I am a preacher's kid and a preacher's grandkid, even if I haven't always acted like one. My mama was a Sunday school teacher, my grandma was the church pianist, and one of my uncles even cut a gospel record. I come from a long line of very faithful, very wise people, and chief among them all is my grandpa. He's one of those people who says wise things, so wise that every word he utters should be on a coffee cup, t-shirt, or bumper sticker somewhere. One of the best things Grandpa always says is, "Always remember from whence you came...or where you're going will be the same." He's really much wiser than Yoda, though he's not 900, doesn't live on Dagobah, doesn't transpose his verbs/nouns, isn't green or three feet tall, and doesn't walk around a swamp in a bathrobe all the time. (Oops! Letting my inner STAR WARS geek out, huh? What can I say? I'm a product of the 70s and 80s and was madly in love with Han Solo, so much so that I cried in December when...AH! Sorry. No spoilers for those of you who have the audacity to not care or not have seen it yet. These days, I look a little better than Leia does, though, so I mighta had a chance if only his brat of a son wouldn't have, uh...never mind.)
I've been a bit down on myself since Friday because I cheated in a BIG, FAT way starting then and allowed the cheat-fest to continue all throughout the weekend, devouring at least 2,000 calories a day and using the blessed resurrection and divorce court as an excuse. I'm relatively certain that went against WWJD. I knew I was not going to hit my goal of hitting my goal by the end of March after that greasy, chocolatey, sugary, salty food fiasco, but I was shocked and awed this morning when I saw that I'd only gained .6 of a lb. in the midst of the gluttonous gobbling. I literally stopped right there in my bathroom, in nothing but my socks (the only stitch of clothing I leave on for Weigh-In Wednesdays) and prayed to thank God for His mercy and His miracles, because by all rights, I should have gained at least 5 lbs., if not twice that. I really don't know what else to credit it to, because I certainly did not deserve such a low gain after such a culinary collision.
Whenever I get down on myself during this weight loss journey, as it is always a matter of ups and downs, I remember my Yoda-like grampy's wise words: "Always remember from whence you came..." From whence I came was eating mindlessly, whatever I wanted, as often as I wanted, in as large piles as I wanted. In the days of old, devouring 8 slices of pizza covered in enough parmesan that it looked like Mt. Rushmore was nothing. Eating half a gallon of ice cream before dinner was not a big deal. Decimating countless Peeps and chocolate crispy bunnies and marshmallow eggs was just what I did on Easter, without so much as a tinge of guilt. I found this picture the other day while looking for photos of my daughter for her upcoming grad open house, and I was shocked to see that baby had far too much back. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: NASA should have declared me the ninth planet, to take Pluto's place. THAT was from whence I came, and I don't ever want to look the same.
As of today, I have lost 169.3 of these ugly 1-lb. fat globs. Imagine that! 169.3 of them! How many Yodas is that anyway? Wait... I'll Google it... Okay. According to some physicist online who had nothing better to do with his time than to review film footage and write a huge mathematical formula to determine it, Yoda is actually -96 lbs., weightless, due to the gravitational pull on Dagobah and the use of The Force. On the other hand, on Earth and without The Force, if Yoda was actually positive 96 lbs., I could say I've lost 1.76 Yodas, and when I hit my goal, I will have lost 1.8125 Yodas. And where am I going with all this? I used to weigh 3.43 Yodas, and I now weigh 1.66 Yodas. THAT is from whence I came, and I'm never going back to weighing two whole Jedi masters again, even if I do occasionally travel to a caloric range in a galaxy far, far away from where Spark tells me to stay.
I did not let people take many pictures of me when I was as huge as Jabba or the average Death Star, but there are a few around. They are sort of like a car accident; I don't want to look at them, yet I cannot pull my eyes away. I still struggle with feeling self-conscious, and even after what I've lost, I still look in the mirror or glance down at the remaining flabby parts and am not happy, but I know my Baptist preacher grandpa is right about remembering where we came from, and that gives me the power and encouragement to forgive myself for binges instead of letting them drag me back to where I don't want to go.