Yep. This week I’ve been walking around in a listless daze; escaping pain with feel-good substances, slipping into a state of lazy self-absorption and ferociously attacking the kitchen cabinets in eating frenzies. At times my eyes have been noticeably blood-shot and I’ve been confronted for dreamily staring out the window, watching grass grow.

With the 40-day discipline of the desert behind me and the 50 days of Easter celebration underway, I realize I’m right back where I was on Fat Tuesday: the mentality it’s all about wanting to feel good. After all, isn’t that what celebrating is about?

Somehow my gung-ho resolution “This year I will become an amazing lover” has, in a weekend, turned into, “Eh, I’m feeling [insert your favorite excuse – tired, stressed, lonely, rejected, etc.], and I deserve [insert you favorite self-reward].”

I began my Lenten journey putting forth a resolute effort to work on reversing my selfish nature and detach from anything that controls me. Inspired by a little tool my children made years ago as they all prepared for their First Holy Communion, I formed a crown of braided salt dough, inserted toothpick *thorns* and placed it as a centerpiece on our kitchen table. The thorns were meant to be removed when someone carried out an act of love.

It worked great for those days in the desert; especially in the food department. Every time I wanted to eat when I wasn’t hungry, or wanted seconds on something yummy, or turned to food to fix an emotional blip, that crown silently spoke, “Robin, so-and-so is in a lot of pain. Can’t you give up that morsel for the grace to be given to them?”  Seeing I thrive when helping others, this reminder was effective.

I asked God to use weight loss as a way to show me just how much I was growing in love – it’s that John 3:30 concept, “He must increase; I must decrease.” I patted myself on the back after discovering the day before Easter I had lost 10 pounds. Woo Hoo! It’s a tangible way to see that denying myself and loving others had paid off. It was difficult journey; there were many times I didn’t want to love, but did so begrudgingly because of that simple crown. I was on a roll – that is, until the crown was removed and the mood turned to celebrating.

I received a blow last weekend that threw me for a loop. My immediate response was to eat. Food is my faithful friend – always offering a metaphorical hug, “Come here, Robin. I’ll make you feel better. It will be okay”.  I didn’t care about loving. My focus was on me and I spiraled downhill, fast. All I wanted to do was feel good and went back to my usual material means of getting there – which, intellectually, I know won’t do the job, but out of desperation and convenience, it’s what I did – it’s what we all do.

First came the Easter candy and sweets. I didn’t care – heck I’m celebrating! Then came the salty-crunchy stuff, (because texture relieves stress). All week I grazed uncontrollably, at times wondering where I got the composure to be so temperate for those 40 days. There was also the wine, which I didn’t have while in the desert but now justified with, “It’s 50 days of Easter, baby!”

Scars from my past manifest in different ways. God has been generous in healing me of many things, though on a rare occasion someone will say or do something to tear open an old wound. The smarting comes back as if I’m experiencing the cut for the first time, and I shrink into a state of self-preservation. Instead of thinking of others, my focus turns to me.

I go through the stages: Anger, resentment, hurt, self-doubt, self-loathing and end up blaming my present condition on experiences from my past which have rendered me broken, and conclude I’ll be like this forever. I’m thankful for close friends who won’t allow me to dance at my pity party for very long. They let me wallow in a few tunes then reign in the reality; usually reminding me: 1) of how much God loves me, and that as long as my heart is right with Him, it doesn’t matter what other people think, and 2) to trust that He will bring something positive out of the situation, even if it’s yucky.

None of us escape life without something leaving a painful, indelible mark. These events, like little stones, create the fortress around our hearts. Little children love unconditionally because they haven’t yet experienced the kind of hurt that puts up barriers to love.

Our painful events also served as sign posts in the road; directing our travel one way or another. I’ve often said, “If that didn’t happen to me when I was young, I probably wouldn’t have had to deal with this all my life.”

God uses all our experiences for a reason. We can either look at them as excuses to explain why we are so broken and justify our position so we don’t have to change; which is pride. Or we can ask Him to heal us from our brokenness and show us how our unfortunate experiences can help others.

Because of some painful early experiences, I’ve made a few imprudent choices; but I believe everything we go through – good or bad – has a purpose. While my vices are a struggle at times, without them I would not have the compassion for others who struggle in similar ways. They’ve also been opportunities God used to grab my attention and showed how much He loves me through His infinite Mercy.

In my mid 20’s, I reached the point of smoking two packs of cigarettes a day. (I can’t believe it either.) My, now, husband – who didn’t smoke – made a casual comment at the onset of our dating relationship that he could never marry a smoker. With great intent I tried for months to quit, knowing it would be best for me – but my flesh was weak. After many unsuccessful attempts going at it alone, I got to the point where I was convinced Mike would either have to love me as a smoker, or I’d have to give him up because I was incapable of change.

At the time I was a new re-vert to the Church and on the path of exploration and learning; faith had not yet developed. Since my new friends encouraged me to “give my vice to God”, I approached Lent that year in desperation. Fat Tuesday I sat on my balcony, chain-smoking five cigarettes in a row, and begged to have this vice taken away, “Lord, you said, ‘For human beings this is impossible, but for God all things are possible.’ (Mt 19:26). As much as I enjoy smoking, I no longer want it getting in the way of what you have planned for me. If Mike is what you have planned and I need to stop smoking, then you will have to do it because I am too weak.”

The following morning I awoke with a determination not to smoke on Ash Wednesday. I was going to do this day by day. It was hard, but I held out. Thursday came and went, then Friday, and even Saturday. I had never been able to go this long! The struggle was difficult enough to require some effort, but there also seemed to be a force helping me along so I could succeed.

Twenty-five years later, I have yet to put another cigarette to my lips. I learned through that experience, as well as being able to conquer other addictions, the key is to not rely on oneself, but to let go of the pride. When we realize we can’t do it ourselves, and need the help of God, He will grant it and we will succeed.

The crown on my table was a constant reminder of the sacrifices Christ made out of love, and it motivated me. There was gratification in being able to pull a toothpick knowing I conquered a little bit of my prideful self. But there was also a great sense of joy attached to thinking my sacrifice may have made a positive effect on someone else. Ah, the joy! It’s for what we all pine. The irony is that when we sacrifice and place our focus on others, we will find that – even though at first it’s difficult – the more we do it, the more joy we get out of it, and the happier we become.

Since this tool was gone and I’ve given myself the green light to celebrate, I’ve somehow turned the gaze back onto myself, and yes, it does have a stoning effect. We become numb to the world around us when our eyes only seek those things which make us feel good.

Years ago I bought two vases and a bag of marbles for a friend. He was fighting a fierce addiction and was getting discouraged because he kept failing to overcome this thing that had a hold on him. He was about to accept this was who he was and was willing to settle for the fact he wasn’t going to change. As God wouldn’t let me settle, I wasn’t going to afford my friend the option of a cop-out. I placed the two vessels in his house where he could see them. I told him that each time he felt weak he was to beg for God’s help then think of a person who was suffering. Every time he resisted the temptation and offered up that struggle to help the other person, he could move a marble from one jar to the other. (Yes, God really does use our acts of love to bless other people!)

In the beginning he laughed. (Sacrifice is a hard concept to grasp.) Day after day, he walked by those stupid marbles – surely mocking me under his breath. One day he tried it; the little victory felt good. The battle was on. Sometimes he would make the choice to resist and plunk a pesky orb into the empty vase, other times he’d cave to temptation. Sooner or later he started feeling the power of little successes. The empty Love Jar filled.

We can be rid of anything that hinders us from being fully alive! We only need to give up thinking we can do it alone, ask God for his strength to help move metamorphic walls of pride and selfishness with acts of love, and allow Him to fortify us with His grace; rejuvenating the crimson sanguinity of our hearts, which pumps life into our being. My friend is no longer hemmed in by the walls of his addiction. Love won and vibrant life was restored.

I gained back four pounds in the last two weeks. I knew it was coming. It’s the result of being stoned: My heart was cold, I gathered pebbles to build a tiny wall, held on to pain, and sought my own ways to feel good. I didn’t choose to love and I didn’t ask God for help. The result: I ended up feeling worse, not better.

I decided to buy two vessels and a bag of stones for myself. They’ve been crafted into a centerpiece for my dining room table to serve as a constant reminder that we celebrate these 50 days of Easter not for self, but for Love – the sacrificial kind Christ has for us, and the kind we are called to have for one another.

This morning I began again to remove the stones from around my heart. It didn’t take long to regain the peace. I’m much happier this weekend than I was last!

Photo credits: Chris Saunders