The Ultimate Cheat

We've been on sort of a hardcore diet for the past week.  I don't actually prescribe to dieting per se.  I believe that for weight loss to be sustainable it needs to be a lifestyle change.  I also don't believe losing weight should be the end goal.  That needs to be "healthy," and healthy comes in all shapes and sizes.

At the same time, healthy for me will mean, in part, losing weight.  Now, I know the theory behind losing weight and getting healthy: eat less (of the crappy food and oversized portions), eat more (of the right things), and move more (whether it's walking or running).

I get all that.

But, like many things (and many people), I struggle to put that theory in action.  So we came across The Doctor's Diet.  Dr. Travis Stork (yes, from The Doctors on TV, but also an ER doc at VanderBilt) put his own eating plan down on paper--it's high in veggies and healthy proteins and healthy carbs, and low in all those other things that taste great but make us gain weight, have low energy, and generally feel like junk.  Since I am the picky eater in the house, I looked through the menus he suggests for his two-week STAT plan and for his two-week RESTORE plan.  And then I looked at what I got to eat when I was done with that four-week cycle and had finally reached the holy pinnacle of My Goal Weight.  That's the MAINTAIN plan.  And it all looked doable.  And sensible.  And healthy.

So we kicked it off.

We've each had a cheat day (Thursday for both of us) where I did have ice cream.  And it was too big, and I felt like garbage after.  And not from guilt either.  I don't prescribe to guilt.  I'm a Romans 8:1 girl.  Beau noticed on his cheat day that he felt run down by afternoon, something he didn't feel the rest of the week while he was eating on the plan.  Imagine that.  The veggies and healthful carbs and protein works!  (And, incidentally, they actually taste good.  Imagine my surprise in enjoying a variety of beans, an avocado, guacamole sans onions, AND grapefruit?!  Not all together, though.  That still sounds gross.)

We also woke up this morning 9 pounds down (for Beau) and 7 pounds down (for me).  Which is exciting and horrifying all at once.  Exciting: the plan is working.  Horrifying: we were really eating like garbage before.

Anyway, today is Sunday.  It's Super Bowl Sunday, so we carefully chose the cheats we wanted for the party we're attending tonight and are looking forward to enjoying fellowship and some (carefully excessive) eating.  But first, we went to church.

Not only is today Sunday, today is Communion Sunday at our church.  We sat through the bulk of the service--a baptism, crying kids, offering, snippets of the sermon caught through chatting and wiggly kids--and then it was time for communion.  I learned a cool way of thinking about communion recently, so I was definitely looking forward to it this morning.  That time of toasting Jesus' memory, thanking Him for His love and His sacrifice . . .

Still, I wasn't prepared for the actual act of putting that little piece of white bread in my mouth today.

You guys.  Aside from two whole grain English muffins, I have not had a piece of bread in over a week.  And I certainly haven't had a hunk of pure, refined carb, zero nutritional value, white bread.  That thing was good.  My teeth sank into it.  I crushed it between my tongue and the roof of my mouth.  And for a moment I was in heaven.

Then I chuckled.

And in my head I said, "God, that was a great cheat.  Thank you."

And then I thought about it for a moment while the elders gathered the trays of grape juice, and I sat in anticipation of the taste of that juice--the first time drinking something other than water or tea in a week--passing across my taste buds and trickling its happy, sweet goodness down my throat.

And I whispered, right out loud, "Let it always be like this, God.  Let it always feel like a refreshing, I have missed you for so long, thank you for this gift, cheat.  Because, in the end, that's what it represents."

Death should have been mine.  That's where I was headed.  But Jesus cheated that for me.

Praise be my Rock!

Empowered Through Pain

It's been an interesting 14 months for the Bierenga family.  I've alluded to some of our family's journey here and here and again here.  I have wrestled over the last year with how much to write, whether to write, and what to really say.  In the end, I still haven't written.  I know I will, because that's what I do.  But I still need a little more space to really climb into it.

At the same time, something settled in my brain on Monday that I have to share.  Then it will feel real, and public, and permanent (remember, that's true about the internet).

Monday dawned dark and early, and I was in a bed at my parents' house.  My parents were on their way out the door.  I needed to shower so my sister and I could join them in a curtained room in the surgical prep area of Hackley Hospital in Muskegon.  The morning was freezing cold, and we shivered our way to the hospital before the sun was even considering breaking the horizon.  We found my parents in the last "room" on our left.  Dad was lying in the bed, and Mom was sitting on a chair next to him.  We spent our time there together, just the four of us, for the first time in years really, now that Sara and I are married and have five kids between us.  We were together while the nurse prepped Dad, while the anesthesiologist talked with him, while Sara prayed for Dad and the surgeons and the cancer to go away, while the surgeon checked in with him, while the surgeon prayed for the surgery team, while I read a sad note from a friend whose battle with cancer is nearing its final days, while we laughed and took pictures and read comments from friends who are praying.

And then it was time for the team to walk him to the Operating Room.  Nearly eight years ago, my dad left for Iraq.  That goodbye was hard.  That goodbye was for 400 days and thousands of miles and time zones and bombs and war.  That was the hardest goodbye I've ever had with my dad.  This one nestled right up against it.  So much was riding on that bed.  My daddy was riding on that bed.  And how do you kiss him goodbye hoping and uncertain and wishing and dreaming and desperately loving?  We did it.

While we were waiting in the Family Waiting Area (while "The 700 Club" played on TV, so that wasn't super helpful), we all tried to occupy ourselves.  Sara worked on a training for work.  Mom read Facebook and played Candy Crush and Words with Friends.  I read a book for the Baker Bloggers Program.  And while I was reading, while the surgeons were collecting samples of my dad's insides for biopsy, while hundreds of people around the country were praying, while we were trying to distract ourselves, it hit me.

I was reading the section entitled "Experiencing God's Presence in Suffering, Loss, and Pain."  Kevin Harney wrote:

Suffering is suffering.  It is ours as we walk through it.  It invariably leads to tears, sorrow, heartache, and struggle.  It usually comes unannounced and we rarely know when it will leave.
Most of all, suffering can crush our faith or strengthen it.  The decision is ours.  Will I cling to Jesus through my pain and with tears streaming down my face?  Or will I turn my back and walk away from the only One who can carry me through?  Will I curse God or bless his name even if my teeth are clenched in agony as I worship?  Will I let the presence and power of God fill me to overflowing when I have nothing left to give, or will I seek to make it through in my own strength?
Powerful people seek to face suffering by relying on their own reserve of strength and tenacity.
The powerless throw in the towel as soon as the winds shift, long before the roof comes crashing down.
But the empowered hold the hand of Jesus and let his strength and presence carry them through the tempest of suffering, loss, and pain.  The empowered know that they can't weather the storms life will bring, but that the Maker of heaven and earth can place them under his wings and shelter them no matter what comes their way.

I read that, and then I looked up at my mom and my big sister, and I said, "I'm empowered.  And I'm empowered because we're empowered.  That's what you and Dad taught us."  And it's true.

Our faith isn't perfect.  My grandparents made their mistakes, but they instilled in my mom a faith that is her own.  And through their own struggles and journeys and heartaches my parents have given me a faith in the Maker of heaven and earth and His shelter and peace.

Just over 19 years ago, I left home.  I moved to a secular college because I wanted to forget my parents' faith and find my own.  During that time I made mistakes, and I said and did some hurtful things in my "enlightenment."  But I worked hard to build my faith.  And now there I was.  Sitting in a nondescript and uncomfortable waiting room while my dad underwent cancer surgery, and I realized that the faith I have is now my own, but it's also my parents'.   I'm empowered by the presence of God in the midst of my pain and suffering.  But every single day of the journey we have walked since November 2013 I have seen the same empowering written in my parents' words.  It's been in their strength, in their hope, in their peace, in their prayers.  That didn't change when Zack died.  It didn't change when my dad was pushed into retirement.  It didn't change when our house was broken into.  It didn't change when Dad was told he had cancer.  It didn't change while we waited in that room together.  It didn't change today when we were told that my dad's lymph nodes and all margins of his prostate are clear of cancer.  And I know without a doubt that it wouldn't have changed if we had been told his body was riddled with the disease.

Harney goes on to talk about being "propelled onward by the call and mission of God."  He says that our journey of faith is not really any different than Abraham's when he was still called Abram and he followed an unknown God from the land of his family into a new land where God would build His kingdom.  "Who follows God like this?" Harney writes.  "Abraham and Sarah.  Peter and Andrew.  You and me.  We hear his call.  He leads us on a mission day-by-day and moment-by-moment.  We go, not knowing where it will lead us but trusting the God who calls us to follow him."

And we do.  The journey might lead us through betrayal.  It might lead us through the valley of the shadow of death.  It might lead us through cancer or job loss or the breakdown of a family.  But through all of that, the good and the bad, through the pain and the joy, we live with a tenacious faith that knows "God can see the end of the road even when [we] can't."

Thanks, Mom and Dad.  Thanks for lending me your faith when I was a little girl.  Thanks for letting me go off and try to build my own faith.  And thanks for letting me find a faith that was yours all along.

Enduring Injustice

I recently had a conversation with a friend about something that happened more than a year ago.  As is often the case in broken relationships, there was misunderstanding, heartache, and injustice.  And a lot of pain.  But, at the same time, there is a glimmer of God working.

There are times in our lives when we have to endure injustice.  Life isn't fair.  Relationships hurt.  We get blamed for things we didn't do.  Our relationships end, and our hearts break.  We want to rise up and defend ourselves.  We want to make it right again or at least make sure people know we aren't who or what we've been accused of being.

Surely there are times when we are allowed to do that.  We get to defend ourselves in court--with integrity--and we can certainly speak to our motives or explain the reasons behind our actions. 

But there are perhaps more times when we are called to endure injustice with grace and courage.

For it is better, if it is God’s will, to suffer for doing good than for doing evil. For Christ also suffered once for sins, the righteous for the unrighteous, to bring you to God.  (I Peter 3:17b-18)

And that's what it all comes down to.  When you have done the right thing, when you have spoken the truth in love, when you are taking the fall so that someone else doesn't have to . . . when it's God's will.  That's the point where you endure. 

It hurts to be wrongfully accused.  It hurts like hell to lose relationships that matter.  But when you can see that good is happening, that God is still in control, that He is moving, then it's all worth it. 

May I always be more than willing to suffer injustice for the greater good of God's master plan. 

May I see that in those times I have the opportunity to be Christ to those around me.  He suffered the ultimate injustice--His death--for the greater good--our lives. 

And may I never stop praying for reconciliation and healing in broken relationships . . . all in His good time.

The Nineteenth Sabbath

A different sort of hymn today: "Why I Hate Religion But Love Jesus."

Becoming More Than Yourself

I have recently begun to enjoy watching golf on television.  During that time, I've gotten to "know" a few of the golfers on the PGA tour and enjoy following them.  Typically my favorite golfers seem to develop a curse once I admit to liking them, and they don't do well, but then again I do like to root for the underdog.  That made it especially fun to see Bubba Watson and his pink driver win the Masters on Easter Sunday.

What made it the most fun, perhaps, isn't the way he won or even the fact that he never had a professional golf lesson growing up.  It is summed up in this simple statement: "I never got this far in my dreams, so this isn't a dream come true."

That really got me thinking.  I have a lot of dreams.  But I can't even begin to dream where I'll really end up in my life, what is actually in store for me. 

Several weeks ago, I entered a contest to get a devotional printed in a new Moms' Devotional Bible that Zondervan is publishing.  I never expected to make it through to the final round, and I burst into tears when I got the email from them telling me that I was a finalist.  Now, there are two days left until I hear whether my devotional or the other entry is the winner.  I've gone through several emotions since learning I was a finalist, and I keep thanking God for taking it this far--and asking Him to prepare me for when if I don't win.  I don't want to be too disappointed.  And, to be honest, like Bubba Watson, I never got there in my dreams.  I never dreamed about being published in a devotional Bible.  I never really dreamed about being a Christian author.  I have dreams that involve my stories, but the truth is that I have no clue what my future really looks like. 

When I start to get cocky about my writing or about my teaching or about any work that I'm doing, there's a voice that reminds me of the reality of who I am.  I'm a child of God.  He has given me the talent that I have.  Thomas Kincaid's mother told him when he was young that his talents were God's gift to him.  She went on to say that what he did with his talents was his gift to God.  That's what I need to remember, too.  So when I live out what I think are my dreams, instead I need to just live out my love for God.

In my Bible reading this morning, I came across these words of Jesus (as recounted in The Message in Luke 14:11): "What I'm saying is, If you walk around with your nose in the air, you're going to end up flat on your face.  But if you're content to be simply yourself, you will become more than yourself."

I need to cut that out and hang in on my music stand when I sing on the worship team on Sunday morning, on the mirror in my bathroom, on my computer, on my dashboard . . . I need to write it on my heart and engrave it on my hand.  Whether being simply myself is using a pink driver in my golf game or writing from my heart or singing loudly, that's who I need to be.  Because that's who God made me.  And, when I give it to Him--do it for Him--it's more than enough.  And He will make me more than myself.

Let me never, never outlive my love for Thee

Years and years ago, I came across a book written by Steven Curtis Chapman and his pastor, Scotty Smith.  It is called Speechless, and I highly recommend it.  Knowing my appreciation for Scotty's writing, my writer/editor friend gave me a copy of his new book Everyday Prayers.  I've been using it along with the KINGDOM Reading Plan to guide my daily devotional time. 

Today I was struck by something that Scotty wrote.  I was struck by it because of all that is packed into the simple paragraph, as well as everything that is left out.  There is no condemnation, there is no guilt.  It's very matter of fact.  At the same time, it recognizes the free gift of salvation and that nothing more is required of us for our eternity to be secured.  And yet, when nothing more is given, something is definitely missing. 

One of my favorite hymns is "My Jesus, I Love Thee," by William R. Featherston:

I'll love Thee in life, I will love Thee in death
And praise Thee as long as Thou lendest me breath
And say when the death dew lies cold on my brow,
"If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus 'tis now"

As Scotty wrote:

May I never stop singing the last line in the hymn "O Sacred Head Now Wounded": "Should I fainting be, Lord, let me never, never outlive my love for thee."  That's my earnest, impassioned prayer, Jesus.  I don't fear losing my salvation.  I will stand firm to the end because of my standing in grace.  But what could be worse than for my love for you to cool down, degree by degree, as I get older?  Don't let that happen to me, Jesus.  Don't let that happen.  What could be worse than to finish the race with an ingrown, icy heart?  (January 9)

I want my love for Jesus to radiate out of me. I want it to be something that cannot be contained on my face and cannot be stopped by anything I endure. I want to lie on my deathbed and say, "Wow. I thought I loved you before. But if I've ever loved you, I know it's now."

Behold, your King

I sang on the worship team at my church yesterday morning for our Christmas service. It's such a fun service to be part of, but yesterday was especially meaningful for me. We sang "O Holy Night," which has always been one of my favorite Christmas songs. The worship team struggled through our practices of it as we "Christian Reformed kids" weren't familiar with the "Reformed" version we were singing. The words were a bit different, and the tune hit the words that were familiar in just a little bit different way. And that second verse! What was with that second verse?!


We struggled.

Then it came time for the service. We sang. We managed to overcome what we thought we knew about the song and actually just sing what was on the page. And the second verse really hit me.

Led by the light of faith serenely beaming,
With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand.
So led by light of a star sweetly gleaming,
Here come the wise men from Orient land.
The King of kings lay thus in lowly manger;
In all our trials born to be our friend.
He knows our need, to our weakness is no stranger,
Behold, your King! Before him lowly bend!
Behold, your King! Before him lowly bend!

That really is Christmas, after all. "The King of kings lay thus in lowly manger." What a ridiculous notion, this King in a manger. When we got home from church, I said to Ellie, "Who ever heard of a king born in a stable?" She shouted, "Me! I have! Jesus!" It's still a ridiculous idea, this King in a manger. But He was born to be our friend. He knows our need, He is no stranger to our weakness, and He came to make us whole. To bring us peace. And, as Pastor Tim pointed out yesterday, that peace isn't the peace I ask for from my girls or from our world governments. It isn't an absence of conflict. It is a deep-rooted, inside-out wholeness. It is life. It is joy. It is shalom. So when you look at that manger, when you approach this week, this season, remember.

Behold, your King! He's that baby there. That God, become flesh. That Emmanuel. He came to be your friend in the middle of wherever you are. Behold, your King!