Every single year I go through this. After Thanksgiving, prior to Christmas, I flip through my closet, choose an outfit, begin to get dressed, and realize I'm going to have to suck in half the atmosphere and hold my breath to get the blasted pants buttoned.
Shoot a Monkey! (My Christian cussword; don't ask) (And I like monkeys and have no intentions of shooting one.)
Here. we. go. again!
Now, hear my heart. I have dozens of friends who sell products (don't just sell, they believe in them, which I completely respect) that could possibly help in this endeavor. (But, I'm not there—yet. I promise I'll let you know when I am.) Until I do what I know to do, I can't bring myself to add anything else to my daily regime. Make sense? Probably not, but stay with me.
This repetitive dance with my pants is more than just a seasonal ritual. It's a heart thing. A soul thing. It's a turn to Me, instead of that kind of thing. I get it, but I choose to ignore it.
Because I go through this every. single. year.
As in a PATTERN.
Moving more is not the problem. I love to MOVE. I think we've covered this before; it's a survival thing for me—a stress reliever, so yeah, nope, not it. Evidence: running challenges, personal trainers, 10,000 burpees (not my brightest moment), and adventures in CrossFit.
Nope, I've got movement down pat. Being still is a whole other book (see how I did that;)
However, the little counselors dressed in white seem to know my number—CARBS . . . the sugar, the bread, the warm fluffy, yummy goodness servers place in baskets and stick right under my nose. My body used to say, "Yeah, you can have that. Have fun!" at 22 and then turned traitor, changed its tune and now warns, "Sister, at 42, you look in the direction of that basket of chips at the Mexican restaurant and you WILL pay."
This is more of a vent than a blog, because I could throat punch myself on days like this. (I promise I won't.)
And yes, I know I've been stressed. Guess what? At this stage in our world of broken, that ain't changing. I can live with stress AND be healthy.
And yes, I know it's been a rough couple of months. Again, bad choices don't help in choppy waters.
I know better. Now I do better. One right choice at a time.
Turn to Him, instead of them.
I love y'all.
Thanks for reading my scribbles.
Amanda Williams is a forty-year old wife and mother of two who can still swing her pony tail and display just a tad of sass. She is also a Jesus loving girl who realizes she is nothing without the One who saved her. Amanda has two degrees specializing in serving students with special needs and is currently working in the field of Leadership Development. She is a Christian author, speaker, blogger, and publisher who loves serving beside her husband at her local place of worship, First Baptist Church of Ocala.