Looking back, it was a year of loss, twenty pounds lost. Hadn’t made a New Year’s resolution to “lose weight” in 2019, since lost weight always found me before I could celebrate with a small hot fudge sundae.
My goals, resolutions and lists tend to need constant revisions. Well into March and “doing” Lent, I remained clueless on what to give up, give to or focus on until lunching with Shirley.
Over hearty lunches, not nibbling on bowls of naked kale, Shirley dropped the”W” word (Weight Watchers)and her affection for the program. I thought, “She looks great and eats real food,”then tucked it away for another time. That’s one of the problems with Lent, stillness untucks stuff. Over the following days, I sensed God whispering.
In early April, I looked up the nearest Weight Watcher’s program. Behold, one happened just down the road every Tuesday. Before I could find an excuse, I hauled myself to the 10:00 meeting, signed up, weighed-in and took my seat among losers and hope-ers.
It’s become a spiritual discipline wrapped in a prescribed program. Each week, when I’m in town, I look forward to checking my progress, learning and finding encouragement among a group who’ve experienced life’s ups and downs.
One day, a new member questioned how many grapes she could eat without crossing the line into too much. The woman next to me leaned over and said, “Face it honey, none of us got here because we overdosed on grapes.”
Then again, that may be a part of why I showed up at Weight Watchers. All those Sundays, drinking the wine of the Eucharist, embracing the seasons of Advent and Lent left me tender towards a holy nudge that said, “do this in remembrance of Me.”
So I did.
And do, for Christ’s sake and mine.
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