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| My Enormous Plate of Food at My Birthday Party |
The topic you ask? Addressing obesity in the church. Yes, because now church is a replacement for the Diet Center. The title "It’s Probably Time We All Talked About Obesity & The Church" was enough to raise my usually normal blood pressure but it was the fried chicken that sent me over the edge. I very rarely eat fried food but to think that someone would even suggest to their parishioners that from now on please refrain from bringing biscuits and chicken to the potlucks, oh and while your at it, make the desserts smaller.
Tackling the issue of "gluttony" as if it is the only link to obesity is short sighted and ignorant. To equate overeating to "illegal drugs, smoking, and alcohol abuse" is to over simplify the struggle. You can't completely do away with food without that becoming a whole other issue. My pastor (a fit racquetball player) once said that being overly picky about your food is a form of gluttony as well. I agree. Are we going to set up adult sized high chairs for the congregation and make them eat their broccoli?
Does anybody really think we need to point out to someone that they are obese or that it is frowned upon? Do we really think that they don't know this? Just how in this situation are we supposed to be our brother's keeper?
Here is the conversation as I imagine it:
"Um, hey, Bill? You're obese. Ya I have never had that problem but I believe it is my duty as your brother/sister in Christ to let you know that you need self control. That is mentioned as "Fruit of the Spirit" by the way. This is all to show you my love. (Another fruit I might add)."
It reminds me of the high school volleyball coach who sat next to me in the stands during practice one day. She "lovingly" told me that my thighs were like "cottage cheese" proving that I didn't have a large frame but needed to diet. Then there was the 4'10" cheerleading coach that let me know I would have made the team senior year except I was "too tall" and "overweight".
Where this author really misses the point is that those of us who have truly struggled with weight loss and eating disorder don't save it for the potluck. In my darkest hours it was when I was hidden in the food pantry, stuffing down the pain and filling the loneliness with every salty bite I could get my hands on until I made myself sick. It was the fear of being hungry or not getting enough. The emptiness in me caused a hole that couldn't be filled.
At potlucks I was a model citizen, an expert at taking only what I wanted you to think I was eating. At the time I fooled no one but myself. When I began starving myself, I had to pretend to be eating things that I wasn't to deflect those who were concerned. Have you ever gone to a Chinese wedding feast? As the food spins around in front of you throughout the meal, you take a small piece on your plate, rub some mustard around and hope no one catches on to the fact that nothing has passed through your lips. Engaging in conversation is your only hope to distract from the truth. The fact that the unsuppressed need for control is in itself beyond your control.
My journey out of that place didn't begin with a well placed sermon or more rules at a buffet. It started with a bold and loving friend that said "What are you doing with your life?" She loved me enough to know me. To have a real relationship with me and lead me into an intimate relationship with the One who knows me more. You know what else? She has never mentioned my weight. That hardly makes her unloving.
Jesus Christ died for me before I ate "right". His grace was given freely to heal the pain and shine light into the places I've needed to see. He has allowed me to walk in this place of decision where it feels like the world doesn't understand and accept who I am because in so many ways, I don't fit in. We don't need to tell each other what to do, we need to tell them who loves them. We need to lead them to who paid the price to save them.
So here I am, eating right, trying to exercise when I have the strength and I'm still a "big girl". I am still a creation of the Creator of the Universe. If you are the type of person who sees my size first, my prayer is that it is my smile or my eyes or my heart that you will see last.
Let me be a woman of faith that spreads joy and love and compassion and
always...
Hope
PS I have chosen not to link to the original post at this time.
Here are three more posts I have written on this topic. It is where I am at apparently.
My post on beauty addresses this too. It was featured at Chasing Silhouettes and you can find it here.
Just as I was ready to hit "publish" I saw this story on the news. Please take a minute to watch, I think you will find it timely.
2 comments:
Shame is thrust upon those overweight. I've always struggled but been able to stay at a "healthy weight" but always a "stress eater". After my son's death initially I could not stand the sight of food. I was very anxiety ridden tho and finally saw a therapist to help with the nightmares and insomnia. While I did not feel depressed I was convinced against my better judgment to take an anti depressant. Not only did it not help it worsened conditions and before I knew it I was up 40 pounds. No that's not a typo 40 lbs. if I wasn't depressed to begin with looking at my fat body was more than enough. I could not break the cycle and have actually put off going to the doctor because I did not want the lecture certain to follow after the weight check. I finally had to go see my neuro doc due to my migraines. He insisted I be weighed and I had fibbed (low balled) to the nurse - so when he saw the actual weight versus my "wishful" weight he was downright rude. Shamed. He then began the lecture about exercise and healthy eating. Not so much help with the nightmares and insomnia. I wanted to smash his face in. I had heard over weight people (more often women) avoid the doctors for this reason. Shame. Shamed into never wanting to see his face again. It's easy to say "exercise and eat right" in a kinder more compassionate way. Maybe offer an element of empathy and understanding of what it feels like to have nightmares about my son's death? The insomnia and the horror and the pain? But shame? It would be a more loving world if only we could embrace and not judge.
It's really sad, to me, how "fat jokes" always seem to be the acceptable ones. Thanks for sending a positive message into a negative atmosphere.
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