So, that diabetes is bogus, am I right? Am I right. Last week I took a nutrition class specifically geared for pregnant, diabetic women, and all was fine and good until I realized that the teacher didn’t realize that I’m highly STARVING, even with all the “carbohydrates” and the “starches” and the natural “sugars” I’m allowed–and supposed–to eat. The baby is very much not interested in leafy greens.
I’m so pregnant. You don’t even know.
I know there are other factors at play when it comes to gestational diabetes, such as age (apparently 34 is old) and genetics (if I’m not dead in 10 years it’ll be a miracle)–but I gotta fess up and say that maybe–just maybe–my sucky eating habits had a part in my diagnosis. I never thought it would actually happen to me, because, well–so far so good with my other kids. But I started feeling dizzy, and nauseous, and just…weird. I wrote it all off as the crappiest pregnancy in the history of me, but in the back of my mind I totally knew that the amount of sugar I was consuming on the daily was enough to kill a man.
How I love sugar, oh how I love it. Every hour I love it.
And carbs. Carbs in general are pretty great.
So I ignored the symptoms and I ignored my husband and I ignored my paleo best friend, and I didn’t track my food and I didn’t worry about any of it. Until Cap’n Crunch came back and punched me in the throat.
We shall chalk this up to one of the times of my life where I knew what was coming long before it arrived.
The other times involved a crap ton of alcohol and the keys to my car; a season of bitchiness towards my husband followed by his month-long cold shoulder; a rash of stupidity and selfishness that led to almost-irreparable damage to the precious hearts of my children, strained relationships with people that I love, and a dark time of separation from God.
I am susceptible to all types of sin. I am above none of it. Still, in my moments of confidence, strength, and happiness, I get all kinds of complacent and forgetful.
Don’t I know what junk food does to a body? Don’t I know how hard it is to lose even a little bit of weight? Don’t I know that diabetes and heart disease runs in my family?
On a similar note, don’t I know that alcohol makes me crazy and I can never stop at just one drink? Don’t I know that my moodiness and irritability rubs off on Caleb, who is already working as hard as anyone possibly could to take care of me and our family? Don’t I know that I hurt my kids when I’m insane with anger? Don’t I know how easily I drift into these patterns without daily quiet time with God and constant prayer?
The problem: I do know. I know all of it, all too well. But sometimes motivation is hard to come by in the face of all these temptations.
There is no such thing as a perfect Christian. I’m questioning if there is even such thing as a good Christian–good as in, always pure of heart and always strong in faith. It’s definitely the goal, but it’s a heck of a lot harder than most people have been led to believe. We get discouraged when we fail–and we do all fail. If we’re counting on our following a strict set of rules to get us into heaven, we will be more than disappointed when the time comes. (Not to mention we’ll screw up every two seconds before then, guaranteed.)
My dietician gave me a giant folder full of information about taking the best possible care of myself. It’s full of science-y terms like glucose and insulin and grams. Truthfully I don’t have the patience for it, and I hate that teacher for bringing me down, and I hate following the rules that totally jack with my fun.
But I’ll read it. I’ll take it in. I’ll do my darndest to keep my sugar levels in a normal range. I already know I’ll mess up once in a while. I will still try.
In the same sort of way, God gave us this book of instructions for the best possible life. It’s called the Bible. I don’t read it as often as I should, and I like to skim over the parts that pertain to me in the moment. It’s full of important backstories and lessons and truths, and yes–there are rules that jack with my so-called fun. I already know I’ll mess up.
But I will still try.
Junk food is everywhere. It always will be. Somedays it will look especially appetizing. Somedays you will open your door to a foxy blueberry bagel slathered in nutella. Some of us might have cells in our body that were made specifically to seek out cherry poptarts, and some of us will not be able to stop at just one coke.
But just because we are surrounded by junk, and just because we’re predisposed to want it, and just because it tastes delicious in our mouths and feels awesome in our stomachs, doesn’t mean we need it at that moment, or that it is in anyway, at anytime, good for us. Or that we should just give into it.
This world has so many things our bodies crave. It will not be easy to fight them, but we have to. There are other things that are so, so, so much better for us. Fight. Pray. Read God’s word. Love others more than you love yourself. Keep the faith.
Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and the perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart. Hebrews 12: 1-3