Fat Chance (28 page)

I scanned the audience and for the first time that morning realized that I was sitting in a room full of me. Row by row I saw hundreds of thirty-something moms who were doing the best that they could. They looked pretty and polished and wore coordinated clothes, but underneath the facade I knew what life was really like.

As Jillian continued to talk about how contestants have to decide for themselves whether or not they’re going to submit to the process of transformation, my mind chased other thoughts. “These women surrounding me are leading busy lives,” I said to myself. “They spend all day, every day, giving themselves to everyone else and are convinced as they listen to all of us share diet and exercise tips that they will
never
be able to change. They don’t have the luxury of leaving their lives for months on end. And even if they
could
do so, they probably
wouldn’t
do so. They just don’t see their own worth.”

They were just like the old me, filled to the brim with “why me’s” instead of “why
not
me’s.” It had probably taken a series of logistical gymnastics for them to get to the TV show that day; how would they ever be able to orchestrate their schedules to accommodate a
four-month
TV appearance?

I thought about how well I could relate to their plight, about how mere months prior I had been in their shoes. And suddenly something inside of me snapped. I had to say something. I had to say something now. I had to say something
right
now, and when I couldn’t contain it any longer, I did the unthinkable: I interrupted Oprah.

“First, you have to believe that you are worthy,” I said from my seat in a voice that was wobbly and weak.

The woman who has hosted kings and queens and dignitaries and even Brad Pitt threw her gaze my way and with more than a hint of shock in her eyes said, “Please stand up.”

Oh lawdy, what have I done
?

I stood to my feet.

“You were saying?” said the most powerful woman on the planet.

“Oh … sorry,” I whimpered in my southern little-ol’-me tone. I ex-haled nervously and then kept going; what else
could
I do, given what I’d already done?

“All of these moms give of themselves day after day after day,” I said, feeling stronger on my own two legs by now, “and at the end of it all, there is nothing left for them.” I glanced at the women in the room and then continued, this time through heartfelt tears. “And I believe that if
you
believe that you are worth it … you know, I thought that my child needed more things to play with. He needed a
mom
to play with. I thought that my husband needed a wife to take care of him. He needed a wife who would take care of
herself
, so I can be there with him forever. So that’s why I want to say to women—especially women—you won’t start to change until you start believing that you are worth it.”

I took my seat once more as the heart inside of me swelled. I wanted so badly for the women all around me to catch the truth of what I was saying. I wanted them to know that they had to appear on their
own
priority list before a single thing would change. Diet and exercise are the easy part; it’s
belief
that is hardest to nail.

“The bottom line,” Oprah said as my thoughts swirled, “is that it’s about
worthiness
.”

“Exactly,” I murmured to myself. “I couldn’t agree with you more.”

P
eople always ask me what is the most significant takeaway or the greatest “aha” from my time spent on
The Biggest Loser
campus. And I think my answer surprises them every time. My response has nothing to do with the nuances of protein, push-ups or how to play the game. “The most important thing I learned,” I instead explain, “is that you and I are worthy of living the life of our dreams.”

I knew it the day I was on Oprah’s show, and I know it still today.

In my view, you determine something’s worth by looking to the person or thing that finds it worthy. My grandmother—Great MaMa, my family calls her—is in her eighties and on more than one occasion has asked me what I want of hers “if something ever happens” to her. I hate that question, because who in her right mind wants to think about
losing a precious member of the family? But still, she persists. And my answer’s the same every time.

I don’t want the china that’s in her cabinet or the jewelry that’s in her dresser drawer. The only thing I want is something the world would place far less value on than expensive dishes and diamonds—all I want is her Bible.

Great MaMa has read that Bible nearly every day of her adult life and has underlined and made notes beside her favorite passages. That Bible to me represents the heart of who she is, and I know that once she’s gone, it’s the one material possession that would make her still seem near. It would only bring in a few bucks at a garage sale, but its value to me is worth more than gold. You determine something’s worth by looking to the person who finds it worthy.

As God’s children, then, our worth must be off the charts, because the value he placed on our lives warranted the
ultimate
sacrifice. God says in his Word that he loves us so much that at a specific point in history he sent his only Son to die for us and set us free from our sin and wrongdoing. Sure, we have value because of the contributions we make in our lives, but our intrinsic worth exists only because of God. He designed us, he formed us before we entered our mother’s womb and he purposed us for great things before the world even began.

You and I are so much more than piles of lucky mud. We are intentional and intricate creations of the God of the universe, the God who gave everything so that we could live this thing called life.

I’m sure I learned as a kid in Sunday school that because Jesus Christ came to earth to serve as a divine Bridge, I could have a personal and intimate relationship with God. But it wasn’t until my body began to be transformed that I embraced the idea that I’m really and truly the “dwelling place” of God. It bends my brain to think about it, but it doesn’t make it any less true. The one who paints every sunset, who determined the position of every star, who raised up every mountain and who has the power to calm every storm—
that
One,
he
makes his home inside
me
. With every breath I breathe and every day I live, I can know his presence, his strength, his love and his grace.

I don’t have to talk to God in cryptic thee-and-thou prayers. I can chat with him like I’m sitting across from a friend—in reality, he’s even closer than that! I don’t have to wait until I’m sitting inside a church building
on a Sunday morning to tell him what I need. I can call out to him any hour of any day, whether I’m in a church, a café or a mall.
Anywhere
I find myself can become a sacred spot, which was news to me—a girl who treated her body more like a fairground than holy ground most every day of her life.

If you’ve ever been to a state fair, then you know exactly what I mean. Fair-going conjures up images of people who throw on a stained tank top, cutoffs, and flip-flops and charitably call that an outfit. They shuffle around like sunburned zombies, eating as many on-a-stick food items as they can find and then wash it all down with guzzler-sized sodas and beer. It’s not exactly the picture of intentionality and reverence that comes to mind when you think about all things holy. “You’re not a fairground,” God would reveal to me. “You’re
holy
ground because I dwell here. Now all that’s left is for you to actually live like you believe that too!”

O
ne of the things that knitted my heart to the heart of Margie Marshall—the superfit diva of a trainer who has worked with me ever since I got home from the show—is that she gets this dwelling-place idea better than most people I know. Margie’s history is interesting to me because, while we find ourselves in a similar situation healthwise today, we started at opposite ends of the spectrum. I was the slothful, excuse-filled woman who couldn’t seem to stop downing chocolate cake, and she was the overtrained, obsessive workout freak who almost lost everything in the name of being fit.

“God had given me a passion for nutrition and exercise,” Margie told me one time, “but I took what had been given to me as a gracious gift and let it completely consume me.” Margie used to prize her workouts so much that she would gladly let other responsibilities slide if it meant she could spend one more hour at the gym. Her husband and her children paid a steep price for the lesson she had to learn the hard way, but she’ll tell you today that she would walk that path all over again if it meant gaining the intimacy with Christ she now knows.

When I returned from
The Biggest Loser
and asked Margie to be my personal trainer, I had no idea what my request would mean to her.
“While you were on the show, I prayed one prayer on one occasion to God,” she later told me. “I felt foolish for asking him this, but in that prayer I pleaded with him to let me be your trainer once you were home. Through tears I told him that I desperately wanted another chance, that I promised I wouldn’t abuse his gracious gift this time around, if only he’d let me work with you.”

Obviously, God answered her prayers. In her words, “It’s like God said, ‘Margie, I’m going to give you back these seeds that I gave you before, but this time, I want you to plant your garden
my
way.’”

Nearly everyone I know can relate to Margie’s sentiment, because at one time or another we’ve all misused the stuff that God has given us to steward. Whether it’s a talent for singing, a gift for organizing and planning, the capacity to write great books, star in great plays, lead great businesses—whatever “it” is, if we’re not careful we’re all prone to make the “it” about us. Which would be fine, except that God then gets elbowed right out of our lives. And
you
try living in a house where nobody ever acknowledges your presence. The greatest Resident our souls could ever know deserves far better than that.

E
arlier this year I had the opportunity to write an article for
Guideposts
magazine for a cover story they were doing on the secrets of making personal change stick. When I received the edited version of my story back from their publishing team, one of the writers had included a powerful title to accompany it. “Worth the Weight,” it read. Instantly I thought,
Dang! Why didn’t I think of that?

The title perfectly summed up my thoughts on making big changes stick, because when you understand your inherent worth, you treat yourself and those around you in an altogether different way. You tend to say yes to the things that will honor your body and no to the things that won’t. You tend to endure a little pain, knowing that the gain will be that much better. You tend to soak up every last, lovely drop of life because you understand that each one is a gift from your God. And you help others to do the same.

Those three simple words—
worth the weight
—eloquently capture the theme of my life thus far. “God doesn’t think I’m a failure,” I wrote in that cover story—a revelation I’d had back on
The Biggest Loser
campus. “He wants the best for me, and so I’ll keep working toward it.”
²²
As I read those sentences now, I realize that even as I nearly caved under the pressure of Jillian’s unforgiving workouts, my soul was surely getting stronger. I was finally beginning to grasp that the God who lived inside of me wasn’t interested in being a silent travel companion as I trudged my way through life. He wanted to inhabit my thoughts, embody my actions and serve as the sole Lifter of my head. I had heard once that King David in the Bible referred to God as the “lifter of his head,” but I’d never really known what that meant. At least not in a firsthand sort of way.

I remember hearing Oprah talk one time about how she visits young girls in Africa and constantly tells them to keep their heads up. “I never want to see your head fall sheepishly to your chest,” she says to them, emphasizing her point by physically lifting little chins until young eyes meet her gaze. Similarly, God had placed his mighty index finger under my chin, causing me finally to crane my neck too. “Look up,” I imagined him saying, “and see what I see when I look at you.”

When I looked down, I saw only big thighs, but as I looked up the only “big” thing I found was my potential, reflected in God’s eyes. “I find you
significant
,” I sensed him saying, “and lovely and smart and strong. You have every reason to keep your head held high, and if you stay close, I’ll help you do just that.”