This morning, for the first time in I don’t know when, I was excited to get on the scale and weigh myself. For the past week, I had counted calories, even measured out portions, and I walked/ran 4 different times, which is 4 times more than the weeks prior to that. I hadn’t been perfect (the weekend saw to that), but I had made a lot of good choices, and I was confident that I had lost at least a pound, maybe even two. I stepped on eagerly, waited for the numbers to appear, and then sighed.
I hadn’t lost a thing. Not even one ounce.
Just to be sure, I stepped off the scale and stepped back on, hoping that it had been a fluke. The reward for my double-checking was the exact same number. No loss.
I am ashamed to say that seeing that number on the scale turned what had been a very joyful, upbeat morning to a very grumpy one. I couldn’t believe that all my hard work had yielded no results. I spent the rest of the morning feeling discouraged and disappointed. What was the point of all that hard work if I wasn’t going to lose weight?
What is so ridiculous about all of this is that had I not gotten on the scale, I would have had a great morning. I woke up and went for a run in the crisp autumn air, and I was still basking in the weekend’s victory of having run over 2 miles consecutively for the first time since early spring. I was proud of the fact that I had stayed relatively in control of my eating choices for a week, and I was looking forward to another week of working out and making good choices.
Given all of these positive outcomes, why did I so easily let the number on the scale wield so much power over me? After 5 and a half years of trying to lose weight, you’d think I’d know a thing or two by now, but if the past year has taught me anything, it’s that I know nothing. But I do know Someone who knows all, and when I take my eyes off Him–when I focus on myself and what I think I need instead of focusing on Christ and the truth that He supplies all my needs–I find myself in the defeated place I was in this morning.
Fortunately for me, I have friends who are smarter than I am, and one of them reminded me that gratitude brings joy, so I began to thank God for this morning. I thanked Him for the fact that I woke up on time (a small miracle in itself); I thanked Him for the legs that allowed me to run; I thanked Him for the sunrise; I thanked Him for my sweet husband who loves me regardless of what a stupid scale says. And I even thanked Him for that number on the scale because this struggle with my weight reminds me of my inadequacy and my utter need for a Savior. I can always be grateful for that.
|Sunrise on a recent run.|