Yesterday I hit "my number" on the scale. You know the number I'm talking about. Everyone has a number. That number that sits in the back of your head each time you weigh on the scale. It may be the weight you were when you graduated high school, or the weight you were before your first baby, the weight you were on your wedding day, or the weight you were before last year's vacation.
Yeah, that's the number I'm talking about and I hit my number yesterday. Oddly, it's not one of those "5" or "10" numbers and it's not even close to my ideal weight. It's the weight I was the day my daddy passed away. It's the weight I was before I gained 17 pounds in 2 months. It's the weight I was before I had to admit to myself that I found comfort in food. For me, yesterday's weight was not about the number on the scale but rather about the condition of my heart.
I can remember clearly driving home from my sweet daddy's funeral and telling my husband that I didn't want to gain weight like I always did in stressful situations. I had worked hard to lose a few pounds of baby weight (again) and I really meant what I was saying. But the problem was that I hadn't dealt with my heart. My heart was broken and my heart was looking for comfort.
Now, I'm not saying that I cried in corner and ate chips for 2 months to gain 17 pounds (I mean, seriously, who has time for that when you're a mom) but I stopped putting my health first and I allowed my broken heart to lead to broken choices. I stopped caring about myself and my body and neglected to make decisions that would make me healthy for my children and husband. One poor choice after another added up until I weighed one day and saw my broken heart staring back at me through those numbers.
Although I'm just thankful that I made it through those difficult months (because grief is a crazy thing), I am also mindful that I chose food to comfort me on many occasions when I should have run into God's arms for comfort. It's tough to say those words out loud but I see it clearly now. My Heavenly Father was there the whole time waiting for me to turn to him in my grief. He was patient and gentle as he watched me learn my lesson. He wasn't condescending or superior when I admitted to him that I needed His help. He guided me through His Word and gave me answers to my deep questions and fears, and He hasn't judged me when I've made mistakes.
Those 17 pounds were the hardest pounds I've ever lost. Over the last year and a half since my daddy passed, I've been through injuries and sore muscles. I've read healthy eating books and I've written out every verse in the Bible that deals with food. I've learned that being healthy isn't being skinny and I've learned that food is fuel and "diet" food isn't always good for you. I have run hundreds of miles and I'm finding the peace in my heart that only God can give. I sure do miss my Daddy and my life will never be the same. But, now my purpose has changed and I know that God's plan for me is to be healthy and vibrant and to be a reflection of Him.
I don't even know what my next goal will be on this journey. It probably won't even be about weight. But, one thing I am certain of is who I will run to when I'm weak and who I will run to when I'm strong. My Heavenly Daddy. And I know He is super proud of me. (Oh, and my other Daddy up there in Heaven has to be pretty proud too!)
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