Victory over weight issues

Several years ago, a Sentinel that focused on overcoming obesity really woke me up. I was surprised to learn that some within the medical profession consider obesity a disease. Until then, I’d been quite content with the extra body weight I’d carried around with me ever since I was a kid. But the spiritual ideas in that Sentinel really got to me.

After I read the magazine through from cover to cover, my first reaction was defensive. I felt uncomfortable with some of the ideas that were shared. After all, as a practicing Christian Scientist I felt that I was being so “spiritual” by not thinking about my weight or getting involved with diets. So I just put that issue of the Sentinel aside and (supposedly) out of my thought.

Even though I’d often read the statement in Science and Health that “gluttony is a sensual illusion …”, I’d neatly sidestepped the issue by assuring myself that I couldn’t possibly be a glutton (Science and Health, p. 221). But the truth was, I’d been making a god out of food. I ate whatever I pleased, whenever I wanted to, regardless of whether I was hungry or not.

In a couple of days, I went back to that Sentinel and began rereading it. Some of the ideas had been quietly at work in my consciousness, breaking up long-held errors of “self-will, self-justification, and self-love” which, according to Science and Health, “… wars against spirituality …” (Science and Health, p. 242). I realized that I didn’t want to cherish any stubborn habits or conclusions that would “war” against my spiritual progress.

I thought about the Bible parable of the tares and the wheat because it felt like my weight issue represented the tares. For years, I’d been content that the wheat—the “good stuff” in my consciousness—was growing, and hadn’t been willing to acknowledge that there were some tares—mistaken concepts of myself—that needed to be cleared out (see Matt. 13:24–30).

The words from a poem by Mary Baker Eddy also held promise: “Fed by Thy love divine we live, / For Love alone is Life” (Poems, p. 7). I began to think about how divine Love fed me. Would Love stuff me beyond capacity in order for me to assimilate its provision? No, I thought. There would be no intelligence or grace in that.

Appropriately chastened, I found the healing in my thought came very quickly. My “hearty” appetite became normal from that day forward. Constant visits to the fridge naturally gave way to three meals a day. For perhaps the first time, I was able to exercise self-discipline without feeling willful or deprived. Although at first there was no immediate change in my weight, I felt free.

Gradually, over the next year, the impact of the healing continued to take shape in my life. My weight normalized, and I discovered a new way to “love my neighbor as myself” (see Matt: 22:36–39). Whenever I saw people out in public who were extremely heavy, I would consider their spiritual qualities, and affirm that God was governing their lives. This kind of “seeing” became essential to me. After all, my healing wouldn’t mean much unless those spiritual concepts of balance and proportion were true for everyone else, too. Subtle feelings of self-righteousness melted away as I poured love into my daily interactions.

Once my self-discipline had kicked in, some other uncomfortable things came to the surface of my thoughts to be healed as well. For example, I’d been critical of restaurants and their oversized portions, and of some cooking shows on TV that constantly featured decadent presentations. I felt that those things didn’t help people struggling with food addictions. But instead of blaming others, I began praying to know that everyone in the food industry is under the control and government of divine Love. Therefore, they are receptive to the spiritual ideas of freshness, creativity, quality, and proper quantity, producing true nourishment.

These are ideas I still consider, and I’ve remained at a normal weight since the initial healing—despite 60 plus years of “no-holds-barred” eating at will. Recently, at a family gathering, someone handed me a picture from my “big days” and said, “This is you, Aunt Pat.” I was so accustomed to the “new” me, I disagreed until I looked at the photo closely. Only then did I realize it was me, a me I hadn’t seen for a very long time.

This was a truly humbling experience, because I wasn’t even trying to be healed. I didn’t think I needed to be. But God knew better, and I’m grateful that God’s nurturing grace helped me learn a valuable life-lesson.

Patty Wilson | Clearwater, Florida, US