Where we wrestle with the sublime, mysterious, powerful and often frustrating paradox of God's necessary grace.

Thursday, December 18, 2008

Grace and Farts


I'm sitting on an uncomfortable chair so this will be a short post.

Tonight I dared God.

No convoluted song and dance, I simply had reached my end. Today my wife had a party for her coworkers and they brought tons of snacks and goodies and I partook wholesale, despite my doctor's warnings about salt intake and despite the calories I was pounding.

I had tried and tried and tried to micromanage my salt intake and my eating and had failed spectacularly. In the Failure Olympics, I easily placed for Silver and was edging on Gold. Tonight's debacle was Olympic-caliber.

Afterward I felt despair. I have an appointment Friday with my doctor. They weigh me and my weight would not be down by as much as it should be, and I'll be retaining too much fluid in my body, and so Doctor and my wife would lecture me. They love me and they're trying their best for me, but I'm somehow deaf to them. I think I know why, but I'll save that for another post. I need to talk about the precipice first.

So, back to my failure. I reached my end. I knew what I had to do, but first, the preliminary: I stood up in the living room and and told God aloud, "Here's Your chance. Kill me, screw me over. I surrender to You. Nothing held back, no questions, no demands, no conditions. I surrender. Period. Do with me what You will."

Then I went into the kitchen and made a protein shake for dinner. I will put myself on a protein shake diet temporarily as I need to drop about 35 pounds ASAP. I know it's not a good idea long-term.

I didn't know what to expect. More edema in my legs? A sudden magical decrease in my weight or in my edema? I was hoping for that one.

What I got was the most powerful case of the bubbly farts I've ever had. Man, I was tooting like a tuba trying to blow Morse code under water, and it seemed as though it would never stop. I thought it couldn't get worse.

I was wrong.

Then I started burping, and then the trots began. "Everybody out of the pool!" screamed my gut. I wasn't in any real pain, just some discomfort. Unfortunately, my wife ended up moving out to the living room couch. She claimed her own gut was acting up, but I have my suspicions.

All this gastric sturm und drang continued for about two hours and then began to lessen. Now the symptoms are almost gone.

I really, REALLY don't ever want to go through this again. It's, I admit, funny--especially if it happened to someone else. But when it happens to you, it's still funny but not near as much. No doubt I'll remember this night as the night I surrendered to God and then farted all over Him.

This only happens to me, I swear.

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