Gluttony and self love.

It’s my first day of vacation. Part of me feels like I should apologize for writing this after drinking a margarita and eating grouper by the pool. But, I needed this. And not just the vacation… or the sun and warmth and beach and waves (Florida girl in Ohio probs) but quiet with God. I decided this vacation would not be in vain. I wouldn’t just consume the days and blink and be back in the snow. I would chase slow. I would be quiet. I would rest my soul.
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It’s only day one, but I pulled my extroverted self away from family hangs at the pool and walked to the water. I got my butt sandy and I just sat there. Going to be real honest… It’s a lot easier to be grateful to God on Captiva Island than in Pickerington, Ohio. So I sat. I listened. I prayed. I walked back to the pool and couldn’t wipe the cheesy grin from my face. I was doing it. I was connecting back with God and it tasted better than a poolside meal.
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It’s 1:39 in the afternoon and my people are conked out in the hotel room. That’s not the kind of rest I’m after though. So I sneak to the beach again. It hits me.
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I’m acting like glutton for God right now.

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I have been searching for sermons and blogs on food and God. There aren’t a lot. (Which is crazy to me.) But one I clicked on said that my self admitted food addiction/gluttony/body image issues and the like are actually self love issues. You read that right. Every time I hear it in my head again I scoff at the audacity of such a statement. “Self love?” I roll my eyes and assume it was written by some out of touch old man. Because I’m not entirely sure I’ve ever met a woman who truly loved herself, though I hear such a creature exists—and she’s probably on instagram in a bikini and I’m not jealous at all by it. Sarcastic face.
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Now, your turn to scoff at me. I’ve replayed it over and over in my head. And hear me out.. I fear, imaginary old out of touch man might be right.
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I’m going to swish this idea around in my mouth some more but I wanted to start the dialogue with you so you could begin to do the same. When my day feels like more than I can bear so I order a pizza to eat alone at 8pm—is that me loving myself? Or me loving God? Expand that… me obsessing over how I look in a bathing suit or what I can or can’t eat next, who am I serving? Self? Or God? All that time walking by a mirror cursing my image—is that really self-centeredness just disguised at self deprecating. The term “self love” I’m still struggling to swallow, but when I compare how much I’m consumed with thoughts of me versus Him—it actually doesn’t seem so far off.

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