Running Ahead

Photo by Taryn Elliott from Pexels

 “In what circumstances have you ‘run ahead of God?’” The question in my devotion, Our Daily Bread, gave me pause. What does it mean to “run ahead of God, and if I’ve done it, when?”

Running ahead of God probably means to take matters into my own hands rather than wait for God’s answer. In that light, let me count the ways.

I’d rather believe I’m patient, waiting until I am certain I am following God’s will before I act, but if I’m honest, I have to say not as much as I should. There are many times I moved forward in haste, fixing things in the way I saw fit, only to find out my way turned into an even bigger disaster. I try to blame all the messes I create on my alter ego, Blondie, but I realize where the blame lies. In fact, that’s where self-control comes in, restraining my impulses to “run ahead” before I’ve considered all the potential outcomes.

As I’ve aged and dealt with more disasters and circumstances beyond my control, I’ve learned to hold back a little more. True, much of my restraint is more from being overwhelmed than patient, but that counts. Recognizing I’m in over my head is a step in the right direction. Now, to pair that with the humility to wait for God’s answer and accepting the fact He sometimes uses suffering as a benefit. Scripture and common sense tell me to pray, meditate, and seek wise counsel, but that takes time when I’d rather just jump in and do something, especially if a loved one is suffering. That must be exactly what the author in the devotion meant as “running ahead of God”.

When I reflect on all the difficult moments of my life, there were clear signals indicating what I should do, act or stand still, as long as I set my pride and impatience aside. Perhaps those two things cause most of my confusion. I’ll have to work on that.

Dear Lord, help me stay close to you, power walking beside you rather than running ahead with impatience — and right into trouble. Amen.

It's Finally Happened

Photo by RitaE from Pixabay

This week I realized I can no longer remember when I last changed the sheets on the bed or descaled the coffee pot. I used to keep all that straight without writing having to write it down. Is it age related or the result of being retired and no longer adhering to any kind of schedule?

My self-control has gone the same way as my memory, particularly with my diet. In that regard I need accountability, so back to the old-fashioned food log. Experts say that is the most reliable way to watch the calories. I know they are right, but I didn’t want to bother. My last weigh-in tells me I’d better do something.

In some ways, this is the best time of my life, and yet other things have slipped. But I guess that’s life. It’s never perfect.

Armed with my check lists and food log I’ve gained some control. Keeping it simple ensures I’ll stick to it. I like the fact I no longer need to commit everything to memory and worry about forgetting something, but I miss the days when it was all automatic, with no effort involved.

I also miss being able to marathon house or yardwork and afterward do anything else I wanted. Now, I need to parcel out my tasks or deal with exhaustion and low blood sugar.

But since I’ll never see twenty again, or even sixty for that matter, I must adjust, adapt, and go on. That’s okay because I still have a life, one not complicated at the moment by anything other than a failing memory and a lack of self-control.

Could be much worse, and I’ve been there.

So, no complaints, just the hard admission that age is catching up, and I have no control over it, except how I react.

Dear Lord, thank you for giving me life, and help me come to terms with its flaws and challenges. Amen.

That Four-Letter Word: D. I. E. T.

Yeah. That word. I’ve played with it all my life. I used to be good at it, and I was slim — and young. Those two go together. Because, let’s face it, we older folks are at a disadvantage when it comes to losing weight and keeping it off.

After being very slim, (okay, skinny) for most of my life, this post-menopausal weight gain has devastated my self-esteem (all right, ego.) I always felt a bit superior for being, and staying, so slim. I think part of my weight gain was God shaking a finger at me. I now have far more empathy for others in this war on weight, and a much healthier idea of what constitutes the right body weight.

I always thought I was fat, even when my ribs were showing. No, I wasn’t anorexic, but every time I gained a little weight, I’d get sick, and I’d lose ten pounds in one week. Yeah, I kinda miss the ability to lose like that, but I don’t miss feeling ill most of the time. Obviously being slim does not mean being healthy.