homesick.  Knowing is not close to “half the battle” in this case.

I have more knowledge than most folks when it comes to eating behaviors, grief, and navigating life in healthy ways.  Knowledge that only makes me feel more frustrated with myself, it mocks me as I think of the plastic bag of wrappers in the next room.  I know what to do, and that I should have left the store with only the sympathy card for my friend I had walked in to buy.  I knew it before I reached for the bag – and now the really scary truth that reveals how ingrained the scarcity mentality is in my binge behavior – the second.  The Hershey’s Nuggets were on special this morning, but it was a “2-fer,” and the compulsion toward the second bag was almost worse than the first.

No, it’s only been one (full) bag my system is scrambling to digest – the other is zipped in a bag on my washer in the utility room in hopes I’ll just walk on by that door (which opens from my kitchen).  Yes, I’ve thought of opening that bag too.  I’ve done that before.  Another facepalm string of memories I don’t want to repeat.

I’m an educated, decorated, venerated woman whose wit and accomplishments astound even casual acquaintances, yet this binge eating disorder vexes me.  There’s an enemy, Folks, and he knows our buttons.  He’s been around a lot longer than we have; and I can’t help but wonder if the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil wasn’t just a bit like chocolate sometimes, and a bit like tortilla chips at others… 

When life feels out of control, it is so understandable that we exert control over giving ourselves whatever means of pain-escape or pleasure we find at the end of our fingers [please keep the thoughts and comments at a G Rating]?  Yes, it’s understandable, even relatable; but is it helpful?  Does it actually satisfy the ache, the abyss, the chasm we are trying to fill with food, work, hobbies, shopping, socialization, isolation, or whatever that “drug of choice” happens to be? 

Never.

No, the only way to sate our aching, broken hearts – the only way to still our racing minds full of worry – is to go to the Source.  The Source, not of our pain, but of the healing and help we crave.

The God of all comfort is with believers 24/7 (2 Corinthians 1:3-5).  We don’t avail ourselves of His provision when we need it most, preferring instead for the “quick fix,” and why?  Because we want to have some control, we want to nurse our wounds instead of casting our cares upon His capable shoulders (1 Peter 5:7-9), we want to do it our way, even when we know just how it will end – with the same feelings compounded by shame and guilt.

I am writing this for me.  I am writing this for you.  I am writing this for anyone whose hurt has sent them grasping for the nearest numbing agent.  I am writing this because we have hope and help and healing just a breath away. 

I wish I had reached for the keyboard rather than the cupboard all those times.  I wish both those silly bags of sugar were both full and forgotten on the shelf at the drugstore.  I wish I had leaned into my Father’s bosom and let Him be my comfort.  I am contrite and repentant; but I am not defeated because of grace and mercy lavished on me by the sacrifice of One who was tempted in every way I have been, but didn’t mess it up (sin) by reaching for sorry substitutes for the Source.  No, Jesus, who overcame death and the grave and even the gates of Hell, says that I am “more than an overcomer!”

I am not enslaved to my feelings, thoughts, urges, impulses, or even compulsive behaviors.  It is for freedom (Galatians 5:1) that I have been set free!  Freedom to trust, to hope, to rest in God’s goodness…  Freedom to choose differently than I have before…  Freedom to forgive myself and become transformed by the renewing of my mind (Romans 12:1-2)…  Freedom to fight lies with Truth…  Freedom to fall down and to rise and to compose something of benefit for those who read these words – and I pray earnestly that is what happens. 

Scribes, we are free – and it cost us nothing.  Surrendering to the Lordship of one whose love is unsurpassed is no sacrifice on our part, especially since Jesus is the same Lord whose body was pushed past its limits, His skin ripped in nasty beating, His strong carpenter arms willingly (and writhing in agony) outstretched to then be fixed to a rough, splintery, shame-drawing cross…  It was the cost of my freedom and of everyone’s, whether or not they choose His grace and lordship.

As my body reminds me of the glut of grief-chocolate, I stand here in utter gratitude that God could love, accept, and even want to have a relationship with the likes of me after what the Son went through.  I am forgiven and I know it; and I have only my obedience in which to demonstrate my thankful heart.  The Psalmist wrote that God’s praise would ever be on his lips (Psalm 34:1).  Paul talks about our lips bringing both blessings and curses – and these references regard speech, of course; but my spirit senses that for some of us, there’s more.  We all have areas in which we are tempted, and often; but those are opportunities for victory!

As I close – and I intend to add the references to Scriptures I have mentioned – I am going to my utility room to get the bag of “Nuggets” and drive into town to deliver them to our Community Center.  They don’t belong here.  I have all I need in Christ.  I am filled, forgiven, and free.

With sincere kindness, I pray this meets you in a needful place and helps you on your way.

Jotting with Johnna
How will you step away from the things that entrap and ensnare you when you are triggered to self-soothe?  Integrity in that moment of choice is hard to muster, but you must - so what method will you try?

Stay tuned.  Stay focused.  Stay well.