Monday, June 04, 2012
My job involves a lot of time in the car. What I value most is the time when all the technology is muted and I am left alone to think, to ponder, and to unravel life’s mysteries. Friday afternoon while driving through a rather uninspiring patch of highway my mind wandered to the story of the prodigal son. Regardless of your faith belief, you have heard the story. The miscreant son demands his inheritance, runs off to the ancient equivalent of Vegas, and blows it all. He heads for home contrite and ready to live as his father’s servant for the rest of time just so he has a roof over his head and a meal in his belly. Dad, seeing him walking up the driveway rejoices and throws a party. His lost son has returned. That leaves us with the “other son.” He is the son largely forgotten in this parable of forgiveness. He is the son who has always done the right thing. He has always been there in a pinch. If anything, he has tried harder to make up for his knucklehead brothers behavior. So there he sits, cleaning the garage when he spies his brother sauntering up the driveway and utters an “Oh shoot,” or a derivative thereof. Dad hugs the younger brother; he forgives his sins and failures, orders the older brother to fire up the Weber grill, and emails all their friends. “My son was lost and now is found.” It’s Miller time. There stands the good son, sweat, and grime pouring down his face, lower back twinging from all the lifting and moving and junior is being fitted for a Brooks Brothers suit. Life does not seem fair. The story is largely one of forgiveness so you do not make too much noise when you find yourself relating to the older brothers anger. Doing what is right just is not sexy. You joined Spark, you followed the process by eating within your calorie level, exercising, getting rest………. All the things you are supposed to do to be healthy. Some days it is no fun. Actually, it is rather boring. The weight slowly drops off, some weeks you can only measure it in ounces but you keep to the program.
There is satisfaction as your pant or dress size diminishes with time, until you read a blog about someone who held up a Cheesecake Factory, saw the light, and dropped thirty pounds in a month. You might sigh for a bit and wonder if it is all worth it. You struggle like everyone else; you just do not make a huge deal about it. You clean out the garage because that is what you are supposed to do. You have been exercising for years, it is what healthy folks do, and you do not always understand why people make a big deal about someone who finally walks a mile.
It is not fair, is it? Oh, you will not verbalize it too very often, will you? I have to be honest with you, I rarely find myself in the good sons shoes. That is a foreign perspective. Usually I am the person trudging up the driveway looking for one more chance to “get it right.”
Take heart dearest ones. Your constancy, your often-overlooked consistency and your will to do the right thing is the backbone of our universe. It gets lost in the shuffle but without you, there are no landmarks for the journey. Doing the right thing isn’t always fair but I’ll hazard a guess that once you reach your goal weight you will stay there.