The most important part

5 January 2022

One thing I have neglected to write about this week happens to be the most important ingredient in everything I do. In fact, the most important and chief component in the entirety of my life is God. The bedrock of my life is faith in God and in His Son, Jesus, and the equipping of His Holy Spirit. 

I live by faith, dependent upon God's grace. From waking up in the morning to laying my head on the pillow at night and slipping into slumber, there is truly nothing that I do in my own strength alone apart from Him. Everything, absolutely every thing is only by the grace of God.

So often in life, we hear the phrase that so-and-so "deserves" to succeed, or "deserves" to have good things happen to them. One may work hard at something, so people believe he or she deserves the reward. I believe that what humanity "deserves" is to die and go to hell. We have fallen so far short of the majesty of our eternal Father, and yet, He loves us. Completely and utterly loves us.

Any good we find or earn or receive is a gift from God. Even when one works by the sweat of the brow to accomplish something monumental, the fact is, he or she wouldn't have had the ability to take a breath or put one foot in front of another, let alone conceive and execute intricate plans were it not for the equipping and enabling of the grace of God. 

So at the core of this quest to rid my body of the extra weight its carrying, and find a place of health and peace physically, above all the rules of any plan, I need to be led by the Spirit of God who lives in me. Sometimes that's as simple as trying to be sensitive enough to perceive a "yes" or "no" deep inside. Checking in with what we call the conscience for a peaceful feeling that tells me this seems right or a scratchy feeling that tells me to hold back and wait. 

So I measure everything I'm choosing to do in this quest by whether I have peace about it or whether I'm getting a check in my spirit. So far what seems right is to weigh and measure my breakfast and lunch since those are the things I pack to carry with me to school. Once I'm back to teaching from home, I won't have to pack my lunch anymore. Yay! And for dinner with my husband (I will call him D moving forward), it seems right to eat moderate portions of what I give him so long as it's something healthy and nourishing. Most evenings we have homemade soup and a small salad. I don't have seconds, nor do I have desserts. D doesn't usually either, though sometimes he likes to have a couple belVita cookies and a glass of milk at the end of dinner.  I'm not eating between meals and I don't eat anything in the evening. Once I clean up the dishes, the kitchen is closed as far as I'm concerned. In the afternoon, I will often have a cup of black coffee or tea, but other than water throughout the day, that is all. 

I will report my progress as I go along. If this doesn't seem to move me in the right direction, then I will reassess. But as I said, this seems right to me. 

Digression . . . I do sometimes wonder if anyone will read these posts. For now, it doesn't matter I suppose. I'm writing for me and because this too seems right. I have thought many times over the years about becoming more disciplined with my writing, and that's also a factor in putting my words here. It is time to wind down before going to bed, so I will close with this wish for you and for me.

Peace . . . 

I've been ruined for all others . . .

3 January 2022

Summer 2018

Bright Line Eating is the most effective plan I have ever used in my lifelong war with my weight. On November 6, 2017, I was 5' 3.5" tall, and weighed 245 pounds. I was 58-years old, and a post-menopausal, post-cancer thriving, morbidly obese woman. I began following the Bright Line Eating (BLE) plan. I had read Dr. Susan Peirce Thompson's debut book, Bright Line Eating, The Science of Living Happy, Thin, and Free. 

Within less than a month I had lost 15 pounds. By the 2-month mark, I had lost 27 pounds. In just under 5 months, I reached ONEderland, meaning I was no longer over 200 pounds. And after 11 months, on October 6, 2018, I had lost just over 65 pounds. But sadly by this point, the ship of discipline in which I had smoothly sailed for almost a year began to spring leaks. In myriad significant and insignificant ways life happened. And life has continued to happen ever since. 

I find myself today, more than four years after my initial launch into the BLE life, with my weight over 200 again. I weighed myself this morning and the scale tried to shame me with the number I saw. 210. Despite the success I enjoyed and the freedom I felt for the first time in my adult life, I began to question this stringent way of eating. I tried to reason other ways of getting that would get me where I want to go without being as restrictive. But if the past few years have taught me anything, it's that I had found what works and I stepped away from it. I want what I once had. I want the peace and freedom I experienced. I wasn't finished. I was well on my way, but I wasn't finished. The race wasn't over. And I want to finish the race for the first time in my life. I wanted to defeat the thing that had defeated me for such a long, long time.

I have rejoined the fold by signing up for one year of Bright Line Eating, which includes my second Boot Camp, a rigorous 8 to 10-week course of learning about the science of weight loss, how the brain can and should function when nourished properly and conversely, how it can betray our strongest desires to take control of our eating. And of course, this journey involves behavior change. In addition to the Boot Camp, I now have membership in the ongoing support arm of the organization, Bright Lifers. This is open to those who have completed a Boot Camp and wish to stay connected to, as the founder likes to say, the mothership. 

Even still, with all I know and have tasted (bad pun), some part of me keeps trying to broker a better deal. You see, this plan has four rules for lack of a better word:

1. No sugar of any kind (including honey, maple syrup, stevia, or any other sweetener)
2. No flour of any kind (it's not the grain that's the problem, it's the highly processed nature of flour)
3. Three meals a day with nothing in between
4. Weighed and measured quantities of protein, fruit, vegetables, grains, and fats at each meal

Summer 2018

Why, despite knowing how effective this plan is for dropping weight with relative ease even for those of us in the demographic deemed least likely to be able to lose weight, would something inside me continue to try to talk me out of wholehearted surrender to the plan? One of BLE's mantras if you will, is JFTFP, or Just Follow The Fabulous (though there are those who use a variation of the last F-word) Plan. What part of the internal "me" endlessly tries to sabotage my attempts to lose the extra weight?

Today was supposed to be Day1, but I wasn't true to the plan today. So tomorrow will be my Day 1. One of the disciplines that is encouraged is writing down what you eat the night before. This bypasses will power, because in a clear-thinking manner after eating dinner, I can plan tomorrow's meals without being hungry in the moment and potentially falling to temptation.

So, tomorrow (Tuesday, 1/4/2022) I will eat the following:

• Breakfast: 4 ounces of oatmeal, 1 banana, and 2 ounces of natural peanut butter (just ground peanuts with a little salt), and 1 cup of coffee.
  
• Lunch: 1/2 portion of protein (3 ounces chick peas) and the other portion protein (1 ounce of shredded cheese); 10 ounces of vegetables (a salad with Romaine, kale, matchstick carrots, sliced cooked beets, mini peppers, radishes, and cucumbers); dressing (.5 ounce oil mixed with red wine vinegar, and some seasonings); and an apple. Throughout the day I will drink cold water.
• Dinner: bowl of chicken soup with veggies and a small side salad with the same dressing as at lunch. After dinner, the kitchen will be closed.

One reason I am writing here about all this is because it allows me enough moments of sanity to silence, or at least quiet, the internal voices that try to steer me off course. Another is that I will have a record of the journey to look back upon. That reason, I will admit, is less important to me today. The accountability piece is huge for me.

That is all for tonight. I need to put myself to bed because it's back to school with students tomorrow. I'll be back soon though.

Peace . . .

1 January 2022

Well here we are. Roughly twenty-two hours into this new year. 

Like many, I would imagine, I annually wonder what's ahead for the next twelve months. This year though, there seems to be a greater foreboding about our country and life in general than in the previous years. Yet, with humanity-turned-upside-down due to Covid, mask-wearing, lockdowns or lockouts, and the simple fact that the world I find myself living in bears little if any resemblance to the world in which I grew up, I find that my greatest  hopes and desires for the new year are for peace. 

Peace in my relationships, and in particular with my elderly dad, for whom I am the only family member within arm's reach. Though I am not his caregiver per se, I keep a watchful eye on him and his needs, and I often find this to be a heavier emotional weight than was the rearing our children. He will soon turn 88. My mother, his wife of just shy of 64 years, died more than a year and a half ago. As the only daughter in a family of 5 children, I have assumed the burden of looking after Daddy in the absence of my mom. Thankfully, that does not include him living with us. 

Peace in my work as a teacher. I have spent over twenty years in physical classrooms, and one year--last year--teaching online. Last year showed me how fulfilling teaching could be. I have certainly had precious moments over the years, and developed wonderful relationships with many of my students, but last year I worked harder and longer hours than ever before, while building deep and caring relationships with students, their parents, and the most extraordinary colleagues imaginable. In the words of one of my fellow online teachers last year, this really was my "unicorn job". The one most people only hope for but don't genuinely believe they can have. Peace in this arena for me will mean returning to that school. It will be the last professional move of my career, and I am pursuing it as if my well-being and sanity depend upon it.

Without question, my greatest quest for peace is with my body. It has felt like my nemesis for the majority of my life. Tempting, taunting, and seducing me with with food the way booze calls the name of the alcoholic every waking moment. Four years ago I found a program that worked beautifully for me for months. I dropped seventy pounds as a post-menopausal woman nearing the end of her sixth decade. I felt amazing. Free. Hopeful. Alive! So what happened? I fell off the wagon. Little by little old habits showed up and asked me to dance. They reminded me that food had always been there for me when I was sad or lonely or frightened or depressed. Food was for celebrating or numbing, but rarely for nourishing. 

I began writing this blog years ago as a means of accountability around my eating, in the ever-present hope of losing weight. A dear old well-meaning friend gently chastised me, reminding me that there is more to me than this one issue. And I let his words burrow under my skin. I continued to write, but tried to broaden my subject matter. The problem with that was it blurred my focus. That focus which was the whole reason I was writing to begin with. This blog had been a source of bargain-basement therapy. But that changed. 

So, here I am. Back again. Writing here for me and not to please anyone else. To create and clarify renewed focus for taking back my life. I don't know if anyone will ever read my words, or if they are only for me. It doesn't matter. Today is my new starting line. And here is where I will chronicle my race. By the grace of God I will be back tomorrow with more thoughts. More reflections. More determination.

Peace . . .

Ripping off the bandage

 Tuesday, September, 22, 2020

I'm here to rip off the bandage. To confess the way an alcoholic steps in front of a roomful of people at an AA meting and says, "My name is . . . and I'm an alcoholic." Well, my name is Michele Moore, and I have gained back better than 20 of the 73 pounds I had lost. And why? Because I turned my back on doing what I had been doing since 2017 that worked and felt virtually effortless. I reached for foods that were, for all intents and purposes, poison to me, and I shoved them into my mouth like I didn't care. The conundrum is, I did care, but I surrendered the self-control and long-term benefits to momentary pleasure followed by guilt, shame, and self-loathing.

In the program I had embraced to lose all that weight, the majority of followers believe themselves to be food addicts or specifically sugar and/or flour addicts. But I chafe at the term addict when it comes to me. I don't embrace that term. I don't accept that label. But what am I if I continually return to detrimental behavior that makes me feel like a prisoner? What am I if I often feel as though I do what I do not want to do?

Romans 7:15, 18-19 says, "I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing." If the Apostle Paul experienced this same torment of the soul, then I am in good company.

The plan I followed, Bright Line Eating or BLE, is highly structured, which is why it worked so well for me. Adhering to the four dictates-no sugar, no flour, 3-meals a day (no snacking), and weighed and measured quantities of protein, veggies, fruit, grains, and fat-became automatic. In fact, the term automaticity is used often among the devotees of BLE. Eating this way over time became a habit. I experienced the feeling of effortlessness in the midst of living and eating in such a disciplined manner. Does that sound like an oxymoron? That following a stringently structured path leads to feeling peacefully free? Yet, it is true. So, why have I strayed at all, much less in such a big way? That's the million dollar question. 

I don't call myself an addict. Yet, without adhering to a strict abstinence policy around food, I seem to fall prey to the lure of what BLE calls, NMF (Not My Food). In fact, in the vast lexicon of BLE, that lure is attributed to the saboteur, that niggling voice that taunts us with thoughts of eating off plan.

As a believer, a born-again, Spirit-filled believer in the Lord Jesus, I believe there isn't anything I cannot overcome with God's help. That in Him is the solution for every problem or issue. So my saboteur uses that very thing, my faith, to continue to whisper to me that I should be able to overcome this with God's help, not a plan some person came up with. Yet, couldn't God have led me to this plan, knowing it was the very thing that would help me get where I want to go? Why should I feel like I'm not being a truly faithful Christian if I can't do this with "just me and God"?

It's time to return to the mothership, as BLE founder, Dr. Susan Peirce Thompson is fond of saying when referring to Bright Line Eating.  In fact, another one of the many acronyms bright life folks like to use is JFTFP. Just follow the freaking (or fabulous, or another F-word I loathe) plan. All I have to do is follow the plan as it is laid out, and it will work. Of that I have no doubt. Zero! That's what I did for months, and the results were unprecedented. And that was when I was post menopausal, and barely over two and a half years post cancer diagnosis and treatment. It works. It really and truly works. And I hate that I have regained ANY weight. I do, however, acknowledge and honor the fact that I still weigh 50 pounds less than when I started in 2017, and 65 pounds less than when I was at my highest weight. That fact is nothing short of miraculous for me and my 50+ year history of battling my body.

So, tomorrow morning, I will weight myself to know my restarting point. I will chronicle this journey. I will do this for ME. Yes, my husband will be happy, but I have to give myself the love and care I need before I run out of time and opportunity to do it. And tomorrow, I will eat only and exactly
what is on the plan for me to eat. 

And here's where my faith can come into the fight. I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me (Philippians 4:13), and all things are possible for him or her that believes (Mark 9:23). I will not be ashamed of a (wo)man-made tool that I can use to achieve the goals that I have held in my heart all my life. What I do, I do by the grace of God. And I will not entertain the temptation to feel ashamed of myself for failing again. Shame is a filthy, ugly thing that clouds our vision and distracts our focus. No. it is what it is. This is where I am today, but this is NOT where I have to stay for the rest of my life.

Until tomorrow . . .

Pandemic 2020 Update

Monday, July 6, 2020, 4:00pm

Hello, friends . . .

It seems odd to say that the world is a distinctly different place from what it was the last time I wrote. That was March 11, 2020, and ironically I wrote about having difficulty staying focused. Ironic because that has turned into the theme of the last four months with the chaotic craziness that the first half of this year has become.

Friday, March 13th was the last day of school prior to the start of spring break. We had a lengthy faculty meeting at the close of the day to say that we need to be ready for what may happen as a result of the ever-changing Covid-19 situation. Once I arrived home that same day and logged onto my iPad, I found an email from my Principal saying that our one-week spring break was to include an additional week off school due to the burgeoning situation. Cool! Two weeks off. No argument there. The break felt welcome. Before the end of that second week, our Governor announced that schools would remain closed until April, which of course, was extended to  May, and ultimately schools were closed for the remainder of this academic year. Unprecedented.

My colleagues and I learned a whole new way of doing our jobs. By default, we all became online teachers. It wasn't horrible, especially compared with other results of society's insanity. Grocery shopping became almost barbaric. Toilet paper became the most precious and hard-to-find commodity, along with masks, and all types of cleaning and medical supplies. I still haven't seen isopropyl alcohol in any store.

The one benefit for me from the work-from-home scenario was the freedom to spend the last thirteen days of my mother's life sitting by her bedside. If you recall from the last post, my parents' ACLF had to prohibit non-essential visits, which meant I could no longer physically go to see them; we could only visit via Skype. During the brief times Mom was awake in those last couple of weeks, we talked a little. I told her we would look after Dad. And I provided my dad with breaks, allowing him to walk downstairs to have a modicum of human interaction. I was there when Mom died. Dad and I held each other and sobbed. We each made calls to family and friends to share the news. And for the following week, I was able to be there daily to help Dad with everything that needed done. He sorted and folded Mom's clothes with the care of a heartbroken, devoted husband, and I took them to Goodwill. We negotiated the legwork necessary to get death certificates, and contacted the entities that needed to know that my mother had moved to Heaven. She died on a Tuesday, and by Wednesday of the next week, the revocation of my restrictions was rescinded. I was politely told I could no longer come in to see my dad. I was thankful for the three weeks' reprieve I had been given to say goodbye, to comfort my dad, and help him acclimate to his new life without his bride of nearly 64 years. Since then, we have been relying on Skype and texts to keep in touch, until last week on July 1st.

My dad moved into a brand new independent living facility built on the same campus as their ACLF, where there are currently no restrictions on residents and visitors other than wearing masks coming and going and in common areas. So I'm back to  being able to spend time with him. He's doing well, all things considered. He misses my mom terribly, but he's is still living (physically and emotionally) and putting one foot in front of the other every day.

One significant drawback to this time of forced sequestering, has been a virtually complete backsliding from the way I had been eating. Beginning in November of 2017, I began following Bright Line Eating, and as a result, lost 72 pounds. The past year, however, has included a lot of yo-yoing with increasing times of eating off plan, and some of the pounds coming back on. In fact, as of this morning, when I forced myself to step onto the scale to survey the damage, I had gained back 24.4 pounds. From 245# to 173# back to 197.4#. I consider it a blessing that I didn't gain all the weight back, and that it is still south of 200. So today, I went back online and logged into my Boot Camp materials (more on that another time), and "rezoomed!" That's BLE vernacular for climbing back up onto the wagon and beginning again, though thankfully, not beginning from scratch. I've done this long enough to know what and how to do the work. This time, the battle is mostly in the mind and heart, having allowed the hard-earned discipline I had developed to evaporate. I have to work to regain that. The positive is that I know from experience that this works for me. Regardless that I'm going to be 61 in 10 days and that I'm post-menopausal, this works! So, by the grace of God, and with a deeper sense of humility this time around, I have had a successfully bright day so far. And since I can only do this one day at a time (ODAAT), I need only concern myself with today.

So, there we are. Back in the present. A little bruised and battered by life, but still here nonetheless. I hope you are well and safe and happy. Ultimately for us all, we must choose to be so.

Until next time . . .

Focus? What focus?

11 March 2020

Well, here I am again, two and a half weeks between posts. Sigh. No shame though. I think shame is a horrible commodity, and I refuse to feel shame anymore. Not for my weight. Not for my mistakes. Not for taking longer to accomplish goals than I would like. Shame is debilitating. It assaults the soul . . . the mind, the will, and the emotions . . . and leaves its victims wounded, often beyond repair. No more shame. Life is to be lived, mistakes and all. It is what it is. I'm here now, and that's a good thing.

Something I have pondered, especially lately, is my need and desire for focus.

I tend to be much like Dug, the dog in the movie "Up!" Dug is a sweetheart of a pup who is easily and often distracted. "Squirrel!" He nearly always wears a smile. In fact it takes an awful lot to bring Dug's spirits down. He is a loyal and faithful friend. He is also prone to succumb to distractions. It takes great effort for Dug to stay the course and remain focused on the task at hand. And I often feel like I am Dug.

Case in point: I pulled out my laptop to begin typing a new blog after spending at least thirty to forty minutes watching YouTube videos. After typing less than two full paragraphs, I set the laptop aside to stir the soup I'm warming for dinner, which led me to set the table for my husband and me. I then went into my master bathroom to use the toilet, and remembered noticing last night that my bathroom countertop was in need of cleaning. So off to the garage I trekked to get a nitrite glove, then back to the bathroom, where I pulled out the disinfecting cloths and wiped down the counter. Then I had to wipe down the toilet, so while I was at it, I popped some toilet bowl cleaner in there to freshen that. Back out to the laptop (obviously) to type some more. But that will be interrupted any minute so I can again stir the soup and make a salad. Thank God for the auto save feature on this site.

Now here I am, an hour later, back on the laptop. We've eaten dinner and I cleaned the kitchen while my dear hubby collected the trash to take out to the can. There shouldn't be many interruptions for a while. Correction: I am intermittently texting with my eighty-six year old father. As I have mentioned previously, he and my mom live in a nice assisted living facility nearby; he is there to watch over his bride of sixty-three years, whose health is failing. This week their facility eliminated all nonessential visiting due to the Corona virus (Covid-19), so I haven't been over to see them since Sunday. I was texting to ask if he wanted me to call him on Skype, but he decided we should forego it for tonight since immediately upon returning from dinner and getting into her chair, my sweet old mother fell asleep.

Focus. That's the topic at hand. And there are so many things I want to turn my attention to that I feel like I am flitting from one thing to another. My YouTube channels are a perfect example. I enjoy makeup, always have. Well there must be hundreds or thousands of channels devoted to feminine beauty, and I watch about eight of those. Then there's the topic of homesteading/prepping (not the same thing), and I watch a bunch of channels devoted to that. I watch channels about whole food plant-based eating, health, wellness, cooking, and baking. And there are some ministries I follow and enjoy learning from. YouTube can easily be a time-sucker for me. And when I allow my time to be occupied in stuff that isn't meaningful, then I've given away a precious treasure I can never reclaim. Time. That's not to say I haven't learned a lot from many of the videos I have watched. I have. But I have also allowed YouTube and social media to be the "Squirrels!" to my attempts to remain focused and on task.

I think this blog may have to be a two-parter.  There's more I want to say, but I'm having trouble staying focused. See?

Until next time . . .

Life's interruptions

21 February 2020

Trying to stay on a healthy eating plan for weight loss. Deciding to write at least weekly and post blogs regularly. Setting up a system for decluttering my home. Why is it when I set my course to focus on specific tasks or endeavors, with the best intentions to follow through, my momentum is thwarted by life's interruptions? I have had my share recently, and for at least some of them, I am the responsible party.

For the past 2-plus years I have been following a specific eating regimen, which has allowed me to shed about 70 pounds. But during our most recent holiday season, for some unfathomable reason, I decided that I could engage in culinary debauchery rather than continue on the highly successful path I had been following. I didn't simply stray from my course; I careened off the highway at breakneck speed from Thanksgiving into Christmas, and beyond into the new year. Here we are with almost 2 full months of 2020 behind us, and I have yet to reign myself in. I hope that with this public mea culpa I will be able to drag my sad, sorry wagon back up onto the path and begin again making forward movement. Life interruption #1: holiday indulgences and ensuing gluttony.

Nearly two months ago, I posted my first blog in over a year with the express desire to post at least weekly moving forward. I posted three blogs in succession at more or less a week's interval between each, and then . . . nothing for eleven days. I'm here now. And granted, a week and a half between blogs instead of a week might not seem like that big a deal. But if I let time lapse now, it will become increasingly easy to let longer breaks happen until I'm not writing with any regularity. And that means I would have let myself down again. I don't want to be that person anymore. I've spent my entire life being her. The girl, the woman who makes promises to herself only to break them. If I had a friend who did that to me, I don't think we'd stay friends for long. Life interruption #2: giving in to old behavior patterns that don't propel me toward success.

I have never been able to claim personal discipline and organizational skills as two of my strongest character traits. Some would say I do not possess them in any measure. I would like to think I am a work in progress. It may sometimes be slothfully slow, but progress is progress. And I have taken significant steps toward decluttering recently. I finally let go of my thirty-eight-year old wedding gown, keeping the dress thirty-one years longer than I kept the husband. I boxed up some lovely old glassware for the purpose of selling it or giving it away. It had been given to my mother years ago, and she in turn, gave it to me, though I have never used it. It no longer needs to take up valuable real estate in my China cabinet collecting dust. Just this past week, I listened to a webinar on the subject of decluttering and home organization and decorating, in which the guest made a simple yet profound statement. She said that when someone, anyone, gives us something for our home, the only thing we owe that person is a sincere and heartfelt thank you. We do not owe them our promise to keep the item they gave us. Life interruption #3: old habits and faulty thinking.

To be fair, my excuses for the last two are genuine. First, my mother's health has been in a steady decline for a while, but in recent months, the downhill slide has increased exponentially. I see my parents most every day, and Mom's deterioration is unmistakable. She is now in Hospice care, not because we believe her death is imminent, but in order for Hospice to provide her with palliative care, and my father with extra help and support. Miraculously, Mom will see her eighty-ninth birthday tomorrow. I wasn't sure she'd be here to celebrate it, but by the grace of God she is.

And second, our daughter-in-law delivered our seventh grandchild (who happens to be our first granddaughter) two weeks ago, five weeks premature. A week later, we loaded up the car and headed north by about fours hours to spend a day and overnight with them to meet our sweet little princess. We were overjoyed by her arrival, and by getting a few precious hours to hold and cuddle her.

Finally, despite our desire to step into retirement, we are not there yet. Severing our professional ties now would be tantamount to stepping off a moving bus into oncoming traffic. Certainly not the best choice for a sound future. It would be far safer to wait until the bus arrives at its destination before getting off.

The bottom line is this: not all of life's interruptions are inconsequential. Many are significant and even critical. They require our focus and involvement. They demand of us that we give them our attention and action, which means that what we had planned to do must be shelved until "later." Whenever later turns out to be. And, I suppose, this also means we need to forgive ourselves for not adhering to a preset schedule or for falling off the wagon. If it really is important enough to us, then we will find a way to make it happen.

I will get back on track with my eating, one meal at a time. I will embrace the discipline of writing and posting each week, no matter what is going on. And I will take up the challenge to declutter my home, keeping what brings us joy, and letting go of what doesn't. In the process, I know I will be replacing chaos and clutter with purpose and peace.

Until next time . . .