Food Seems Big

Today I had a new experience. I went to a restaurant, and when it was over, the waiter asked if I wanted him to box up the remainder of my food.

“The remainder of my food.”

My food never had a remainder before! I didn’t know what to do with it. I decided to let him stick it in a box. I felt like a woman. What man brings half-eaten food home from a restaurant?

The weight loss continues. I can turn down bread. I can turn down fries. All these foods that used to be stronger than me…they roll over and give up.

I am reminded of a story the psychologist Fritz Perls told. A violinist came to him and complained that he had cramps and discomfort while he played. Perls watched him play, and he saw the problem. The man was standing with his legs crossed, so his body was contorted. Perls made him stand up straight, and he found himself playing without discomfort. He started to cry, saying, “I won’t believe it. I won’t.” In an instant, his life was changed.

God confirms himself over and over and over, but the more blatant he is, the harder I find to accept what he has done. I’m down about 17 pounds now, and there is no end in sight, and it’s such a beautiful gift, a little voice in my head keeps telling me it can’t be true.

I had something really strange happen last night. A guy from church–his name is John–called on very short notice and said he needed some help with a business function in Fort Lauderdale. You can imagine how much interest I had in this, but Christians help each other, right? And he does all kinds of things for the church, and he was in a bind. So I got it together and drove up there. I had to borrow a car because the truck’s “check engine” light was on.

It was raining. I mean torrential rain. The kind of rain you only see in Florida and Texas. Cars were creeping. And I was all dressed up. I had put on some of my expensive lawyer duds. I was very worried that I’d ruin the jacket, walking in that downpour. The rules say that when you have a problem, no matter what it is, you pray. So I did. I prayed that the rain would stop before I got out of the car.

When I was less than half a mile from the hotel where the function was taking place, the rain was still hammering I-95. John called and informed me that there was a parking garage, so I wouldn’t get wet. That was a relief. Then I took the exit and turned right…and the rain had stopped. I looked at the windshield of the car, and I couldn’t find one new drop of rain. Looking out at the road, I saw a few drops landing here and there. I didn’t know what to do. I heard myself tell God that it would be a better story, for his testimony, if the rain stopped completely. And it did. And I didn’t need it! There was a garage!

That really happened. I should have said, “While you’re at it, how about filling the trunk with hundred-dollar bills?”

After the function, I got to talk with John and a couple of other people from church. They started talking about going to the gun range. Why is it all Christians shoot? We also talked about my cookbook. I enjoyed it a great deal. It’s okay to be the lone kook in the crowd, but sometimes you want to be with the other kooks.

I hope I get to shoot with them. While roasting a pig and using machine tools. That would pretty much combine everything I like.

The Belt of Truth is Too Big

Today I have to go shopping. I have to give up on my size 34 Old Navy cargo shorts. They are too danged big. They’re going to charity.

They’re not really 34″ shorts. I would guess they’re more like 36s. Retailers know fat people like to pretend to be smaller than they are, so sometimes they put misleading labels on their clothes. Still, I am swimming in these things, and it’s getting on my nerves. I also need to replace my aging Abercrombie & Fitch 34″ belt. I’m on belt loop number six, and there are only seven. A couple of months ago, I was on three. Now the loose end flaps around when I walk. On top of that, between the belt loops, the waistbands of the shorts are sneaking out and wandering around because they don’t fit where they used to.

It’s all God. I haven’t done much of anything. I don’t have the old craving for carbs and grease, so now I can choose what I eat, without fighting an addiction every time. I still want food, but when I have a choice to make, the ratio of willpower to desire is much, much higher than it used to be, so I win consistently.

I think there are stages of iniquity and bondage. If you weigh 800 pounds, it’s pretty easy to get down to 300. It’s harder to go from there to 200. If your proper weight is 170, the last thirty pounds will be impossible to lose, or nearly so, and if they come off, they’ll jump back on in one month of backsliding.

This stuff is spirit-driven. I have no doubt of it. Jesus was referring to diet rebound, among other things, when he said that when an evil spirit leaves a man, it wanders, returns, and brings seven worse spirits with it. I seriously believe this is why there are plateaus in weight loss. The really stubborn enemies keep the final pounds on you. The wimpy ones are not hard to beat.

I don’t care who thinks I’m crazy. Bondage is bondage, whether it’s cocaine or cheeseburgers. Don’t tell me people get up over 400 or 600 or 800 pounds simply because they’re lazy. When you let something that terrible happen to you, you have a major, major problem. If it were just a laziness issue, in most cases, the sight of the blubber in the bathroom mirror would be sufficient to motivate people to change. I’m sure there are some people who are too sorry to care, but lots of fat people live in utter misery and would do almost anything to fix themselves. At my worst, I’ve probably been 55 pounds overweight, and it drove me up the wall.

I brought the bondage on myself. I ate like a pig, and I had other problems, like self-righteousness and unforgiveness and selfishness and general backsliding.

My big problem now is that I eat so little, I tend to eat a higher proportion of unhealthy food. Last night I came home from the prayer meeting, and I decided I absolutely had to have a Coke. So I got one, and I drank it, and I ate half of a big Hershey bar with almonds. In the morning, I ate a small bowl of fiber cereal that tasted like fiberglass insulation, and in the afternoon, I had a Granny Smith with some peanut butter. Those things were okay, but the Coke and the candy were not optimal choices. It happened because I didn’t fix dinner; the prayer meeting got in the way. I need to plan better.

My blood pressure is going to drop. I’m going to feel lighter. My gall bladder and digestive tract will be healthier. My blood sugar will not be an issue. My knees won’t be stressed. Doctors will consider my visits a waste of time. I’ll be able to move without my gut getting in the way. If I ever had circulatory issues, I can forget about them now. I’ll look a whole lot better. This is an astounding gift. Surely you can forgive me for writing about it all the time.

It would be great if I had a dramatic story about being deaf and blind for twenty years and then suddenly being healed. It would be wonderful to be able to say I was delivered from a meth addiction after living behind a dumpster for a decade. I know fat isn’t as exciting. But this is magnificent! There are no words big enough to express my gratitude and amazement. I didn’t deserve this. I didn’t earn it. It was dropped on me like a pallet of airlifted MREs.

I wonder if I’m going to be able to help anyone else get this, or something like this. I wonder if anyone will be impressed enough to listen. If it will work for fat, shouldn’t it work for lust, greed, drugs, booze, violence, compulsive spending, chronic anger, racism, and other types of bondage? Why not? Fat is a pretty tough nut to crack. Getting over it is no joke. People die from gluttony every day, and they don’t want to. It’s a powerful thing.

I think I know why I’ve had so little success in talking to other people about God. The main reason is probably that I was such a phenomenal idiot, I made an unacceptable representative. But now that I’m cleaned up a little, he seems to be bringing people to me. Maybe I’m less embarrassing than I used to be. And the fat thing is a tremendous selling point. Nobody wants to hear from a Christian whose life is messed up. If it hasn’t worked for you, why would I expect it to work for me? Now I have a triumph to point to. In fact, I have a number of things. I haven’t listed all of them here. If I have something that will make people jealous, maybe they’ll be more inclined to try to get it.

I would have serious doubts about listening to a preacher who was obese, or who smoked cigarettes, or who routinely said mean things, or who had a mountain of debt. Anything like that. If you can’t win, how can you teach other people to win? If you don’t realize you have a problem, how can you identify other people’s problems? On the other hand, I would not want to hear from a guy who was born perfect (with one obvious exception) and who had a trouble-free life. If you haven’t been oppressed, you don’t know what other people go through. And your skills for fighting oppression may not be strong. Some people who have no major problems are in serious trouble. Their problems exist. They just haven’t manifested themselves yet. When people like that crash, they’re probably like bubble kids without immune systems. Like Nebuchadnezzar, who went insane and grazed like a cow for seven years.

Mmm…cows…steak.

I guess one cheeseburger won’t hurt me.

Nor for the Cheesecake that Flyeth by Day

Back in August, after a fast, I experienced an odd result. I no longer felt compelled to overeat. I had fasted many times in the past, but this change was unprecedented. It had nothing to do with my stomach shrinking or any other physical explanation. And I also found I had more peace, and that I had new and near-perfect self-control in some other areas of my life.

I believe I was under the influence of hostile spirits. Robert Morris says that when we have an evil inclination, it may be demonic, and that it may occur because of our sins or the sins of our ancestors. At that stage, it’s an “iniquity.” When it becomes uncontrollable, it’s a “bondage.” That appears to be what happened to me. I could beat it temporarily, but it always came back.

My dad has a terrible weight problem. My sister has had her struggles. My dad’s sister is worse than either of them. These things go after the children of families they know to have vulnerabilities.

Yesterday I got worried because before lunch, I grabbed a half-empty pint of ice cream and finished it. Breakfast had consisted of a small bowl of cereal, and I was hungry. I wondered if I was asking for trouble. A little voice in my head told me my victory over gluttony was a delusion. It reminded me of the big meal I had cooked on Saturday.

At lunchtime, I wasn’t very hungry, but I had to have something, because I was feeling a little weak. I decided to have a PBJ. I started to think about all the calories in the peanut butter. I decided to use one slice of bread instead of two, so I could make a half-sandwich. And I didn’t feel the old familiar internal urging, telling me to go ahead and have the whole thing because I had been good all week.

When dinner time rolled around, I realized I wasn’t hungry enough to make cooking worth the trouble! So I skipped dinner.

Today I got up and weighed myself. I’m down two more pounds! I’ve crossed another “zero threshold.” You know what I mean. Every time you go past a zero, like from 230 to 229, it’s a threshold. “If I could only be under 200 again.” “If I could only be under 150 again.” If you’re fat, this is how you fantasize.

Overeating was a major problem for me. I could control myself well enough to avoid obesity, but that was about it. In fact, I sometimes crossed the line into obesity. It was a royal pain. My face got big and wobbly. My pants always felt like they were cutting me in two. I felt uncomfortable when I exercised. I was about as attractive as Jabba the Hutt in a wig. I can’t believe it’s gone. I have been supernaturally delivered from it.

I’d give anything to get the same thing for my dad. I don’t want him to spend his remaining years putting up with something that ruins his enjoyment of life.

The other day I was watching Robert Morris, and he said something fascinating. He listed the three things Jesus told the disciples to do when he sent them out. They were to preach the gospel, heal the sick, and cast out demons. Healing the sick and freeing people from bondage were so important to him, he ranked them right up there with preaching salvation by faith. How many churches limit themselves to the gospel? No wonder life is so hard. Everyone on the planet has demons assigned to him, and only a tiny percentage of us have the tools to break them.

Mentioning demons in a mainstream church is a great way to get funny looks from people, but Jesus dealt with them constantly. Was he crazy? Was he just an eccentric character? No, he was God. If God says there are demons, why do we ignore them? I’ve seen the nasty things with my own eyes. I don’t need to be told they’re real. Why are we embarrassed to talk about them and admit they’re part of our lives?

We’re supposed to be able to alter our inner drives, so obedience comes easier. Once obedience and trust are in play, blessings come. Chastisements stop. A Christian who stops at salvation never gets to the point where God can do all the good things he wants to do. I believe it. I’m seeing it in my own life.

I still have some things I want to get rid of. I want to be less cranky and judgmental. I would like to be more empathetic. I don’t want to trust money more than God. If God can make me stronger than pizza, he can do anything. Surely help is on the way.

As things improve, I become more convinced that I have to watch my behavior. The more power I have over myself, the more blameworthy I am when I screw up. And I think any person who gets delivered attracts the attention of the enemy, and when I stumble, he’ll be there to slip in through the crack I made. He has always had a special hate for me; I remember supernatural attacks and hostile manifestations that took place when I was three and four years old. The Bible says God turns people over to torment when they disobey. There are forces out there working to take this away from me and make me sorry I wrote about it, and I don’t want to help them. I’m trying to remember that I’m on a short leash.

Lately, when I’ve prayed in the morning, I’ve asked God to make me and my family the devourer’s devourers. The destroyers of the destroyer. I want us to ruin his harvest, the way he has ruined ours. I want to be his lice. His cockroaches. His fire ants. His leprosy. His cancer. I want other people to get what I’m getting. This was the mission Jesus started; all the jibber-jabber about being nice and not hitting anyone back is just part of the picture. Without the rest of the plan, it’s garbage. Utterly worthless. You can be the nicest, fairest, most honest person on earth and waste your entire life and live in defeat. If it were about being nice, Jesus could have skipped being born and crucified and allowed us all to become Buddhists.

I feel like we’ve all been ripped off, and it’s time to put a stop to it. There are junkies and alcoholics and perverts out there who can’t help themselves–who genuinely want help–and here it is, waiting for them, and no one knows how to get it to them. If a guy who loves food like I do can put down the fork by God’s grace, even crackheads have hope.

Check out Robert Morris’s stuff and see what you think. It seems like the purest message I’ve seen.

Mere Mortals are Undeserving

Is there anything better than waking up early, spending time in prayer and study, eating a tasty McDonald’s breakfast, and then sticking a prime rib roast in the oven to warm up? If so, it probably takes place in heaven.

I guess I went a little overboard on the prime rib. I bought 10.4 pounds for four people. I figured one rib per person. I wasn’t really hip to the practice of cutting the bones off and tying them to the roast while you cook, so you end up with an easy-carve roast when you’re done. If I had done that, I could have gotten by with a smaller piece of meat. But it’s still, what, a little over a pound per person when you get rid of the bones and the larger bits of fat? Not excessive. Well, maybe a little.

Anyway, it looks better with the bone in it, and the meat next to the bone is really good.

I think two pounds (bone included) is about right for a serving of prime rib or a rib eye steak. The rib eye is the king of steaks, but you can’t eat all of it, so a lot of the weight ends up in the garbage, not in your guests.

I have to get to work on the pie. I’m a little nervous. My recipe–I thought it was in the second edition of my book, but it isn’t–is very good, but because I make it so rarely, I’m not all that proficient with it. And I still have to get lard. The store has disgusting Goya lard, which smells like a hog lot in July. I need El Cochinito. I have a can, but I doubt it’s still usable.

If you’re in Miami and you need El Cochinito, the Winn-Dixie near Ludlam and Bird has it.

Cook’s Illustrated says to sear the the fat side of the meat with a hot pan before you cook it. That’s a lot of work. I’m sure it’s good, but I get fine results by cranking up the heat at the end of the roasting. And I have a MAPP torch.

Here’s something that will make this day a lot easier. I have an apple peeling machine. They run about $25. In a few seconds, it will turn an apple into a peeled and cored coil of pure fruit flesh. That beats spending half an hour peeling apples.

Someone emailed me about Marv and Maynard. They’re still here, squawking to beat the band. I was going to put up a new video to prove it, but I can’t do that until I locate the charger for my camera. Here’s Marv’s most popular video. Please excuse him; somebody taught him some questionable material before his owner cleaned up his own vocabulary.

I am considering getting some 6″ work boots to keep me alive the next time I try to help out with a job at church. The injury to my ankle is still not quite closed. An 8″ boot would have prevented it completely. A 6″ boot would have helped. Hard choice. In any case, the fat is continuing to slide off of me, so I won’t have to buy jeans any time soon.

The Ingredients of a Good Blog Post

My dad wanted me to cook for an old friend who is having a rough time. I went to the store to get ingredients to make stuffed pork chops. Which are unbelievable. They’re in my cookbook.

While I was there, I saw prime rib priced at $12 per pound. This is not an amazing price, but it’s not bad, and the meat was crying out to me from behind the glass, begging me to take it in my loving arms and bring it home with me.

I cracked. You know I cracked. I don’t have to tell you that.

I made the grocery guy go back and find me a new roast that had four contiguous ribs on it, and he hacked one out for me. Then he started trimming the fat and THROWING IT OUT. I put a stop to that in a hurry. I never turn down free fat. It went in the package with the beef. Just because I’ve given up gluttony doesn’t mean I’m going to cook lame food every day. Rib fat is magical. It’s the duct tape of beef.

The meat guys love being ordered around by people who know food. I think it makes them feel appreciated. There was a woman working there, and it disturbed her that I wanted a cut that wasn’t on display. The man…he understood. No surprise there. It’s a rare woman who understands prime beef.

Anyway, I brought this gorgeous piece of prime meat home, and then I was informed that my dad’s friend had not yet confirmed. After the chest pains subsided, I got on the phone and made sure this guy was coming. Although it would have been okay if he had put it off for a week, because that would have given me time to age this magnificent chunk of cow.

I’m going to go salt it down now and rub it with garlic. Tomorrow, it will be fragrant and ready to play.

This was a good move, except for the enormous expense. Prime rib is like boiling water. Anyone can do it. It’s much less work than stuffed pork chops. The pie crust is going to drive me nuts, so I don’t need any other problems.

The baking potatoes were beautiful today, so I grabbed some of those, plus a tub of sour cream.

My dad and my sister both like their meat burned. This is a tragedy, but since the roast has four ribs, I figure I can give them the outer ones. I’m going to cook the meat to 125º inside, and if the beef-incinerators complain, I’ll cram theirs in the microwave. Why not? If I cook it until it’s grey, it will be ruined regardless of how I do it.

Man, this is going to be good. And I got to send a photo of the roast to Mike, so he could eat his liver and be miserable and envious. I owed him that, as a friend.

Here’s how you make perfect prime rib. I’ve done it like twice, but it’s so easy, I’m qualified to tell other people how to do it.

INGREDIENTS

1 prime rib roast, preferably prime (not choice) beef
5-10 crushed garlic cloves
salt

If you have time, dry the beef and put it on a wire rack in your fridge, covered with a clean cotton cloth. If you can keep the cloth above the meat so it doesn’t touch it, do it. Change the cloth daily. Keep the temperature at or below 35 degrees. Give the meat a week if you can.

Three days before you cook it, salt it down well. This will not dry out the meat. Shut up. It won’t. Don’t put a crust of salt on it. I did this once, and it was incredibly stupid and made the meat too salty.

Preheat your oven to 250º. Rub the meat all over with the garlic. Use as much as you want. Butter it, too, if it makes you happy. I think I’ll do that this time! I’m tempted to cook a roast at 225º. I’m sure it would be better.

Put the meat on a broiling pan, cover it with a foil tent or something, and roast it with a probe in it until you get the internal temperature you like. I did 133º last time, in deference to my dad, but this time it’s going to be 125º, which is still higher than I’d like.

When the meat is ten or fifteen degrees below the end temperature, rip off the foil and jack the heat up to 550º. If this makes your broiler turn on, use the highest temperature that doesn’t make it do that. Or leave foil draped over the meat. Or something. Don’t burn it with the broiler. That’s the point. And you may want to do this earlier than fifteen degrees prior to the end temperature. Ten degrees worked okay for me, but as I recall, it was close.

When you cut into this baby, juice is going to pour out. The smell will summon the angels. And it won’t be tough and dry. Pay no attention to “experts” who tell you to cremate it at 325º. I tried that, and it was awful.

Just to remind you, here’s how I bake potatoes. It’s much better than using foil or greasing the skins, which makes them limp and soggy. Preheat your oven to 450º. Scrub your potatoes. Put salt in your hands and rub it all over the potatoes while they’re still wet. Bake them on the top rack for an hour, if they’re under a pound each. Big potatoes go 75 minutes. Try to have something between the heating element and the potatoes so they don’t char. I serve these with garlic butter AND sour cream. And salt.

In other news, Natchez Shooter’s Supply just put out a great sale bulletin. If you’re not a snob who won’t shoot Wolf ammunition, you can do pretty good on 7.62 x 39 and .40 S&W right now.

More

Why do I ever listen to conventional thinkers when they talk about food? The Food Network (usually disappointing) says to cook prime rib at 325º, which is ignorant and positively heinous. On my own, using common sense, I came up with 250º. Now, via Google, I see that Cook’s Illustrated recommends 225º. Those guys are not fools. They don’t pass on gossip and old wives’ tales, like 95% of the professionals. If they say 225º works, you better believe they’ve put it to the test.

Hmm…I’m checking their site, and in 1995, they recommended 200º! I love it.

Now That I Can See Them

This morning I got on the scale. A few weeks back, after a fast, I found I had the ability to control some behaviors that were causing me problems, and one of them was overeating. The abilities have persisted, so I like to get on the scale to see how I’m doing.

I weighed myself and got a certain figure, which was very satisfactory. Then for some reason, I got on the scale again a minute later. The number was 0.8 pounds lower! Nothing had changed. There was no reason for a difference in the reading. I got on a third time, and the lower reading appeared again. I’m down nearly fifteen pounds. The number has been a couple of pounds lower after a fast, but today’s measurement was after a weekend of normal eating.

Getting a miracle is confusing. The natural tendency is to keep confirming it over and over, until you can accept it. I guess that’s where I am now.

This weekend I saw Perry Stone deliver a message about Lot’s wife. I’m sure you know the story. Mr. and Mrs. Lot lived in Sodom, which was destroyed for selfishness, sexual perversion, dishonesty, mistreatment of visitors, and other sins. God warned them to get out, and they were told not to turn around. Mrs. Lot looked back–the book of Jasher says her children were being destroyed in the holocaust–and she turned into a pillar of salt, and Josephus claimed he saw the pillar later.

It’s an interesting message.

When Lot and Abraham parted ways, Lot chose the part of the land that was near Sodom. He pitched his tent toward Sodom. Perry Stone and some other preacher whose name I forget say this meant he was expressing his interest in the Sodom lifestyle. Lot eventually ended up living in Sodom, surrounded by thieves and perverts. The Bible says their filthy talk vexed him every day. It must have been like living in lower Manhattan.

If I recall Perry Stone’s message correctly, he was telling people not to look back with longing at sinful ways they had left behind.

I’ve been thinking along these lines since the fast I mentioned above. In the past, I wanted to behave in a certain way, but I couldn’t do it, because something (whether flesh or spirit) had a grip on me. Then I found myself “set free, indeed.” But I was tempted to go back. A little voice told me that when my problems blew over, it would be safe to resume living like an idiot. I had no plans to do this, but you know how thoughts are. They roam around in your head like stray dogs.

I suspect that a person whose free will is restored can’t get away with sins that wouldn’t harm an addict much. If you’re tormented by a constant urge to overeat, maybe it’s not a big deal when you break down and have a dozen doughnuts. But what if you’ve been freed by a miracle, and then you decide to eat a whole pizza? That has to be much worse. The temptation is not as powerful, so it’s a sin of will, not weakness.

So I think Perry Stone’s message was right on target, where I’m concerned. I needed to hear it. I don’t want the thought of future lapses in my head. I don’t want to plan my own failure, and I definitely don’t want to lose this.

When I got this unexpected blessing, I wanted to tell other people about it so they could get it, but as usual, I got nowhere with it. I have a horrible track record in this regard. In an email this morning, I said my miracles tend to be boring. If you can stand up and say you instantly dropped a crack habit, people will clap and churches will invite you to speak, but nobody cares when you find yourself able to turn down pizza. There are probably a lot of churches where they’d stone you, with rocks held in empty fried-chicken buckets. Christians want to hang onto that last “acceptable” vice. Many of us are gigantic.

Freedom from food addiction is a great gift. It’s huge. If I drop another fifteen pounds, it will be like taking off a lead apron.

Overeating costs you a lot. It ruins your ability to do many things, such as sports. It cuts way back on your dating pool. Like any addiction, it can make you hate yourself. It will cause people to mistreat you. If you’re married, it can wreck your sex life. It will cost you jobs, because employers like hiring skinny people. It will put a burden on the people around you. You’ll be in the way all the time. People will groan when they see you in a narrow hallway or an elevator or a doorway. They’ll have to sit in the back seat because you’re too big. You’ll crush them on airplanes, because you flow over the armrest. It’s not a trivial thing. I’m beside myself with gratitude. I can’t tell you how relieved I am. I feel like God put a billion dollars in my bank account, and nobody else cares.

Here’s how I see it. Anything that controls you is evil. Right or wrong?

I’ll probably get stoned for saying things like that. But at least now I’ll have a chance of outrunning them.

I Must Decrease

I just had my weekly McDonald’s breakfast. What DO they put in this stuff? I’m positive it contains crack. I feel magnificent. Like Popeye on a spinach bender.

I can’t get over the change I’ve experienced since the fast I did a couple of weeks back. I have better control in several areas of my life, and it’s not subtle, and it’s not imaginary. The other day, I went to my church for a meeting, and I was invited to a prayer group, and I had to kill some time, so I went to Krispy Kreme. Later I told my pastor, “I worked a miracle. I had ONE doughnut.” If you, like me, are fat, you understand what I mean. Fat is what happens when you can’t stop. Something (or someone) compels you to grab that next cookie or slice or McMuffin. Sometimes you win, but over the long haul, you lose often enough to grow extra chins and require a second “fat wardrobe.” I don’t have that problem any more. It’s gone.

I started working on my weight a few weeks back, and over a fairly long time, I lost about four pounds. I did not enjoy it all that much. Now I’m down ten, and I’ve quit dieting. I used to have a thing I called “fat day.” It meant I dieted all week and ate whatever I wanted on Saturday. I don’t do that any more, because I don’t have to. I behave well enough–every day–to allow me to give up gimmicks and mind tricks. The weight is coming off because I no longer have irresistible fat inclinations.

It’s not because fasting reduces the calories I take in. I do fast once in a while, but I promise you, I can easily overcome the calorie deficit if I try. In the past, I always stuffed myself on the day after a fast, so I probably came out ahead. Muslims complain that they gain weight during Ramadan, when they fast every day. The empty days are not what make the difference for me. I just don’t have the gluttony bug any more.

I used to celebrate Saturday with a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit, one or two McMuffins, three hash browns, and a large Coke. That’s enough energy to keep a small city going for a week. I told myself the third hash brown was for Maynard and Marvin, but I always got most of it. Today I had one biscuit, one McMuffin, one hash brown (minus bird donations), and a medium soda. And while I was ordering, I didn’t hear that familiar voice in the back of my head, screaming that I needed to order more food. I used to order large pizzas and eat them by myself. I don’t think I’d enjoy that today. Two or three slices…that, I could enjoy.

I think you can’t progress as a Christian if you set your heart on the things of this world and let them control you, and that includes food. The book of Proverbs says gluttony causes poverty. Did you know that? It’s not a good thing. It evidently carries a curse. That shouldn’t be a surprise, since it ruins your knees, your pancreas, your sleep, your looks, and your arteries. It costs you jobs, because people don’t like to hire fat applicants. It makes you less attractive, so you may have very limited choices when you marry. It can cause people to ostracize you socially. And it can even be expensive. Food and drink cost money, and so does insulin.

I love good food, but I have come to realize that I have to limit my involvement with it. To cook good food, you have to put in time. You have to spend many days preparing and trying dishes. It’s very tough to do that if you’re eating sensibly every day. Cooking will have to take a lower priority in my life.

Think about the calories you take in when you eat “normal” food. Two eggs, toast, butter, jelly, four strips of bacon…that’s enough food to get you through twelve hours, but you’re supposed to eat again in five. Add coffee with a little cream and sugar, and it’s around a thousand calories. A burger, fries, and a Coke…same thing. Then sit down to dinner and have a small steak, two vegetables, a roll, and a salad with dressing. By the time you’re done, it’s probably 4,500 calories. Fine, if you’re a lumberjack. Are you a lumberjack? I’m not.

I have to stay under about 2,200 calories per day, unless I’m working in the yard or something. That’s one decent meal, or three wimpy ones. No way around it. So I eat a crummy bowl of oatmeal for breakfast, I have something small for lunch, and then I have meat and two vegetables for dinner. That’s about all I can do. I can’t hang out in the kitchen every day, working on recipes for lasagne and paella. I can eat a little better on days following fasts, but I can’t be serious about cooking.

Anyway, I can’t believe God freed me from the fat curse. I’m like a week and a half away from wearing my “real clothes.” And I didn’t expect this; it wasn’t the goal I had in mind when I fasted. It must have been important to God.

If you want to see proof God does things for people, come see me eat a third of a pint of Haagen-Dazs. Fat people can’t eat a third of anything. They have to have it all.

This is the exciting thing about Christianity. We are a society of people with problems we can’t solve. We have diet books, relationship books, exercise books, addiction books…none of it works. We’re trying to fill a void only God can fill. The world is full of people who have testimonies about instant and permanent delivery from destructive habits and inclinations. You generally won’t get permanent solutions from Dr. Phil and Weight Watchers and AA (the secular version of AA, that is). You get temporary solutions that give you false hope. God has the real antidote.

We always assume Biblical references to salvation refer exclusively to our eventual trip to paradise, but I think that may be wrong. I think that’s just one aspect of salvation. I think deliverance from addiction or debt or anger or perversion is salvation. God rescues believers all the time. The rescue we get when we die is just one example. The last manifestation of a lifelong pattern. Why be satisfied with one part of the package, when you’re supposed to have the whole thing? Not perfect life, but victorious life. If it has been bought and paid for, why not make use of it?

I feel an urge to get out some jeans and see which pairs I can put on without making them explode. Maybe I should put on safety goggles to protect me from flying buttons.

More

I am wearing a pair of relatively thin jeans. I couldn’t resist the urge to try them on. They are on the tight side, but wearable.

This is just crazy.

And Then I’ll Stop

I believe today is the day to break down and buy a horizontal band saw. I have piles of metal and no way to cut it into usable pieces. I thought the dry cut saw was the answer, but I was sadly mistaken. It works great for small jobs, but big cuts dull the blade and take forever.

Looks like it’s time to drive to Northern Tool.

I could have gotten a nice used Jet cheaper, but at the time the ad was running, I had no way to bring it home.

I have to get the garage together. The whole length of my table saw top is covered in junk. During the time leading up to Yom Kippur, I am trying to repent of laziness and irresponsibility, so the garage mess has to be dealt with. Maybe I’ll set up the saw and attack the disorder.

The effects of the fast I did week before last are still with me. In addition to having more self-control, I’m down about nine pounds. And before you say it’s because there are days when I eat fewer calories, let me rain on your delusional campfire. I could fast three days a week and gain weight, because I would more than make up for it on the remaining days. If I go above two thousand calories a day, I gain weight. I can eat six thousand calories in a day without breaking a sweat. You don’t have to eat a tremendous amount of food to do it. Four pints of ice cream, for example. It’s very easy to put 2,000 calories into a meal. The reason I’m losing weight is that I eat less every day, and the reason for that is that I no longer feel the same way about food. This is no different from the testimonies of heroin addicts who have been freed instantly.

I hope I can get similar changes in other areas of my life.

Winn-Dixie Abandons Me

I just suffered a major catastrophe. This is really bad. I got an email saying my weekly Winn-Dixie ad was ready to view, and IT’S NOT UP. I was hoping to load up on cheap chickens and wings, but somehow Winn-Dixie has failed me.

Wings are the ultimate in cheap, excellent, low-carb food. Throw seasoning on them, bake for an hour at 425°, toss in a mixture of Frank’s and butter, and you’re done. I’m sure there are better recipes, but this one is so good and so easy, everyone should know it.

To make it work as a budget meal, you have to have cheap wings. I was counting on Winn-Dixie for that. I was going to buy a big package, break it into smaller lots, and freeze them in vacuum bags. Maybe the ad will pop up in a while, and my hopes will be revived.

What a fool I was, back in the years when wings were always cheap. Back when nobody wanted them. I knew they existed, but they sounded unappealing.

When I went to Columbia University (where classmate B. Hussein Obama was a total cipher), I used to go to a joint called the Chicken Gourmet. It was one of the many bizarre inexpensive restaurants in the area which were run by Greeks. I always went for a burger known as the Super Cheese. The sign advertised Buffalo wings, but I had no idea what they were, so I never tried them. I’ll bet I didn’t have wings until 1989. Sad.

Okay, down to business. I have accepted the fact that my blog has turned into a prayer resource for sick people. I have some items.

Reader Aelfheld, who helps hurricane-magnet Ward Brewer maintain his blog (which I can’t find today), has this to say:

I almost hate to do this, but a friend’s friend by the name of Ben has been diagnosed with stomach cancer at the ripe old age of 28. He’s been through one surgery, but he’s lost a good bit of weight and the doctors put in a feeding tube to try and stimulate his intake and digestion. He still has chemo- and radiation therapy to look forward to. I’m told he’s confident and upbeat, but certainly additional prayers can help.

Imagine. He’s 28.

Yesterday I mentioned Heather’s mom. Here is today’s news:

First off a great big thank you and God Bless to all of you who are praying for my mom.
Mere words can never express the gratitude that I feel for lifting us up in prayer. If I could see you all, I would give you a big hug.
They had to stop and shock her heart like this when she had her open heart surgery. Her heart just gets all out of rhythm and that is the only way it can be brought back to normal.
I have to tell you this, her heart rate was in the 100s when the dr. sent us to the hospital. You could see her jugular vein, jumping in her neck. I think it scared her doctor as badly as it scared me. The funny thing was though, today she felt better than she had since she had be released from the hospital on the 26th.
So right before I left the hospital tonight they came in to do her 8P blood-draw, BP, and temp, and her heart rate had come down to 90’s and that’s with no new meds either! So I know that prayers are working! Just keep them coming.
God is so good!
Thank you and God Bless!

My buddy Mike is going through some difficult times. I can’t give details, but it’s family stuff, not disease or financial problems. He is on my list today, and I hope he’ll be on yours.

I told him about the powerful results fasting had produced in my life. Maybe it will help him. I’m still losing weight, and I still have increased self-control and peace.

As for me and my family, we are trying to get things arranged so the cancer treatment goes smoothly. I am going to have to take a hand in managing appointments and getting information from doctors, and there are sensitive financial arrangements that have to be made, and this may be a hard couple of days, so any help would be very welcome. In particular, my dad will be under a lot of stress.

I am very grateful to see that my early mornings are working again. For a while, I couldn’t seem to get up earlier than 7:00, no matter what I did. Rising wasn’t the problem. Things kept coming up to prevent me from getting to bed early. Over the last week, that problem has gone away, so I’ve been doing much better. I’m convinced that getting up as early as possible is a very important part of a successful Christian life. I want to make sure my enemies start the day walking on their heels, and like I’ve said before, almost nothing worthwhile happens after 9 p.m. If Jay Leno means more to you than peace and prosperity, you are hopeless.

Wait…Jay Leno retired, right? I forgot.

This couldn’t have happened at a better time. Tomorrow is a chemotherapy day, and my sister will also have lab work, so she needs to be at the hospital at around 8:00, and we don’t know whether she’ll feel like driving home, so she’ll need a ride. She may also start radiation. It’s not clear. She isn’t researching this stuff the way I am. I’ve seen a lot of ominous information about radiation side effects. Chemo has been almost painless, but radiation causes fatigue as well as eating problems, and when they irradiate your head, all sorts of things can happen. So I’m trying to see to it that we’re ready. Because I’m already getting up early, morning rides to the hospital will be no problem.

I don’t tell my sister the negative things I’ve read about her condition, unless she insists or there is an important reason to tell her. She doesn’t know much about her own cancer, and she doesn’t want to. I suppose she has a right to decide how much bad news she wants to hear. And the news is so bad, I’m not eager to tell her.

Sometimes I feel tempted to tell her she has to get on the ball regarding some issue or other because x or y is in her future, and she needs to be ready for it. But I avoid dropping big bombs.

I’m getting back to work on my pastor’s book now. Thanks for everything.

Catch a Gamefish, not a Bottom-Feeder

I can’t believe I’m finally writing something that will be useful to God. For a long time, I’ve wished I had some way to put my writing ability to good use, but I came up dry. The main issue is that I’m not qualified to write Christian books on my own. I am not a Bible scholar or a pastor. I suppose I could write something if I had someone with more authority guiding me, but I would have to stay away from anything tending to make me look more knowledgeable than I really am. By helping an experienced pastor with a book, I can bypass the problems. The ideas are his, and he has the final word, so it’s not too likely that the world will end up reading something stupid which I inserted through ignorance.

I wish I had gotten this involved long ago. Christian life is much easier when you know you aren’t alone, and it’s also easier when you’re doing something that gives you purpose.

Yesterday while I was working on the book, I kept seeing one indication after another that God aimed this project at me. I’m not just writing it down. I’m learning from what it says, and it’s exactly what I need. It’s always startling when he confirms himself, which is strange, because it happens so often, you would think I’d get used to it.

The book is about planning a family, and the section I’ve worked on so far is about finding a spouse. Guess what he compares a quality spouse to? A dolphin. The green fish my father and I catch off Miami all the time. He compared unsuitable spouses to catfish. You can catch them anywhere, and the bait doesn’t matter. If you want a dolphin, you have to search and be persistent, and you have to go where they school. When I read that, I remembered what Aaron always tells me. “Fish in stocked ponds.” Coincidence, right? Tell yourself that if it makes you happy.

I had no idea the pastor liked to catch dolphin. What’s my dad’s favorite thing to do? Dolphin fishing. My dad, the guy I pray for all the time, hoping God will get through to him. I emailed the pastor and told him he needed to fish with us. Later I told my dad. He said, “I’m afraid he’ll get the Holy Ghost on me.”

He was joking, but it just might happen.

The book contains a lot of solid advice no one ever spelled out for me before. For example, you have to look at a potential mate’s family and ask yourself if you want your kids to be around them. The example he gave was a father-in-law who gets drunk at seven a.m. and spends the day cursing at everyone. Conventional wisdom tells us you marry the person, and that love conquers all. In reality, you marry the family.

He also said you should not demand fireworks up front. This is another thing Aaron likes to talk about. The Orthodox have their kids meet each other and get to know each other, but they don’t have the kind of long, meandering engagements the rest of us have. There’s no sex, and maybe sometimes the chemistry is not obvious at first, but they expect to grow to love each other. That’s virtually the same take you’ll see in the book. And doesn’t Ecclesiastes say the end of a thing is better than the beginning? That’s a universal principle.

He used Samson as an example of what happens when you date or marry outside your faith. Again, this is something society tells us is romantic and sort of noble, but in reality, it’s a recipe for misery.

He called Delilah a catfish. She was a Philistine, from the same area that gives the Jews so many problems today.

Socially, the church is not right for me and my sister. At least, it seems that way at the moment. I would guess that the church is about 75% black, and a lot of them are from the islands, and a big percentage of the congregation is made up of single mothers. It makes for a tough financial picture. And it’s not the kind of place where everyone will look like me or have a lot in common with me. But I don’t see the problem. It’s working. The closer I get to it, the better things seem to work. Maybe now I can get more involved and find ways to do more to help.

I haven’t heard anything back about the truck I made an offer on. If I get a suitable vehicle, I can help the church with guest speakers and so on.

In other news, the benefits of fasting seem to be lasting. Maybe this is the key to self-control. Maybe if you fast AND combine it with directed prayer, it cleans you up. All I know is, I’ve lost a belt notch, and another one is about to go. And I don’t feel deprived at all. And I feel more relaxed and less irritable, and I seem to have more control in all areas.

I’m the only one losing weight, fortunately. On Sunday, I made cornbread and soup beans for my sister, and yesterday I made her take a loaf of homemade bread home. Radiation is on the way, and so is most of the chemo, so she needs to eat everything she can find. I don’t know if she’s taking it seriously enough, but luckily, this is an area where I have a special gift.

After lunch I’ll be working on the book again. I can’t wait to get to it.

If you haven’t come up with a project for the Forty Days of Teshuvah, there is still time. Get to it.

Your Ears Have to be Exactly the Right Shape

Church was exceptionally good today. I can’t tell you all the reasons, but it went very well, from the time I left home until I left the building after the service.

My sister and I went up to talk to the pastor after the sermon. I wanted to let him know how my work on his book was going, and I guess she just wanted to say hi. I told him I only had 3,000 words transcribed, but he seemed very happy with my progress. I asked him to let me know if I could do anything else for him, and he said, “Cornbread!”

I gave him the URL of my blog last week, and evidently, he has read the blog and also watched my Youtube videos, and one of them is about cornbread. He has ruined my plan, which was to concoct a totally phony personality and convince him I was not only normal, but extraordinarily holy. Now I guess the truth is out, so I may as well relax and be the slouch that I am, in church as well as around the house.

The other obvious problem is that he and his wife may ask me to cook stuff for them, which means they’ll be lucky to last a year without buying motorized fat carts and having multiple bypasses. It has been 20 years since I’ve had a regular pastor. I don’t want to kill this one before I can learn anything from him. He says he has diabetes, so I guess I’m the last person on earth he needed to meet.

I took a bunch of brownies to the church on July 4, for some kind of outdoor thing they were doing, but I didn’t hear back about them. I assume they were spirited away by the first five or six people who got into them, so in all likelihood, no one else at the church realizes they existed. Maybe that’s for the best. At 540 calories each, they represent the worst kind of temptation.

The sermon was almost spooky; it was as if it had been written with my family in mind. A cynic would say that was because I met with the pastor last week, so he knew what to say. But some of the parts of the sermon that seemed most apt had nothing to do with anything we discussed. The basic theme was that you need to get the little private sins out of your life before they become public problems. When you try to lead a Christian life in spite of things you haven’t fixed, it’s like letting a scab grow over an infected sore. Sooner or later, it’s going to open up, and all that filth will spill out onto the surface.

I think when Jesus talked about binding the strong man and spoiling his house, he meant that you have to fast and pray and get the spiritual bad influences out of your life, and then the Holy Spirit will grow in their place. So that fits in with the sermon. You can put on a smiley face and pretend your days as a sinner are behind you, but I think some bad habits come from the urgings of malicious spirits, and you have to do something to render them harmless. Otherwise, you’re using human tools to fight powerful spirit-generated urges, and the urges will eventually win. This is probably why we occasionally see famous preachers on the covers of the tabloids, over the word “SCANDAL.”

Sometimes the pastor mentions things God has let him know. I have to wonder what that’s like. I get all sorts of urges which, in my opinion, come from God. I get insights, and sometimes I suddenly realize I’m doing something wrong. But I can’t say for sure that God tells me anything factual, the way some people say he tells them things. Many Christians cite examples of this phenomenon. I’ve seen plenty of weird things that I know were supernatural, but God never says a word to me. Not that I can hear, anyway.

He hasn’t mentioned the Forty Days of Teshuvah, but he talked about Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur today, in a way that expressed the same ideas. This is the time of year when you reflect, repent, and pray. You try to figure out how you’re screwing up, and you try to fix it. I didn’t feel too concerned about myself during the sermon, probably because I was already caught up in changing myself. I’m always leery of concluding a message isn’t aimed at me, but I think sometimes it’s okay. You can’t be wrong about everything all the time.

He asked us to raise our hands if we had ever committed sins after justifying them by saying we were only hurting ourselves. I didn’t raise my hand. It wasn’t because I was stronger than those people. It was because I generally haven’t bothered to worry about whether I was hurting anyone else. Maybe the people who raised their hands are better off than I am.

After fasting last week, I seemed to have more self-control in my life, and it appears to be a lasting thing. I’m still tempted, but now the self-control is just a little stronger than the desire to give in. That little edge makes all the difference. You don’t have to be nearly perfect to behave. After all, Obama won by only 7 percentage points, and that, unfortunately, was enough to make him the President. This is why we call him “The Iwon.”

For the last few weeks, I’ve had a persistent feeling–I would call it a conviction–that God was about to do something wonderful in my life. I keep wondering what it is. Is it the increase in self-control? That would be plenty, all by itself. Is it the new relationship with my church, which will let me do worthwhile things with my time? Does it have anything to do with helping my pastor write a book? I’ve started hearing really promising new songs in my head. I want to write those down this week. Could they be part of it? I’ve always had a problem with music running around in my head, yet I had a hard time composing original songs. Writing is extremely easy for me, but lyrics were even harder than tunes. Now that seems to be changing.

I have not made cornbread for the pastor, but I’ll be making it for my sister today. She decided she wanted soup beans and cornbread, so the soup beans are simmering, and if she ever gets over here, I’ll get out the skillet and make the cornbread. I don’t want any. She needs fattening food because of the cancer. I used some of my SHTF dried beans. You have to rotate them, because beans only keep for a year, and this seemed like a good opportunity. The beans and cornbread are going to be amazing, but I just don’t have the urge to stuff myself, so I plan to send the whole mess home with her.

I made an offer on a white Ford F150. I’m not doing any business today, so even though I know the dealer replied to my email, I’m not checking it until tomorrow. I hope he’s willing to be reasonable. The recession isn’t going away, and this is a year-old truck. I don’t mind giving him a fair price, but in this atmosphere, covering his cost plus five hundred bucks is very generous. That’s what I plan to give him. I am a sucker for giving that much.

It’s nice being old and patient. If I were in my twenties, I’d be tormented by the urge to make the deal and get it over with. As it is, I don’t care if it takes six months. Judging by the new unemployment figures, it’s completely possible that this truck will still be unsold at that time.

Christianity actually works, if you do it right. Your life won’t necessarily be perfect, but it will be right. If you’re thinking about giving it a shot, I highly recommend it.

Plus Truck Stuff

I am in paradise. I decided I had to have some chili, so I got out my book and made a pot. I had some Jamaican hot chocolate peppers in the freezer, and I thawed out a bag, chopped up some of it, and threw it in. I guess I used so much, it would have added up to more than one pepper. And these things are HOT! Worse than your usual habanero. Very nice.

I didn’t use store chili powder. I mixed paprika and cumin, and I toasted them in a hot pan. Then I added ground chipotles. Beautiful.

I guess when people see tequila in the recipe, they think it’s a gimmick, but you can taste it. I used mezcal. Seems to have more flavor. The only reason I own this stuff is to put it in chili. I remember what tequila and mezcal headaches are like. You wake up, you feel great for one hour, and then you die.

It’s wonderful to make chili just for myself, because when I cook it for other people, I can’t put any heat in it. I’ve gotten so I don’t enjoy it unless it’s roasting hot. A while back, I went to a restaurant, and when the waiter asked how spicy to make the food, I told him, “Try to kill me.”

I think the cheddar cheese I dissolve in the chili (today it was actually Double Gloucester) allows me to use more heat, because butterfat tones down the pain. I served the chili decorated with a handful of cheese chunks (in addition to the dissolved cheese) plus two or three tablespoons of sour cream.

I seem to enjoy food more these days, maybe because I have more self-control and I’m not stuffing myself all the time. I only had one bowl of chili, and I followed it with half a pint of ice cream. I could never have eaten half a pint of ice cream a year ago. Two pints? No problem. Half a pint was impossible.

I’m getting good comments on the truck question. Someone suggested the truck with the max tow package had a Dana rear end. I’m pretty sure the last time I encountered the phrase “Dana rear end,” Jimmy Carter was President. Both trucks have 3.73 gears and limited slip. The FX4 (non-max-tow) has some kind of electronic limited slip. I can’t tell you who makes any of this stuff.

Someone mentioned bigger trucks, like the F250. I don’t plan to tour the country with a travel trailer. I don’t think a big pickup is necessary. If I get an F150 the way I like it, I’ll be able to put over a ton in the bed, and I’ll be able to tow things like motorcycle trailers. That ought to be sufficient. I’ve read about the big trucks, and they sound crude, not to mention expensive and hard on gas.

It’s not so much that I want F250 capabilities. I just don’t want to find out I didn’t get the most I could in an F150. And there are big differences.

Right now, you can get a thousand dollars off if you finance. But I hate debt. I think going into debt unnecessarily is opening the door to problems. It’s a chink in your spiritual armor. On top of that, Aaron has informed me that the Talmud says you shouldn’t price-shop when you don’t intend to buy. Orthodox Jews consider it immoral. If I were to finance, it would only be to get the discount, and I’d pay the loan off as early as possible. It seems like the same basic idea as shopping with no intention to buy. Ford gives you money back. People do paperwork. A company anticipates profiting from the deal. Then you turn around and prove it was all a scam. I know nobody would be crying himself to sleep afterward. But deceit is deceit, regardless of whether the victim is a person or a company or a government.

I think I’ll make an offer on the white Lariat I found. I have to thank Obama. If he hadn’t meddled with the economy and sided against Israel whenever possible, I think we’d be on our way out of the recession now, and these wonderful rebates wouldn’t be available.

Latest Luxury

My new Bible arrived today. I will not even try to guess how excited this makes you.

I already had three Bibles. One is my mother’s old Bible. It’s a nice but well-worn leatherbound King James. This is the one I take to church. I used to wonder why Bibles were bound in soft leather covers, but now I realize they make a big difference in a book you have to carry around. I don’t want to keep carrying this one. It has no thumb indices, it’s not an easy version to read, it doesn’t have much added material, and it came from Kenneth Copeland Ministries, which is a little creepy. I also have The Complete Jewish Bible in blue leather. It’s excellent, because it was translated by Orthodox Jews (or Orthodox ex-Jews, if Aaron objects), and there are some things Gentiles just don’t translate correctly. But it has no columns, the print is tiny, and there are virtually no annotations, so it’s a pain to use. The third book is The Spirit-Filled Life Bible, in hardcover. I really like this one. The people who compiled it are pretty close to my view of things, and it’s full of historical information, annotations, references, and spiritual guidance. But I don’t want to carry a hard book to church.

The answer? The Spirit-Filled Life Bible, in burgundy leather, with thumb indices. I even had my initials put on it. Why not? It’s the New King James Version. I like this better than versions like the NIV, because (this is what I have been led to believe) it isn’t corrupted by political or secular considerations. In other words, God isn’t a lesbian, wives are supposed to submit to their husbands, there is no First Epistle of Al Gore, and so on and so on.

The thumb things are great, because some speakers just don’t take the time to let you find a book. And I won’t even pretend I know the order of the books in the New Testament. Let’s see. Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, Acts, Romans…Revelation. I know Peter and Jude are pretty far back. That’s about all I can tell you.

The Jews put the Psalms in the wrong place. I said that just to be annoying, and I’ll bet it worked. In The Complete Jewish Bible, the Old Testament is arranged according to Jewish tradition (what a crazy idea), so the Psalms are near the end, and everything is moved around. On top of that, the books have their original names, which I can never seem to memorize. They can’t mess with the New Testament, though. The books are where they’re supposed to be. Although they renamed Hebrews.

Now I have two Spirit-Filled Life Bibles. Maybe I should give the hard one away.

I met with my pastor yesterday. I thought it went very well, although the start was a little rough. The church is a fairly confused place right now, and I apparently threw the whole joint into a panic by calling and asking about counseling. It was an innocent mistake on my part. When I joined, some of the materials listed a phone number for counseling, and my family is under stress, and I always tell other people to go to their churches for counseling, so I decided to try a dose of my own medicine. But this church is full of poor people, and evidently, when you say “counseling” to the staff, they think of rehab and foreclosure prevention and emergency housing and so on. They think of referring desperate people to county agencies. They don’t think of financially comfortable middle-aged white guys who under pressure because their sisters have cancer.

Anyway, after the fuss died down, my pastor made an appointment with me, and I went in for an hour. I took some Orinoco bananas, various hot peppers, key limes, and Persian limes. That made me happy. I think it’s a good idea to share anything you harvest with your church.

I found out there are some things I can do for the church, which was a big relief. I keep showing up, giving my offerings, and going home, and that’s not really what church should be like. You should try to do something beyond that. I helped build my last church. I worked in the music ministry. I drew a cartoon for the Sunday school program. I painted their sign. If you don’t do things like that, you remain a guest forever.

I already have a writing assignment, so I’m working on that. And they may need help with things like picking up guest speakers at the airport. The Thunderbird may not be the ideal vehicle for this, but I suppose occasionally they get someone whose luggage is small.

The church is in a huge commercial building with a lot of tenants on the upper floors. The bottom floor is full of gigantic empty spaces that are being turned into various types of facilities. All sorts of stuff for kids. He took me around and showed me what they’re doing. By the end of the year, it ought to be pretty impressive. But it would be a big help if they had more members who were not struggling financially.

From our conversation, I gathered that Miami is a tough nut for a church to crack. I think just about anyone could have told him that before he moved here, but I suppose that’s what makes Miami a good place for a preacher to go. We have voodoo, Santeria, spiritism, whatever nonsense the Brazilians worship, plus godless materialism and every type of perversion imaginable. And the racial prejudice is pretty bad. Cubans don’t mix all that well with blacks or other Hispanics, and apparently most black groups don’t get along with Haitians. Now that I think about it, ordinary white people probably have fewer problems than any other group. All the other groups hate each other too much to bother hating us. About the worst thing that happens to us is that we go to stores and can’t get the Cuban price on anything. And we’re not supposed to know that.

I got some good advice regarding my own troubles, which are not that bad to begin with. My sister’s illness dwarfs anything that might be bothering me.

I don’t know what’s up ahead. I maintain faith for her healing, but I think we are kidding ourselves about what the treatment will be like. The chemotherapy has been virtually problem-free, but radiation is on the way, and it has its own side effects, and we haven’t thought much about the wild cards. By that I mean the problems which doctors expect and lay people don’t. The chemo and radiation have high monetary costs, and we know those, and we would like to think that’s what the cancer will cost. That makes us reluctant to inquire about other issues. But cancer patients get things like thrush and pneumonia. All sorts of things we can’t foresee, even after three cancer deaths in the family. And the swine flu is here, and there is no vaccine.

Stay away from cigarettes and smokeless tobacco. Have I said that before? Sounds familiar. And if you don’t care enough about yourself to quit, care enough about your family to get insurance or save a lot of money. Live or die, your ordeal will be very expensive. And when you get sick, they’ll pay, no matter what they have to do.

I’m still using fasting to attack my family’s difficulties. It seems to change me. Since I had that breakthrough last week, I haven’t felt the same way about food, and I’ve lost two pounds. It’s not the fasting itself that made the weight drop off. It’s the way I act when I’m not fasting. I am able to control myself, even on Saturdays, when I used to gorge. I want to find out what else fasting can do for me, even though I hate doing it. I am afraid to believe it, but God may have put an end to my weight problems. That would be fantastic. I want to have one wardrobe, low blood pressure, healthy knees, snore-free sleep, and no risk of diabetes. I’m not a giant mountain of lard, but I want to drop 25 pounds and keep it off.

I think fasting was ineffective in the past because I didn’t pray much when I fasted. I felt so miserable, I just laid around suffering, waiting for the day to end. I knew that wasn’t the way to do it, but I felt horrible, and I didn’t have enough character to overcome it. If you have a problem like smoking or drinking or drugs, you might give fasting a try.

I thought this time of my life was a lull, because I wasn’t writing a book. But I’m helping my sister and looking after my business affairs, and now I have some things to do for the church, so I guess I won’t be idle. I’m very glad. That was something that concerned me.

Try not eating for a day or two. Maybe you’ll get the same kind of results I did.

Eat This at Your Tacky IKEA Table

I just read the story about Ben & Jerry’s renaming one of their flavors “Hubby Hubby,” in support of gay marriage.

This is bad, but then I already knew these people were nuts. I remember when Ben drove around the country with a very non-green propane-powered parade float behind his gas-guzzling truck, depicting a giant pair of pants. The idea was that these were George Bush’s pants and that they were on fire. Witty. I still can’t think of any lies that were pinned to George Bush. The yellowcake thing turned out to be true, and if he was wrong about WMD, it was a mistake, not a lie. Kind of impressive, if you think about it. Anyway, it looks like I’m going to have to cut Ben & Jerry’s completely out of my diet. No more Cherry Garcia. No more Heath Bar Crunch. Sad. Not that I needed it.

This was a bad move, regardless of morality. I think it’s fair to say that most straight men don’t want the image of gay snugglebunnies in their minds when they’re trying to eat.

Haagen-Dazs is better, anyway. Ben & Jerry’s is full of chemicals, or at least it was the last time I checked. Read the label.

I wish the local pizzerias and Chinese restaurants would come out in favor of gay marriage. I’d drop thirty pounds.

I Hope

I live for Saturday. Or at least I used to. I watched my calories all week, and then on Saturday, I let it all hang out. And I always started with a big greasy McDonald’s breakfast. It was a major event in my week. When I went to bed on Friday nights, I would lie there and think about breakfast.

This week I fasted, and when it was over with, I just didn’t seem to be as interested in food as I had been before. I tried to celebrate the end of the fast by stuffing myself, but I couldn’t finish the junk I got for myself. Yesterday, it continued. I didn’t get particularly hungry, and I didn’t feel shaky or weak or crabby. Last night I felt as if the trend would continue in the morning. I wondered if that could be true.

Today I got up and found I had no interest in McDonald’s. Instead I decided to take my dad to breakfast, and I had a nova platter. Not asceticism by any means, but very modest compared to McMuffins, oily biscuits, and deep-fried potatoes. Not to mention the large Coke I did not drink. I just used the McDonald’s website to calculate the calorie total of my usual meal, and it’s about 1600.

I’m not sure that I feel quite as relaxed as I did over the last couple of days. If I’ve lost anything, I want to get it back. I am willing to fast again. I am almost eager to do it. That’s amazing. It’s like looking forward to a root canal.

Skinny people claim fat people have no discipline, but that’s deceptive, because skinny people have no discipline, either, and they’re still skinny. Fat people are different. Something drives us. After a fat person has had more than enough, something still makes him crave one more biscuit. One more slice of pizza.

Are there spirits that cause it? Could be. They exist, and they do affect our behavior. Whatever the explanation is, I feel a lot better than I did a week ago. This is one of those blessings you hesitate to believe in, because it’s so big, it would be terrible to see it turn out to be a mirage. I would love knowing I would never have to have two sets of clothes. There are so many annoying things about being overweight, even if you’re not obese. Thin people can’t understand. It would be fantastic if I could forget about dieting for the rest of my life. I would love knowing I would never have to face the discouragement of relapse ever again. And the health benefits would be welcome. I don’t want to end up on blood pressure pills or insulin. I want my back to be strong and pain-free, and I don’t want plastic knees. I want to know that fat won’t slowly destroy my brain by cutting off my air as I sleep.

We’ll see how it goes. I hope I end up with a testimony that can help other people with their failings.