Monday, September 8, 2008

Stretched


My wife has a secret.

I, of course, felt that the best way to honor that secret was to turn it into blog fodder and put it on the internet. 

Actually, I cleared this “outing” with her first.  The deal was that I had to share something equally embarrassing.  I really wanted to write this particular blog and so I bit that worm, hook and all.  And so here I am, thrashing at the end of a proverbial fishing line, wishing that I hadn’t agreed to do that.

But here it goes.

OK, first a prologue (or “prolong” if I’m honest)

Spring Hill, Tennessee, where I live, was rated the third skinniest city in America. 

I know! 

I didn’t believe it either, what with the cheese grits and sausage gravy and all.  But it’s true. 

There are several reasons for this. 

Part of it is because the average age here is 32 and people in that age bracket tend to be more heath conscious.  The other part is that most of those thirty-two year-olds are parents of little kids who DRASTICALLY skew the body mass index report for the city.  My son Brehm might actually have a BMI in the negative numbers and thus, statistically speaking, suck fat off of other people like a cellulite mosquito. 

Why am I sharing this? 

Because I want to put my past, current and future comments about my weight in context.  I’ve been very honest about my recent dealings with my weight and diet.  I know that I’m not “husky” and have already lost twenty-five pounds, but I live in a city that has been recognized for its skinniness.  I might as well live on the cover of Cosmo or Men’s Health. That would give anybody a slight case of body dysmorphia just by shear osmosis. 

Well…that and the stretch marks. 

OK.  There’s my “equally embarrassing” tidbit. 

During the last several years I had an ongoing affair with my mistress Krispy Kreme as well as several other culinary trysts.  For you deprived Northerners who may not know the lure of Krispy Kreme: imagine Dunkin Donuts with twice the fat and sugar, and served fresh, hot out of the oil.  The store even has a sign that says “Hot Now” that glows illicitly from the window.  Anyway, I had expanded enough to get some stretch marks around the "love handle" region.

So regardless of what my environment may have contributed to my recent focus on personal fitness, I have scars on my skin to prove that I needed to do something. 

So why is that equally embarrassing? 

Because, my wife’s secret is that she has stretch marks too.

Hers came courtesy of her last pregnancy not from secret rendezvous with Ben and Jerry. 

I think hers are cool. 

This is probably because I’m a man and I view her stretch marks the way I would view a battle scar.  If you see a guy with a big scar on his face, for example, you know he’s got a story. 

And it’s gonna be a good one.  Knife fight or shark attack.  Not something like “knitting mishap”. 

Though that might be a cool story too, now that I think of it. 

The point is that, as a man, when I see “scar” I see “story”. 

So that is how I view my wife’s stretch marks.  They’re cool because I know the story they tell.  They tell the story of three beautiful kids and her cute basketball belly, and gestational diabetes and labor.

They’re a sign of a journey. 

So are mine. 

Mine may be self-inflicted reminders of my personal demons but they still show where I’ve been.  And for both of us, they’re proof that we’ve been stretched more than we (or our skin) thought we could be. 

God has had a funny way of doing that in my spiritual life too. 

He’s never been afraid of stretching me more than I thought I could take.  But like Laura’s stretch mark story, God’s stretching is always the result of new life growing on the inside. It’s always hard, always scary, and it always leaves a mark.  It’s the kind of mark that will remind us of what God has done and how far He’s brought us.  Quite literally, as the guest preacher at Osterville Baptist Church shared a few weeks ago, when we’re stretched beyond what we can take, when we come to the end of ourselves, that’s where we’ll find God.  And those are stretch marks I want. 

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

Don't worry Laura - I'm right there with you! I wear my stretch marks with pride when I look at what God has done in my girls! But lately I have stretch marks that are invisible as God has been working in me, i.e. piano playing, starting a prayer group, etc. Thanks again Adam for comically reminding me of God's working!

Pilgrim feet said...

Okay....Guys and stretch marks. Now even you are going into new territory. I thought that stretch marks were off limits to mentions, as guys.

I also suppose the weight loss also means no more kugel for you. Although, somehow, I do picture you depriving yourself of food for a week for this dish they call kugel. Am I right? Well, I'm still waiting. Maybe I'll drop 25lbs. too. I probably could use it.