Afternoon is the hardest

It is 5:06pm and here I sit again, waiting for the day to pass.  I send the kids outside, to keep them from destroying the house.  Its very quiet.  Too quiet.  I am bored.  What is in the kitchen?  I have extra sharp cheese, and some Morningstar Farm breakfast patties.  And I can put that on some of my homemade bread heated up with a little butter.  Or.... I could stay in my seat and not move.  If I move I am afraid I will walk into the kitchen.

The hardest part right now is defeating fear.  I am afraid I will fail.  I am afraid what will happen if I succeed.  I am afraid of myself and I am afraid of other people. (What if people start looking at me once I lose weight? I prefer to be invisible.)  I am afraid of my history and I am afraid of not changing.  And I am afraid of my hungry stomach.  My  mind constantly turns to food.  It is deeply entrenched, a 20-year habit; this ever-present longing to have something delicious in my mouth is a force to be reckoned with.  I find that the temptations ebb and flow.  It is hardest in the afternoon. 

I pray that God will remove the altar to food that I have set up. I have used food to deaden the depression that I have been dealing with for more than 35 years.  I have used food to celebrate, to mourn, to connect with others, as peace offerings, as something to hide behind, as punishment.  I have turned to food more often than I have turned to God.  And as such, it became my god.  He told me that it was wrong for me to set it up as a supporter, a consolation, a prize.  He told me I had to give it up, to turn to Him, to listen to Him and obey Him.  And with trepidation, I did.  And here I am a week later, sitting at this desk, afraid to come out from behind the computer.

But God (isn't that always how it is?  "But God" in our weakness.  "But God" in our fear.  "But God" in our darkest moments.  He always comes through!) is still here with me.  His hand is on my shoulder.  He tells me, gently, that it is time to leave this computer and go make the children supper.  He tells me He can be with me in the kitchen too.  He is not afraid.  He has already overcome my addiction.  He knows what I will face in the next 15 minutes.  He is already there, 20 minutes from now.  He already is waiting with a solution to my frustration with my children (which normally I would assuage with chocolate or a Big Frank sandwich), He is already waiting with an answer to my pouting about not being able to eat like "normal" people, He is already waiting to help me defeat this temptation too.  He is bigger than this.  He has already overcome it.  Thank God!