Vapors

My besetting sin is gluttony.  My god is often my belly, and I have little ability to discipline myself past it.  I’ve prayed and prayed for wisdom in dealing with this sin, especially for an outlet in which I can consistently exercise and steward my body.  One problem I have had is figuring out how to exercise while juggling my two young boys.  After a lot of trial and error, I stumbled across a cheap, local gym that offers childcare from 5-8 pm. 

I’ve attended this gym for a few months now, and my boys do moderately well in their childcare.  One lady in particular, Kathy, has been very helpful.  She watches kids twice a week at the gym.  Though confined to a wheel chair, she still has managed to help the boys pretty well.  Last week, I dropped the boys off with Kathy and headed to the restroom before working out.  Through the walls, I heard an altercation that included child-like shrieks and yelling.  By the time I got back to the childcare area, another mother was huffily removing her two boys from the area muttering that they didn’t have to put up with that.  Kathy told me that my three year old had hit the boys, slapping one of them in the face.  I was horrified.  Embarassed.  Ashamed.  I grabbed up my offspring and drug him after me to find the boys he had hit.  I asked their mom if he could apologize to each.  He did say he was sorry in a broken, 3 year old kind of way.  And the other mom reluctantly let her boys return to childcare.  I stayed in the childcare area for a few minutes to make sure my son wasn’t going to assault the others and finally left to workout, apologizing personally to the other mom on my way. 

As I walked on the treadmill in the gym, I wanted to cry.  I was trying SO HARD!  I had prayed for a way to exercise, and I thought this gym was an answer from God.  And now my boys are hitting other kids.  I had apologized to the other mom, but she only half-heartedly recognized my attempt.  I felt like a loser mom.  There was no way I could continue at this gym like this.  They all thought my boys were hooligans, and I was sure they braced themselves for the worst whenever they saw us walk through the door.

After exercising as long as my diminished emotional state could tolerate, I walked back to the childcare area to pick up my boys.  The 2 boys that my oldest had hit told me in a very cute way that my boys had been good during the time I exercised.  And then Kathy looked at me and told me that I had handled that altercation very well.  I had handled it well!  For 30 minutes on the treadmill, I had contemplated my failure as a mom and my humiliation at the gym.  I had wrestled with God over the fact that I was trying to be faithful with my health, but how could I continue at the gym if my son was assaulting other kids?!  So Kathy’s sincere words stunned me.  I wasn’t expecting that.  I think I mumbled some form of thanks, but thought later that my response wasn’t sufficient for what her words meant to me, and maybe I ought to write her a note.  Her little encouragement moved me from feeling like a condemned pariah to having hope that I could raise my boys to love God and love others despite such disciplinary crises. 

We went back to the gym this week, expecting to see Kathy, as it was her usual night.  After waiting a while, one of the workers walked over and asked me if I had heard about Kathy.  Apparently, she was found unconscious in her apartment last week and died shortly thereafter.  I couldn’t figure out the timeline exactly, but it sounds like it was very shortly after I had last talked to her at the gym. 

And today, I contemplate a life lived well from a wheel chair.  A life with a relatively small area of influence in terms of square footage.  Like Jesus, she didn’t seem to travel too much beyond her immediate locale–her apartment, the gym, and the church next door.  But I could tell from talking with the worker at the gym, Kathy’s influence had been profound.  I remember observing Kathy one night when I didn’t bring my boys to the gym.  She didn’t have any other kids, and she was reading a small New Testament she must have kept in her pocket.  My impression of her was that she loved the Word, was available to those who needed her, and was willing to offer a word of encouragement to the hurting. 

So I mourn today this sweet, faithful lady.  I’m sorry I didn’t get to articulate to her exactly what her encouragement meant to me in that moment.  But I envision the hearty “Well done thou good and faithful servant” she received as she entered God’s presence, freed from her wheelchair, and I am inspired by her quiet, local, faithful example.