Five Point Four Pounds of Tears

It's been a bad few days.

It actually started Saturday night.

No, it started on Thursday when I decided to snack all day.  I used more than half of the "extra" Weight Watcher points I'm allotted for the week.  I blamed it on that time of the month, but I just wanted to snack.  I didn't cheat.  I promise.  But, never the less, those points were not available to me for the weekend (like I intended). 

Okay, now for Saturday night.  We went out on date night (the reason I usually save the extra points) to Red Robin.  I spent a good part of the afternoon perusing their menu to find food that I could eat on my limited "budget".  Finally, I decided on a Grilled Turkey Burger with Steak Fries and Fat Free Ranch Dressing (to dip the fries in, duh!)  We arrived and were seated at a half booth/half table. 

Let me jump in here and give you some insight into the mind of a morbidly obese person.  I am terrified of new restaurants because they might not have tables, and booths simply are too tight a squeeze.  The meal looses all it's enjoyment when the table is pressing into my stomach.  The other scary situation is if the chairs at the table have arms.  Most of the time, I don't fit into those chairs.  I know you might think these obstacles might make me stay at home.  They did a lot.  And when we would go out, I would make sure it was to a familiar restaurant and I would ask to be seated at a table.  Another thing that happens that I am painfully aware of is that I have lots of extra padding on my seat, so when I sit, I sit "tall" and unless I'm sitting at a table with someone who has a taller torso (like my husband), I feel like a big, fat giant. 

So we were seated and Troy asked if he could sit in the booth side so that he could watch basketball on the TV.  (Yep, it's date night.)  As soon as he sat down, I remembered why I liked sitting on the booth side.  It sits low, which made Troy shorter than me when he sat.  I was uncomfortable from the start.  Because we asked to be seated at a table we were surrounded by young families with children (who need high chairs hence a table rather than a booth). 

I have over the past year, been comforted and reassured by God that He has plans for my future that do not involve children.  And I have reconciled those empty feelings.  But sometimes that yearning, that deep, deep desire for children floods my heart again.  I've been drowning in that sea for a few days only keeping afloat in His promise.

So, Saturday night, I was the unwilling participate in a downward spiral that started with feeling like the jolly fat giant surrounded by adorable children I could look at but couldn't parent.  It ended in bed with a tear soaked pillow. 

Sunday, I awoke feeling battle weary, but not defeated.  God always uses the worship music to soothe my troubled heart.  But as the day wore on, I could feel the tears welling up in my soul, threatening to burst through.  And they did.

All this time, the only thing I wanted to do was retreat to a familiar, comfortable place.  A place where I was numb and didn't have to deal with the pain.  The pain of not fitting in a normal seat, the searing pain of feeling that if I had not been so overweight when we were trying to get pregnant, that I would have conceived.  The pain of knowing that I still have such a long journey ahead of me before I can walk into a restaurant, movie theater, airplane, bathroom stall without thinking about the width.  I wanted numbness......comfort food.  I wanted salt, bread, and butter all rolled together in numbing deliciousness. 

But, I didn't retreat.  I met that pain head on.  I cried until I couldn't cry anymore.  I sobbed until my eyes were almost swollen shut.  I begged God to forgive me for my gluttony, my unbelief, and my ungratefulness.  And He did.  But more importantly, He let me cry. He let me wash the wounds with my tears.  He didn't take away the pain, because I need to remember the consequences of my sin so that I don't jump right back into them again.  But through that excruciating pain, I saw victory.  I didn't retreat.  I stood my ground.  God made sure of that. 

Tonight, I stood on the scale awaiting the verdict.  I didn't care what the scale said.  I knew I had won this battle and it gave me the courage to think I just might win the war. 

I lost 5.4 pounds this week.  Five point four.  I'm building an alter to God at this point in my journey.   I'm naming it "5.4 Pounds of Tears" and when I face the demons of regret and shame again, I'll remember these 5.4 pounds of tears.  God is good ALL THE TIME! Especially in the midst of battle.

181 pounds and 91 weeks to go.