Category Archives: Writing

sick from hope

Hope deferred makes the heart sick.

The Bible says so (Proverbs 13:12). And my life proves it.

The Sickness

I’m sick. Sick from hope. Sick from waiting. Sick from wondering what will happen next. Sick from being sick of being sick of this sickness.

*facepalm*

I am processing the grief of losing a child to an ectopic pregnancy that almost killed me. It was located along the abdominal wall, of all places. During that disaster, I nearly lost my entire blood supply. And I definitely lost a fallopian tube, an ovary, part of my bowel, and my appendix. Adding fuel to that dumpster fire, I also had a stroke. It was a messy situation. And, in so many ways, it still is a messy situation. Especially my emotions.

The Hope

My husband and I hoped for a child for a long time. After a lot of waiting, we got pregnant. We had a lot of hope for the future of our family. It was supposed to be a wonderful dream come true. Instead, it was a miserable nightmare. I was dreadfully uncomfortable and in perpetual pain during most of my pregnancy. I was not enjoying myself.

I did the typical thing many pregnant people do these days. I guarded my heart until week 12. I didn’t want to get too excited for the future till I passed that magic mark in the pregnancy timeline when miscarriage becomes less likely. I didn’t let myself believe it was real till week 12. But then I did. For two weeks, I really did have so much hope for the future. But it all met it’s bitter end in week 14.

I fell unconscious — in the arms of my husband — in a parking lot on a very cold day in January. I awoke (still cold), heavily medicated, in an ICU room, surrounded by people who loved me, an arsenal of nurses and doctors, and a chorus of confusion and questions swirling through my mind.

Questions like: What day is it? It’s February? What happened to the end of January? How did I get here? Do my friends know? Does my employer know? Why am I in so much pain? Why am I tethered to this bed? Oh no! Is the baby ok? He isn’t ok? He? We were having a boy? We lost him? I had surgery? Oh? Two surgeries? They removed how many organs? I lost how much blood? I almost died? What? Why can’t I see the lower left side of my vision? Huh? How? What?

My husband and family had to tell me the story of what happened like 40 times. Each time I awoke from my sedated state, I didn’t remember the details of what happened. So they told me the heartbreaking tale dozens of times. It was rough. On the story tellers. And on the story hearer. Eventually, I started remembering what they were telling me. But after I remembered, I wished I could forget, or read a different story.

Several months of recovery and several thousands of dollars in medical bills later, here I sit.

The Hope Deferred

Though my hope — and my life — were nearly snuffed out, an ember of each remained. With tender stewarding, they grew brighter and stronger. God sustained my life. Countless people encouraged me during that dark time. The prayers of so many gave me the strength to carry on.

Hope has been deferred, delayed, and nearly destroyed. But it remains.

I will continue trying to get well soon. One prayer at a time. One day at a time. One blog at a time.

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Homemade Iced Coffee on the Cheap

Iced Coffee
A cold cup of iced coffee

The Recipe:

1 cup (8 oz.) ground coffee

2 quarts of cold water

The Equipment:

Sealable storage container with measuring marks (x2)

Fine mesh strainer

Cheesecloth or coffee filters

Beverage container

8 oz. of coffee in a 2-qt container
8 oz. of coffee in a 2-qt container

Depending on the size of containers you use, adjust the amount of coffee and the amount of water used.

Soak the 8 ounces of coffee in 2 quarts of water
Soak the 8 ounces of coffee in 2 quarts of water

After pouring the cup of coffee grounds into the container, immerse them in 2 quarts cold water.

Make sure all the grounds are immersed. It may be necessary to push the grounds into the water with a spoon.
Make sure all the grounds are immersed. It may be necessary to push the grounds into the water with a spoon.

Steep the concoction for at least 8 hours in the refrigerator. For a stronger brew, try the following: Use more coffee grounds or steep the mixture longer.

Steep for at least 8 hours in the fridge.
Steep for at least 8 hours in the fridge.

After 8 hours of steeping (or longer, if preferred), remove the mixture from the fridge. Using a comparably-sized container, strain the water and grounds mixture to separate the grounds from the liquid. Even while using a fine mesh strainer, grounds may still escape into the mixture. It’s recommended to use additional coffee filters or cheesecloth in addition to the fine mesh strainer.

Use a fine mesh strainer and coffee filters or cheesecloth to separate the good liquid mixture from the leftover coffee grounds
Use a fine mesh strainer and coffee filters or cheesecloth to separate the good liquid mixture from the leftover coffee grounds

Store the fresh iced coffee liquid in a storage container. Enjoy!

The Rest of the Story:
I was a late adopter to the love of coffee. I avoided it in my youth. I even managed to graduate from college Suma cum Laude without the help of a jolt of java. But when I went on a mission trip to the Dominican Republic, everything changed. Why? Because I experienced a new realm of exhaustion and exhilaration on that trip. I was tired. I needed a boost. Plus, fresh Dominican coffee harvested from a field nearby was abounding. So I thought, “If I’m going to try coffee, I might as well have the good stuff.”

In the early years of my coffee consumption, I drank it black. It was quite the shock to go from no coffee to strong, black coffee. But I adjusted well. As time has gone on, I’ve migrated to creamer, half and half, milk, Bailey’s, whip cream, and even sprinkles on occasion. And I still drink it black, too. Whatever I’m in the mood for that day dictates what type of coffee I drink.

While my love for hot coffee measures high on the coffee Richter scale, my affection for iced coffee also has ample admiration.

Sadly, a delicious cup of iced coffee is quite pricey when to compared to a cup of house blend, drip, black coffee.

Although I usually reserve the iced coffee experience for the times I venture to a Starbucks, Scooters, Caribou, or some other random coffee shop, I wanted to be able to experience ice coffee at home.

So I took on a research project. Apparently there are a variety of ways to make iced coffee. And further apparent, the “cold brew and steep” way of making iced coffee is the best way.

As with most things, this required an investment up front. I did not have containers big enough to make a substantial amount of iced coffee so I had to buy them. The cost to fund my caffeine habit wasn’t exorbitant, but it definitely added several pennies to the typical grocery bill.

This investment in kitchenware will save me money later on. I won’t have to go to a store to get iced coffee. After a few batches of iced coffee on the cheap, my investment will pay for itself.

I look forward to discovering new ways to flavor the iced coffee and fine-tuning the recipe. Hot summer days will never be the same. Rather than sweating through a cup of hot coffee, I’ll be chilling to a cup of iced coffee instead.

Sources:
The Pioneer Woman
Cold Brewed Coffee

For all the times Switchfoot got it right

I love the band Switchfoot. My high school friends can attest to this. My college peeps would agree. My post-grad compadres would likewise vouch for the validity of my claim.

I can’t count the number of times in my life that a Switchfoot song was the sweet balm of musical understanding I craved in a particular situation.

I can get lost for hours in the vocal stylings of Jon Foreman. I’ve had the pleasure of meeting the band numerous times. They are chill Diego-rock dudes.

Like I said. I love Switchfoot.

Their lyrics continually cycle through my mind and I apply them liberally.

Take today, for example. One of my Facebook friends posted a delightfully true article about why Generation Y Yuppies are unhappy. It’s a long read, but it’s a good read, so check it out. Naturally, given what I just said, the word “yuppie” in the title made me think of the Switchfoot song “Happy Is A Yuppie Word.” So, of course, thus commenced a session of listening to Switchfoot.

A few lyrics from “Happy Is A Yuppie Word”:

Lookin for a bridge I can’t burn down

I don’t believe the emptiness

I’m looking for the Kingdom coming now

Everything is meaningless

I want more than simple cash can buy

Happy is a yuppie word

Happy is a yuppie word

Happy is a yuppie word

Happy is a yuppie…

Nothing is sound

Nothing is sound

After enjoying the greatness of that song, my playlist moved on to “The Shadow Proves the Sunshine” and “The Blues.” And those are just a few gems on the “Nothing Is Sound” album. My list of stellar Switchfoot tunes includes so many more than these three.

A few lyrics from “The Shadow Proves the Sunshine”:

My heart is darker than these oceans

My heart is frozen underneath

We are crooked souls trying to stay up straight

Dry eyes in the pouring rain well

The shadow proves the sunshine

The shadow proves the sunshine

Two scared little runaways

Hold fast till the break of daylight where

The shadow proves the sunshine

The shadow proves the sunshine

Oh, Lord, why did You forsake me

Oh, Lord, don’t be far away, away

Storm clouds gathering beside me

Please, Lord, don’t look the other way

I’m a crooked soul trying to stay up straight

Dry eyes in the pouring rain when

The shadow proves the sunshine

The shadow proves the sunshine

Two scared little runaways

Hold fast till the break of daylight when

The shadow proves the sunshine

The shadow proves the sunshine

Yeah, yeah, shine on me

And lyrics from “The Blues”:

Is this the new year or just another night

Is this the new fear or just another fright

Is this the new tear or just another desperation

Is this finger or just another fist

Is the Kingdom or just a hit and miss

I miss direction most in all this desperation

Is this what they call freedom

Is this what you call pain

Is this what they call discontented fame

It’ll be a day like this one when the world caves in

When the world caves in

When the world caves in

I’m singing this one like a broken piece of glass

For broken hearts and broken noses in the back

Is this the new year or just another desperation

You push until you’re shoving

You bend until you break

Do you stand on the broken fields where your fathers lay

It’ll be a day like this one when the world caves in

When the world caves in

When the world caves in

When the world caves in

When the world caves in

When the world caves in

Is nothing here worth saving

Is no one here at all

Is there any net left that can break our fall

It’ll be a day like this one when the sky falls down

And the hungry and poor and deserted are found

Are you discontented

Have you been pushing hard

Have you been throwing down this broken house of cards

It’ll be a day like this one when the world caves in

When the world caves in

When the world caves in 

Is there nothing left now

Nothing left to sing

Are there any left who haven’t kissed the enemy

Is this the new year or just another desperation

Does justice ever find you

Do the wicked never lose

Is there any other song to sing besides these blues

And nothing is ok until the world caves in

Until the world caves in

Until the world caves in

God bless the timeless music and the people who make the timeless music that feeds my soul. This post is for all the times Switchfoot got it right. Of course, the music and lyrics referenced on this post belong to Switchfoot. The copyright is theirs.

A Cozy, Connected Home

Last you read, I was taking the long way home. No longer was I putting down roots in Tennessee. Instead, I was returning to my Nebraska roots.

Here I sit, in my cozy, connected home in Lincoln, Nebraska. A die-hard Cornhusker fan, I have the pleasure of driving by Memorial Stadium multiple times per week when I drive through the capital city. I love it.

In my last post, I proclaimed my belief that a community of people would be waiting for me in Nebraska. I’m pleased to report I found that community. I have taken up rightful residence in the Lindsay-shaped hole in Lincoln.

God is faithful to deliver on His promises. I am living proof. Since moving back to Nebraska, I’ve paid off my credit card debt, paid off my second-to-last student loan and purchased a house. It’s amazing what a stable income and financial determination can do.

And what pays the bills? Good question. I have returned to one of my life’s greatest passions. I have a full-time career as a writer. As a bonus, I can add photographer to my resume, because I take photographs on the regular, too.

To read samples of some of my work, please visit my Writing Samples page.

Follow me on Twitter: @lindsayletters

Follow me on Instagram: @lindsayletters

Dare You to Move

I accept your dare, Switchfoot. I accept.

I’m moving back to Nebraska. The good life. At least that’s what the slogan promises. It’s not my best life now a-la Joel Osteen. It’s, ‘Welcome to Nebraska — The Good Life,’ as the state sign at the border proclaims.

After six and a half years in Tennessee, I’m returning to my roots. I find this interesting because my name — Lindsay — means talking tree. Trees have roots. I am a person who wants to loyally and lavishly land somewhere for a long time. I want to establish myself and become part of a network.

And, honestly, the entire time I’ve been in Tennessee I’ve sensed a hesitancy to truly root myself here. I was as committed and faithful as I could be, but I did not ever feel completely comfortable with practicing permanence here. However, I didn’t fully identify that feeling until I made the determination to move back. It was then that I realized what it was.

God knew He would move me back to the Cornhusker state. That’s why I felt those fleeting feelings. That’s why I often thought I was on an extended vacation as I traveled these Tennessee roads. That’s why I felt this compulsive urgency to take everything in and remember it…because I wouldn’t be seeing these sights for the rest of my life. It was a season to be remembered fondly. Not a place to take up permanent residence.

I don’t know exactly what Nebraska will hold. But I’m hopeful. I’m encouraged and positive that I’ll meet my elusive husband soon. I’m anticipating that I’ll really enjoy my new career as a corporate journalist.

And I know with everything within me that God is just as much in Nebraska as He is in Tennessee. He’s got a community of people waiting for me. There’s a Lindsay-shaped hole there that this talking tree needs to fill.

There Will Be a New Water Tower Man on the Horizon

Murfreesboro water towerA few weeks ago, I took a walk on the Stones River Greenway during my lunch break. I work in downtown Murfreesboro, so I was actually able to walk from the office down to the Greenway. Walking to the Greenway makes me look a whole lot healthier than merely driving to the Greenway. It gives me at least 15 more exercise bonus points. And in this imaginary land where every exercise is made up and the points don’t matter, I totally won that day.

*pauses*

Wow, this blog is a whole lot sillier than I ever thought it would be! My attempt is to make a serious point about something very sacred and hallowed and revered…

…and often despised and wanted-escaped-from and cursed-at…

Singleness. Seemingly never-ending singleness. No-man, nothin-on-the-horizon singlehood. Reverse widowhood–the losing of a husband before he is ever discovered in the first place. Whoa! Sounds serious!

I’ve got to be honest, it appears that there is no man on my horizon. And what am I to see, anyway? As the one to be pursued. As the lady in waiting. As the outwardly (while inwardly fighting to be) content, confident, rolling-up-on-thirty woman.

I know the godly, correct answers to those nagging questions. I am to see Jesus Christ. I am to see Jesus as my husband. I am to see me as His Bride. I am to remember that people aren’t even married in heaven anyway. I am to see my season as a gift. I am to treasure my time of singleness. I am to know that I am still single for a very important reason. I am to trust that I am most effective in my ministry in this current time as a single woman. I am to be a lot of things. And I am those things. Usually…

This blog isn’t a complaint-riddled rant. No, no. It is an epistle of revelation about one of my favorite things: water towers.

I grew up in a small, small town. For much of my time there, we didn’t even have a water tower! We were the only town in that area that didn’t have a water tower! So, naturally, as a girl deprived of this fantastic marvel of modern humanity, I became fascinated with the city landmark that we didn’t have. Every town I went to, I searched for the water tower. I memorized what each one said. I planned special driving routes just to make sure I’d get the best scope of the water pressure wonder.

At some point in my childhood, my town finally got a water tower. It is situated just behind the hospital where my mom works.  I remember walking or biking up to visit my mom while she was at work. But also to visit the water tower. Just to look at it. To watch how it was made. To continually comment how it looked like a golf ball tee upside down with a golf ball situated on it. My animated mind always imagined that the water tower golf ball would eventually fall off balance and crush the buildings beneath it and flood the surrounding area.

Oh, yes, the Greenway. I was walking on the Greenway. Allow me to return to my story. As I was exercising my left and right foot down the asphalt path, I found myself thinking about water towers again because Murfreesboro just built a new one. We have so many already, but now we have another. I’ve watched the different phases of construction in the last several weeks. I’ve driven down Broad Street for the sole purpose of getting a better look at the water tower.

Greenway water tower

That day, as I was walking and praying along the Greenway, I had a revelation. Crossing over the bridge and turning the corner toward the Manson Pike trailhead, the new water tower came in to full view in front of me.

I realized that the horizon in front of me had changed. Every other time I had walked down that path, all I saw was trees. Now, the water tower is there. And it fits right in, as if it’s been there forever.

Before the bridge, I was praying for one of my friends. After I crossed the bridge and saw the water tower, I began praying for my future husband. Not purposefully. My prayers just flowed into that next subject.

In those moments, God spoke to me. He said, “Your future husband will be like this water tower. You don’t see him right now, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not building him up. He’s not on your horizon, but he could be in a few months. Just like this water tower. He’ll stand tall. He’ll be a carrier of pure, living water. He will bring life and vitality to this city. Don’t get discouraged that you don’t see him yet. Things can happen quickly. Don’t fear that you’ll have to go through a long process to become comfortable with him being in your life. Like the water tower, it will seem natural and familiar.”

God can change landscapes. He can build water towers.

I don’t have to be afraid. I don’t have to feel like I’m behind if I’m not already some guy’s friend. It’s much better for me not to be pining after someone that I interact with on a regular basis. Maybe I am already the friend of my future husband and I just don’t know it yet.

Shortly after this awesome revelation, I had to turn around and head back to the office. I set a timer on my phone so it would alert me halfway through so I could get back just in time. Well, actually, I turned around a few minutes early because I didn’t want to walk through a muddy spot on the path. It had rained the few days prior to this walk.

Almost seconds after I turned around, I heard the train whistle blowing. One can never be sure how long a train will take to go through an intersection. And I had to walk over the train tracks to get over to the other part of the path. But I didn’t mind. Nope. I was actually excited. Because I also like trains. I was enamored as I watched the train pass by so close to me. And I got to see an invigorating site. train on the Murfreesboro Greenway

The train was stacked with two cars on top of each other. I’d seen this a few times before. But never had I seen the two-stacked-train pass under a bridge. It was surprisingly dramatic to watch the cars pass just beneath the bottom of the bridge. They didn’t slow down. They rattled on. This visualization was a continuation of the previous revelation.

Once again, God used what I saw in front of me as a point of encouragement. “You see the cars?” He said.

“Yes, I do. Very interesting! I’m grateful that I got to see this!”

“The train’s locomotive engineer knows that the train will pass under the bridge,” He said. “He knows that there won’t be a collision. He trusts that each town has made sure the bridge is high enough. And he trusts that there is enough room for the train to clear the bridge.”

“Uh huh,” I replied, eager to hear more.

“You’ve got to trust that I’m the locomotive engineer. You have to know that I see the bridges ahead of you. You won’t collide into something and crash. There is clearance to pass through the track you’re on. You don’t have to slow down at each intersection. You don’t have to look at what’s in front of you and worry that you won’t make it through.”

Not only can God change landscapes, He’s also a magnificent locomotive engineer.

*smiles*

I really enjoyed that day. And I’m quite thrilled that I can share this story with whoever it is that reads this.

I am not entirely sure who is in my reading audience. Some of you may be familiar with God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit. What happened to me on that day probably won’t seem odd to you.

And there may be others who think that I’m crazy because I said that God spoke to me.

If any one of you has questions, please post a comment. If you want to discuss any of this, I’m up for it.

Crying and Dancing in Zumba Class

I cried at Zumba last night.

At least I think I cried.

It was hard to tell the tears from the sweat beading down my ruddy face.

So there I was, movin’ and shakin’ to the beat, watching the instructor in front of me and attempting to mimic her movements in the mirror.

*Step to the left and raise your right arm.*

*Step to the right and raise your left arm.*

It was like a scene in slow motion. Yet the Spanish beats were bumping and all of our hearts were cardio-pumping.

“This isn’t just a fun Zumba class,” I thought to myself. “We’re dancing for our lives. What we’re doing is miraculous. If we don’t dance, we die.”

I understand that my inner monologue sounds a lot like a teaser for a cheesy movie, but track with me here.

The path that I was on was headed for diabetes and heart disease. Sure, it was full of a lot of tasty Cheetos, but healthy looks better than Cheetos taste.

There were even points in my life where I distinctly recall a fruity taste in my mouth. I once read that an unexplained fruity taste means that a person may be diabetic. My grandma was diabetic. She also had heart issues.

Ursula

In a biggest loser competition I participated in, we chose a cartoon to depict our before and after photos. My before picture was Ursula from ‘The Little Mermaid.’ My after is Jessica Rabbit from ‘Who Framed Roger Rabbit?’

I kid you not, Ursula looks a lot like my grandma. Same body type. Even the same hair color. But my grandma was not a six-limbed octopus. She was a nice German lady. I liked her. Though I admit that I had to work really hard not to think that my grandma really was Ursula from the movie. Cuz her name was Ursula, too. And she looked so similar!

Point being, I was right on target to be a diabetic cartoon octopus.

I was considering all of those things in my slow-scene, Zumba-mirror moment. And that’s why I cried.

This has been a surprisingly emotional journey. I am so grateful for all the support I’ve received from everyone. If you’ve left me a comment or liked a post, thank you so much. You spur me on to “keep swimming” down this path of fitness.

Flashback Forward: Reflecting on My New Reflection

Weight Update

The last time you read my words here, I was 10 pounds heavier. Today, I’m down to a 30 pound weight loss. It may be more than that by now, but I haven’t weighed myself since Wednesday. The good news is I’m getting a scale for my birthday. So after the 9th, I’ll be all sorts of accurate and you won’t have to wait to find out my weight. 🙂

Nostalgia

As I sit here typing, I’m listening to a 90s Country station on Pandora. John Michael Montgomery is crooning and I’m reflecting back on my life in the 1990s. When I look in the mirror now, I’m beginning to see a 90s version of myself.

That skinnier face peers back at me. First quizzically, as if it doesn’t know who I am. But then it realizes, and smiles–revealing that same small gap between my two front teeth. My blue eyes with the one brown spot still shine. My silly hair–half straight and half curly–gleams in all its blonde, never-colored purity.

I look like a me that’s full of possibility. I look like a more agile version of myself–a girl who will no longer stand on the floor and awkwardly reach upward to install a new shower curtain. No, now she stands on the bathtub, balancing one leg per side, so she can get a better angle at the shower curtain rod.

I’ve got friends in low places…

*sigh* Chris Gaines.

Reactions to a Healthier, Better Me

I’ve received rave reviews. People greet me in a new way, often commenting on how skinny I look or address me by the amount of weight I’ve lost. i.e. “Hey, skinny mini!” Or “Hey, 30 pounds!” This life change has definitely infused vigor into my salutations!

Others have told me I’m an inspiration. What an honor to have that consideration! Some have marveled at how open I am with my weight loss journey. I post updates on Twitter and Facebook and write blogs.

Initially, I was not open and vulnerable at all. I even had a secret weigh in for because I didn’t want anyone to know how much I weighed at the beginning of the competition. However, now that I’ve lost so much, I just step right on that scale and don’t mind who sees. 🙂

Flashback Forward

It occurred to me today that I’m about 20 pounds lighter than I was when I moved to TN in 2006. All the folks here have never seen me this way. No wonder they are so verbally responsive! I can only wonder how people react when I get down to my goal weight. I know for certain that some have thought that I wasn’t a skinny-framed person. They thought it was kind of normal that I was larger.

My Nebraska peeps obviously haven’t seen me much since I moved, but many of them will remember how I looked in high school. And how convenient that my 10 year reunion is next year. I’m not losing the weight to make a statement there, but I do enjoy that I’ll look more like the Lindsay of my classmates’ memories.

Ordinary? No. I really don’t think so. 

Yes, Kenny Chesney, this journey has been extraordinary. Sometimes it doesn’t seem real. Every day, I convince myself that I’m really doing this. I really am healthier. I really do look more fit. I really am going to continue losing weight.

And, thank the Lord, I’m back to blogging again.

Wonderful Weight Loss: The Saggy Bottom Girl

In constant sorrow all through her days…

I admit it. I was ashamed of my weight. I didn’t like selecting cute outfits to wear because I didn’t feel cute in them. I didn’t want to hang out with people because I thought they didn’t want to hang out with me. I thought they were ashamed of me because I was ashamed of myself. I could say that I was at a sustained level of constant sorrow.

Sure. I had my ups. But I had mostly downs. Instead of usual joy and occasional sadness. I was mostly sad and infrequently glad.

At the time, I wasn’t exactly sure why. Was it difficult interactions with a few friends in my life? Was I missing my Yankee upbringing as a quasi-permanent resident of the South?  Did I feel like a college graduate career failure because I wasn’t a journalist at a daily newspaper?

The foggy bottoming out came into a clearer perspective after I found out about my coworkers’ seemingly harebrained idea.

“I think we should do a Biggest Loser,” he said.

“We should! We could get everyone involved! We can make it a competition and we’ll have a cash prize and weekly weigh ins. We should do it!” she excitedly responded.

I heard one-half of the exchange taking place over the phone in the other office as my coworker and friend talked to my other coworker and friend on the phone.

“Oh, no!” I thought. I’ll never be able to fully commit to that. I have no idea how to lose weight. I know I need to get healthy…

*Flashback to many-a conversation with my closest friend.*

“I love you, Linds, but I really think you need to consider doing something different with your eating. You need to exercise more. Some of the food you eat. It’s…it’s really not good for you, sweetie. Do you know that?”

*sigh* “Yes.” I responded, exasperated that we were talking about this “issue” again.

*Flash forward to reality and the realization that we really were going to do a competition*

And not in the distant future. In a week. In one week we were going to embark on a journey of strenuous, self-denying agony. And not just for a little while. For three months! I couldn’t eat for three months!

I was going to be so hungry! I was going to fail! I was going to be the one out of nine of us gaining weight. I was going to be the one to bring us all down.

Alas, I considered the idea of overhauling my life before the Lord. I prayed and asked Him to help me. I talked to my closest friends. I talked to my parents. I sought counsel from my leaders. And I polled my co-workers to see what they were doing to try and be the winner.

And then I discovered the My Fitness Pal app. Oh, what a wonder! The first day that I used it, I was in shock and awe at how many calories I consumed. I went to McDonald’s for a sausage egg McMuffin, hashbrown, and a trashcan-sized Coca-Cola. Eight hundred calories! All absorbed into my adipose before 8 o’clock in the morning!

I’d consumed almost 3,000 calories in one day. And I barely ever worked out. No wonder I’d not experienced any major weight loss!

Like a true Strengths Finder 2.0 learner would, I took to the internet and searched for workout plans and meal plans. I listened in when my boss was talking about how she loses weight and took note of how to apply that to my life. I called up the other, healthier folk in my life and asked them to teach me things. Like how to make fish.

And, like the miracle of God that it was, I felt differently inside the day before the first weigh in. I felt my desires changing. I didn’t want Cheetos. I wanted broccoli. Steamed broccoli. I felt the innate urge to work out. All. The. Time. That was August 1. Our competition was slated to run until Halloween. I began eating 1,200 calories a day and trying to burn at least 3,500 calories before the next weigh-in. My goal was to lose one-two pounds per week.

***********

Now it is eight weeks later. And wouldn’t you know it. I’m doing alright! I’ve lost weight every week! I’m up to 21 pounds so far! For the longest time, I was in fourth place overall. But after today’s weigh-in, I’m in third place! I have high hopes to work my way to the top!

My goal is to lose approximately 100 pounds. After losing a century of weight, I’d be down to the weight I was in high school. Back when I was a “pretty salty” golfer, as my dad would say. Back when colleges were courting me to join their snazzy golf teams. Back when I was in beast mode, physically speaking. Back when I had my one-and-only boyfriend.

With each pound lost, I’m feeling less like the woman of constant sorrow and more like the saggy bottom girl. Saggy because my old jeans don’t fit me. And it’s almost time for me to begin investing in a new wardrobe.

I’m not ashamed of myself anymore, either. The spark of joy has reignited. And I’m hopeful for my future, knowing that I can live in my new lifestyle well beyond the three months of this competition.

After this is over, I’ll thank my harebrained co-workers. I may even hug them. Because their collaborative idea changed my life!

Created by MyFitnessPal – Free Weight Loss Tools

Love and Basketball: Full Court(ship) Press

I believe in courtship. In love and in life. I wholeheartedly endorse it.

Inquisitive passer-by: “Courtship, huh? Isn’t that an antiquated term for dating, circa Jane Austen?” 

Lindsay the Letter Writer: “Who says old-timey things are bad? Have you not seen Downton Abbey? That stuff’s legit right now.”

Inquisitive passer-by: “Well played, Auntie Quated. Well played.”

If I believe in a living Savior from 2,000 years ago, it makes perfect sense that I’d follow a concept from the 1500s, as well. 😉

Courtship is more than a guided process of a man wooing a woman. It’s also the practice of testing out new things.

I think the 90-day new-hire probationary period is a form of courtship. The employer is checking to see if the employee really is qualified. And the employee is discovering whether or not they fit in at their new job.

We’ve got buyer’s remorse, so you can even court a car.

Or that 60-day money back guarantee. Courting a product.

Basketball

So why’s it so weird that a man would court a woman? What’s wrong with trusted leaders with experience in a marriage relationship guiding people they love through a journey of discovery?

If 50% of marriages allegedly fail, perhaps society should change their pre-marital approach.

Of all the marriages I’ve seen that first went through a courtship, 100% of them have succeeded.

I’m reporting my findings of watching this hypothetical love and basketball game between dating and courtship. The full court pressing in of courtship dominates the casual game plan of dating.

So, I choose courtship. Even if it means I’ve been single for 27 years. Even if both of my younger siblings are in a relationship and I’m not. Because if waiting for the one right man means a better marriage for me later, I’ll wait.