Tracey Marley

Lately I’ve been witnessing what seems to be an explosion of the media regarding the topic of exercise, yet no matter how many ads I’ve read, commercials I’ve viewed, nor cellulite-reducing products I’ve bought, nothing has prepared me for what I experienced this weekend.

On the way home from Sophia Friday night, Chad and I decided to pop into one of our favorite pizza joints in Randleman. I had a cold, felt rotten and couldn’t have been less enthusiastic about coming home and preparing a nutritionally sound meal for my family—regardless of what All You magazine had to say about it. I wanted pizza and I wanted it hot, greasy and I wanted it immediately!

We piled into the booth at Sir Pizza, and as my husband reached for the menu, I realized that on the big screen TV behind him, they were airing All Star Workouts. I thought to myself, this is seriously messed up. A workout show is on? At a pizza restaurant? Ridiculous.

I looked around to the other booths and tables. I was the only one who seemed to notice the absurdity. I considered making a joke to the waitress, but seeing how she was a sized two teen, I decided to keep my mouth shut.

Throughout the wait, I could feel my marketing mind trying to take over. Eventually I gave in to analyzing the marketing strategy of what I thought was a gross oversight. I watched the silly smiles on the people working out in front of me. They looked so stupid. No one smiles like that when burning calories. They smile like that when they’re eating them!

My cheesy pepperoni pizza arrived and I proved my point. It was piping hot, delicious and puddled in grease (sounds disgusting, but come on, you’ve had one too, and loved it). I smiled ear to ear. A few slices later, I take a look at the woman on the second row in the show. She’s in really good shape. My thoughts digress from the pizza. I wish I had her backside. No cellulite whatsoever. And she’s smiling. She’s happy. I reach for another slice of pizza. Her legs look good too. That is so far from what my legs look like….I lick the grease off my fingers.

We finished off the entire pizza and my husband says, “Well, that was good! Are you ready?” I wiped my mouth, now staring adamantly at the screen and the sweating but smiling bodies displayed in high def. At this point I was actually doing the workout in my mind. “Yeah, just one more power crunch and I’m done.” Chad laughs and I feel the burn. “‘K. Let’s go,” I say.

I got up from the table feeling more tired than when I sat down. It dawned on me the feeling had more to do with eating an extra four pieces of pizza than I normally do instead of having just completed a mental workout. Suddenly, I’m ever so aware of the marketing strategy and how effective it is. I felt robbed. I came home and had a snack to comfort myself.

I considered turning to my copy of All You to see what it says about situations like this. Surely I’m a goner. (Ever notice how all the popular ladies magazines have the first half of their pages filled with clothing styles, hair ideas, and makeup suggestions while the back half is filled with delicious recipes? Yeah, me too, so I passed.)

I’m not saying Betty Crocker is the devil, but what are we thinking? I actually ate half a pizza while toning someone else’s thighs! The media is so good at making us believe. Half the time I don’t think we realize what it is we’re doing or considering doing until we’ve given way too much thought to the idea.

Satan is a master-mind at sculpting what it is we deem as truth. Just recently he’s tried to convince me that I should commit a sin that would not only destroy my testimony, my ministry, as well as wreck my entire family so that I could experience a new depth of Christ’s forgiveness and grace. Looking back, I find I’m appalled by his audacity to try to manipulate something as divine as grace.

I’m not ashamed to admit it. He was so crafty, he actually had me, a student of the Bible for almost thirty years, pondering something blatantly spoken against by the Scriptures. After a day or so of his ideas pounding in my brain, I asked my husband about the concept. “Do you think it’s the Lord’s will for Christians to willfully sin so that we can be humbled, forgiven, and restored… again? You know, as a reminder to appreciate all it is that Christ has done for us—like we did when we were first saved?”

Based on Romans chapter 7 alone, of course Chad’s answer was a resounding, “No”. For the sake of argument, I kept on. “Why not? If I indulge in something I know is wrong—grievously wrong, but tempting—surely I would experience a closer walk with the Lord when I had confessed the sin, repented, and experienced the cleansing power of forgiveness and restoration.” Then I realized I’ve already had that experience.

I might not have committed what the world would classify as terrible sins: murder, armed robbery, terrorism, but that doesn’t mean my sin didn’t play a part in nailing Christ to the cross. I didn’t need to knock off a bank or commit adultery to be guilty of something. I experienced a closer and more in depth walk with the Lord the day I realized my sin was sin and repented of it. Period. The lie was a trap.

I feel God’s grace when I lose my temper and yell at the kids. I feel it when I fall asleep without reading my Bible. I feel it when I envy having other women’s shapes and do bad things to my body like eating greasy pizza to make up for the fact that I don’t have perfect thighs. I feel God’s grace when I say I’m sorry—and mean it.

Unfortunately if we’re not careful, Satan can blind Christians to what it is Christ does for us on a daily basis. He was hoping for a big and public stumble in my case, which he then would’ve used as crippling evidence for the rest of my life. The devil is so good at playing both sides of the fence! We have to be vigilantly careful to watch what it is we let our minds dwell on. If truth is the antidote for Satan’s lies, then the Word of God is a pharmacy.

After being tested for forty days in the wilderness, Scripture in Luke tells us that Christ was hungry and Satan tempted him. Just thinking about the extremity of Christ’s hunger makes my mouth water. I can almost see the neon lights of a Sir Pizza sign flashing across the desert. “If you are the Son of God, tell this stone to become bread,” Satan said. Yet Christ’s words to Satan were not, “One extra large pepperoni coming right up!” They were, “Man does not live on bread alone.” How tempted Jesus must have been to not only relieve his physical need but in the process prove who He was! He was starving, yet prioritized His Father’s spiritual agenda over His physical one.

If Christ would’ve turned the stones into bread as Satan suggested, a lot more would’ve gone down than just a meal. By taking the bait of pride, Jesus would’ve bought into the lie that it’s all about us as humans. The decision would have changed the course by which we receive salvation. Thank God He didn’t!

I don’t know about you, but the longer I live, the more I discover it’s not about me. In fact, it has very little to do with me. Whether or not we admit it, in reality it’s all about Him. My advice is to watch what it is you find yourself dining on and trying to digest. Self indulgence makes for terrible heart burn.

They say once you learn to ride a bike you never forget. I find that to be true, however, I feel like the old adage should be followed up with something like, “but that dosn’t mean you should expect it to be pretty.”

For those of you who know me and know me well, you know that at best I’m an indoor kinda girl. Reading, shopping and writing take precedence over hiking, gardening—or any activity that causes the body to sweat in general. Another peek into my personality reveals that I love presents and fun surprises.

It was one day back in May when, much to my surprise, my husband came home saying he had a present for me and that it was waiting out in the yard. Because this was also Anna, my daughter’s birthday, I couldn’t retrieve my gift until all of her birthday hoopla had passed. My husband was so excited during the wait. He kept dropping hints and smiles. I was really anticipating something fantastic until he said the words, “keep an open mind”.

Having been married for ten years, I could easily translate. He actually said, “This is more for me than it is for you but act excited anyway”. And I was right. When the time for my surprise would no longer diminish Anna’s moment, I exited out the back door of the house to find a bicycle. Not just any bicycle, mind you. A  1950’s something JC Higgins antique bicycle.

Now I love antiques just as much as the next person, but this particular antique was a rusty piece of metal with some flecks of blue on it, two flat tires and a seat that had been spray painted glossy red. “Wow,” I said as my husband beamed, “for me?”

“Yep! I saw it on the back of a pickup truck at the dump. I chased the driver down and offered him four bucks for it.”

How nice. A present from the dump. And he had to chase the guy down to get it. At this point I’m thinking Chad not only got ripped off, but that he went out of his way to make it happen.

A little research on ebay and we find that the bike in restored condition is worth a lot more than four bucks. It’s worth hundreds to be exact. The discovery sends Chad into all kinds of plans for his four dollar find. Not a day later, he  disassembles the bike and totes all its 5,000 pieces to the nearest bike shop thirty miles away where the owner looks at him like he’s crazy. “Man, you can go down to Wal-Mart and spend $100 and get a much nicer bike,” the guy advised him. Chad wouldn’t hear of such a thing. We spent at least a hundred dollars in the bike shop that day and came home with only handle bars and two new wheels. Obviously, I was dealing with a man on a mission.

Everyday for a couple of weeks, my husband fiddled on this thing, thus satisfying his need to tinker on a new project. When it was finished, Chad was so proud of his vintage JC. He even had new decals custom made. I will never forget how he wheeled it up to the house, ready for me to take my first ride.

Sparkling blue powder-coated frame, new handle bars, American flag stickers on the spokes….The bike looked like a 4th of July picnic. I suppose this is a good time to remind you about me being an indoor kind of girl. Toss in my tendency to be a klutz and you get the idea. The seat of my pants haven’t connected with the seat of a bicycle in years…and years. Seeing my beloved standing there gushing like a proud parent, it was do or die.

I mustered up my courage because I knew this moment was coming. I made one pass around the drive, wobbling as I went. I jerked. I weaved. I all but hit the basketball goal. I over-corrected. I jostled. I finally stopped in fear. Chad was watching so I tried again. After displaying what I thought were the extent of my skills, I pulled up beside him, relieved not to have crashed on the initial take off.

I expressed my gratitude and excitement over having something to ride with him during our upcoming vacation. Chad didn’t say anything, but I could tell. He was nervous. His lack of words were probably due to his making plans to purchase a helmet, elbow and knee pads along with additional life insurance.

Later that evening when he was safely out of sight, I decided to take the bike for a spin around the yard without an audience. After all, I wanted a little practice before I had to ride this thing in public. I climbed on the tall black seat, positioned my foot on the pedal, scuffed my ankle on the chain guard while kicking up the kick stand, waited for the throbbing to stop, and then set off to cruise the small and bumpy strip of asphalt beside our house.

I jerked. I weaved. I all but side-swiped Chad’s truck. I over-corrected. I jostled. I stopped in fear…again. Chad wasn’t watching this time but I tried again anyhow. Ride number two came to a close and I didn’t take a nose dive.

It wasn’t until a few days later when we were on our way to the beach with the new bike in tow that Chad and I were talking. “I’ve decided to name my bike Lady Bird,” I said. “I”m going to look like a lady flying on a bird!”

My husband cut his eyes and said to me, “The other day, when I was in the house and you were riding? I was watching you.” There was a pause. “Have you ever ridden a bike before?”

The observation was honest, but it was embarrassing to know he’d been inside watching me look more like a clown riding an ostrich than a lady flying on a bird, and that it was a sight he’d seen more than once. “Of course I’ve ridden a bike!” I said in defense. “I’ve ridden lots of bikes.” Just not within what? Five years? “It’s been a long time. I’ll get better!”

“I know,” he confirmed. “You’ll get better.” And I did. All week long I rode Lady Bird, and the more I rode her the better I got. By the end of our vacation, I could do hills—up and down, grass, concrete and asphalt without the sound of circus music playing in my head. I even crossed a secondary street on her while wearing a bathing suit. Talk about risqué! All kinds of things could have gone wrong with that maneuver!

Also, the more I rode Lady Bird the more fun I had. Couldn’t take my hands off the handlebars or divert my attention for a split second, lest I crash and burn, but I had fun. Chad even pointed out my progress. “You’ve gotten a lot better on the bike this week,” he said. And then God pointed out something to me.

Although I would like to think my walk of faith is smooth and flawless, especially to watching eyes, I have entered into a season where I feel my spiritual moods are jerky and anything but smooth and graceful. Due to Satan’s handiwork, I feel myself wobbling to the left and then cutting sharply to the right, tossed about by temptations and insecurities and trying to keep my balance. A lot of people look at me and think I have it all together. That I am literally “flying like a bird” when it comes to all things spiritual. The truth is, I’m really struggling with something right now. I know it’s a trial that the Lord will use to refine me further, but I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t say there wasn’t a voice beckoning me to pursue the more adventurous trails of life.

Right now, the devil seems to have an all access pass to use things that have the true potential to not only stump me, but send me into the dirt face first. Just as I wobbled and careened on Lady Bird, always a moment’s notice away from a wreck, I can compare the feeling I had on that first and second ride with my present spiritual battle. Scripture tells me how to steer around and get past the mental bombardment I seem to be suffering, but unfortunately I can’t seem to do it with the true fluidity I desire. I want it to be effortless and it’s not.

I know better than to take my hands off the handlebars or divert my attention for even a second when it comes to fighting spiritual warfare, and that it’s going to take the exercise of actually putting the Biblical truths I’ve learned along life’s way into practice, coupled with the grace of God to make a victory possible at this point. I’m telling you. The heat is really on.

Forgive the comparisons, but it’s hard to strain toward the goal of spiritual fruit when the devil keeps offering me potato chips and telling me it’s more comfortable and convenient to sit on the couch and be content. In other words, he’s feeding me junk. Sadly enough, there have been moments during the last few weeks when I’ve chosen to dine on Satan’s garage instead of reaching for the meat of God’s Word that will produce the fruit of His Spirit. I can’t help but to wonder if God isn’t watching my spiritual progress these days and is asking, “Have you ever done this before? Have you ever experienced Me before? Do you not remember what it is that I’ve done for you ?”

Then I remembered. The great thing about Lady Bird is that she has several new replacement parts that have made her whole and working again. Yet at the same time, under all her new finery, she is still a 1950’s something bike. Her frame is still original. Under all my accomplishments, successes and achievements, I am still a sinner—a mere human saved by grace. There are feelings in me that are still very fleshly and no matter how much good I do to cover them up or how badly I will them to go away, they are always there waiting for something to knock a chip in my polished veneer to once again make my flaws visible.

The good news is that while Lady Bird still bears the base of her originality, she has been stripped, sanded, repainted, and adorned. Chad started at the base and worked his way out. She is solid. Deep down where it matters, so am I. Not because of who I am, but because of Who’s I am.

Chad didn’t go out and buy a new bike for me when he easily could have. It would’ve been faster, easier and much cheaper. God could’ve done the same. He could have made Christians perfect, mindlessly obedient workers for  his kingdom who are never swayed or bothered by life’s storms starting the moment we’re saved. But He didn’t. Instead, He chooses to hand craft us, increasing us from “glory to glory” (2 Corinthians 3:18). Both Chad and God chose to make an investment of their time, covering their projects in love and paying attention to tender detail. The result? Bringing forth a one-of-a-kind. I find it amazing that both of them could see the finished product before it was yet to be.

That is why my greatest hope these days is knowing that while I fight against my own evil desires, my Daddy is running along beside me with His steadying hand on my back saying, “It’s okay. I’ve got you! This is the way,”—even during the times when I can almost taste the bitter concrete of failure in my mouth.

Knowing that God is there to catch me in His surpassing grace gives me the courage to let Him sand away the parts of me that need to be further refined—even when it isn’t an easy nor painless process. Skinned knees and bruises are to be expected if I truly want to be great.

August 5th, 2010— I wrote this post some weeks ago, but didn’t find the nerve to post it until today. Since it’s writing, I’ve also come to discover that if we all hopped on this ride of faith with God expecting us to do everything right and on our own the first try, there would be no need of the spiritual armor mentioned in Ephesians, and that a perfect performance would lessen the magnitude and expanse of forgiveness that can be found in the cross. If we were made perfect the moment after surrender, there would be no need for a Heavenly Father to watch over His child as she makes her way from one stage in her spiritual life and into another. But thank God there is a need—an incredible need at times. More than that, I’m thankful that God has proven faithful to meet it.