Romans 12: 1-2: (NIV) Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God—this is your spiritual act of worship. Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.
This week I would like to share with you a bit of my ‘story’—how I got to the point of finding Mr. VanVonderen’s book. Much of what I am going to share is ‘old news’ within my family and circle of intimate friends, however, there are a few things that have been brought to light by my re-reading of “Tired of Trying to Measure Up” and they are a significant part of my story of which few are aware. Allow me to preface this telling of my story with two disclaimers: First, NO ONE, absolutely NO ONE is to blame for my struggle with anorexia but me. There were people who played a part with their words or actions, but I, alone, am responsible for internalizing those messages in a destructive way. I blame no one other than myself. Second, the words that I use to tell my story are in NO WAY an indictment on those who struggle with weight issues. I recognize the struggle and how difficult it is. Please DO NOT hear condemnation in anything that I say, because there is no condemnation here. NONE!!
Here is the story of my journey.
Until I was five years old, I was a tiny little thing. My mother told me that, almost continually, I had a sore throat from my tonsils being so inflamed and so eating was not high on my priority list. Eating, however, had a huge influence on my mother. She always kept herself fit and trim and even today, in her seventies, she exercises and maintains a healthy weight.
Mother worked with some ladies who struggled with their weight. On second thought, I’m not sure they struggled; they simply did not seem too concerned about their weight. I often remember Mother talking of how these ladies would eat with abandon, contributing to their obesity with little regard to their health. Watching their consumption of food and increasing girth triggered something within my mother to make certain that neither she, nor her girls, were ever ‘fat’. Of course, the politically correct word today is ‘obese’, but in the 1960’s and 1970’s the word was ‘fat’.
When I was five years old my tonsils were removed. Almost overnight, I began eating….and eating and eating. I gained a good bit of weight in just a matter of months. That is when the ‘messages’ began. My mother believed that starchy foods like corn, potatoes and bread were ‘fattening’ and so I never remember us having those foods on our table unless we were having company for dinner because ‘that will make you fat’. In love and believing she was doing the best thing for us, Mother stood guard over my food intake and many things were off limits because, ‘that will make you fat’. ‘That will make you fat’ became a recurring theme in my life and I heard it frequently. In addition to my increased appetite, I was never a child who enjoyed sports or activities that required movement. Instead, my enjoyment came from reading. I was, and remain, an avid reader and as you know, that does not burn up many calories.
My daddy was a man of perseverance and determination. He was a mover and a shaker and made things happen. Not in a bad way, but in a way that made it clear that he was in charge. He had been stricken with polio at the age of 16, spent months at Warm Springs Rehabilitation Hospital and had been told he would never walk. Through sheer determination and strength of character and with the aid of a full leg brace and crutches, he walked. To a stranger, my Daddy might have appeared to be handicapped, but in truth, he was only disabled. Over the years, I have come to believe that ‘handicapped’ is more a state of mind than a condition of the body. My Daddy was hugely successful in his family life and in his business life. He was a realtor who developed large tracts of land, as well as commercial properties. He served a four year term as our county commissioner. Whatever Daddy purposed to do, by God’s grace and with God’s help, he did.
Daddy’s motto was ‘whatever you do, do it right’. Today, those who knew Daddy will tell you that when Wayne Colwell did something, be it building a building or running the county, he did it right. Let me give you an example. When Daddy built the basement of the home Greg and I currently live in, everything was built to commercial grade. The plumbing is all copper pipe, the exterior walls are 10 inch walls, the hot water heater has an 80 gallon tank. Everything was done better than right.
Daddy’s girls needed to be right as well. In his final years, Daddy would often say that he had been too strict on my sister and me. I always argued that point with him because I am so thankful for the restrictions that they placed on us. We knew that we were loved, yet we knew quite well our boundaries. We also knew that crossing those boundaries brought significant penalities. My parents believed in spanking. So do I. It effectively gets the message across that misbehavior, of any kind, is NOT going to be tolerated.
