Just in case you think I'm perfect...

HA!

So, you know how yesterday, I walked by the table of cookies and cake and brownies, and didn't eat one? (I mean, truly, in days past, I might've eaten a piece of cake, a brownie, and some cookies. Like. Seriously.) And then I came home and blogged about it?

Well...I skirted the boundary of the Middle Ground this evening. I ate half a brownie and one little scoop of ice cream. I love brownies. And I love ice cream. And therein lies the problem...well, that, and the diabetes, of course.

These things - these goodies - are such comforting foods for me. They tasted so. damn. good. tonight. I savored them, which is actually a good thing, because how many times have I scarfed down four times the amount without even tasting it?

I realized tonight that my discomfort in eating this treat tonight was two-fold:

First, I have to give myself some grace - some room - some ability to skirt the edge of the Middle Ground from time to time. And giving myself that grace really frightens me, because what if I can't stop? What if all the self control I've developed comes crumbling down around me, and I slip into my old ways of eating? Fear. It's a real bitch.

Second, I realized tonight that I've been using some of these foods for comfort. Without them, these last couple of months, it's been like I've been naked - except I haven't really realized I felt naked without them, until now.

If you don't understand what I mean by this second point, then think about something that gives you great comfort - something you do or eat or drink or experience almost every day - some part of your routine. Then, imagine that Thing not being there anymore. Imagine moving through your work day, your home life, your time with friends, etc. etc. without whatever It may be...and then you'll get the naked feeling. It's hard to have these blankets ripped away.

I said in an earlier post that I used to settle down in the evening by eating a big bowl of ice cream. While half a brownie and a small scoop of ice cream is not the same thing, it still felt indulgent. It felt comforting. It felt like a return to the Old Me...which, ironically enough, felt discomforting.

The other piece of this is a piece of good news: I checked my sugar before diving in to the brownie and ice cream. I made a deal with myself that whether or not I ate any dessert would depend totally on what the number was. If it was low enough, I'd have a little. It was, so I did.

But, just in case you think I'm perfect - OHMYGOSH I AM NOT. I'm still struggling through all this - and part of the struggle for me lies where it has for so long been - in my head, in my heart, getting myself sorted out inwardly so I'm not beating myself up or letting myself slide.

Like I said yesterday, it's claiming the Middle Ground.

Tiny. Colorful. Quietly present.

The eggs on May 5th...

These photos have nothing whatsoever to do with diabetes. I could make them fit somehow if I tried, but - let's face it - I've got a Pentecost sermon percolating for Sunday, so let's just be content with the following, shall we...?

A couple of weeks ago, I noticed a finch hanging out more at one of our hanging plants on our back porch. I've seen this before, and, sure enough, I found this beautiful nest nestled in one of the dianthus plants. Mama Finch has been so very attentive. The eggs were beautiful. Tiny. Colorful. Quietly present.

I've been carefully checking on their status ever since, all while Mama Finch sat on a nearby fence and fretted. 

Today, I went out quickly to check and was startled to find:

Finches hatching on May 16th!

I say I was startled, but mostly I was overwhelmed with the joy of such a sight. As beautiful as those eggs were, these little fuzzy creatures are more beautiful (in a fuzzy, scrawny creature kind of way). Soon, there will be great twittering and squeaking. Soon, there will be feedings and lots of fluttering about. Soon, there will be another empty nest in our nearly-dead hanging plant (we have another empty nest in a nearby plant). 

And, to me, it's all just...

Incredible.

"Be gentle with yourself..."

That's what a friend told me recently - to be gentle with myself. He said this after I had told him about my particularly difficult week - a draining week, one that zapped me almost completely. "Be gentle with yourself," said this friend, who knows me well enough to know that I am (like many), my own harshest critic.

So, here's a problem: it's harder for me to be gentle with myself when it feels like life is beating the crap out of me. When there's anxiety around almost every corner - in so many worried eyes and concerned hearts.

But, here's some good news: I have wonderful friends. I mean, wonderful. This friend's beautiful words of encouragement came as I was packing to travel to visit some of my wonderful friends over my days off. On a whim. Just...because. Because I needed to be wrapped up in the particular love of these particular friends, and let them enfold me. And enfold me they did.

I felt my energy returning on my drive to their house. I blared Bach and Beethoven and Sting and conducted or sang the whole trip. I only cussed at the other drivers a little bit. I felt like I did the summer that I was seventeen, in my Granny's Buick, on my first solo road trip - free, free, free.

I arrived into the arms of my friends, welcomed by plans of dinner and conversation. Welcomed by a lack of agenda the next morning. Welcomed by both their gentleness and their laughter. And I remembered again how to be gentle with myself.

Sometimes being gentle with ourselves is so. very. hard. But if it's one thing I've learned, it's that when I am gentle with myself, I'm somehow more gentle with others, too. And I really do think that more gentleness in the world is a pretty good thing.

So, thank you, friends, for loving me back into gentleness.