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Apr 01, 2017 2545 Margaret Ann Stimatz
Encounter

Letter to Lucy

Dear Lucy, I have been thinking, pondering a most riveting question that you asked awhile back: “Why do you like to go to Mass?” I want to amend the unmemorable answer I gave you back then, by telling you a little story. Here goes.

I was thirty-something and becoming disturbed because answers I thought I had were slipping away. Although my work life had been successful enough, a devastating break up had left me confused about the meaning and purpose of my life. A battle I had waged for years was escalating: my weight was surging out of control. Failed attempts to diet and exercise plunged me time and again into a cycle of obsession, self-pity and compulsive binging. Anguished and defeated, I hated myself. I felt ugly. I isolated myself behind self-help books and walls of fat, sharing my inner world with no one. In my darkest moments I wished I was dead.

A woman at work mentioned her own battles with food and we would commiserate. Then, she started to attend a recovery group. She told me of their holistic approach—they asserted that disordered eating was related to our emotions and spirituality and that all three must be addressed together. This resonated with me, so, overcoming my considerable skepticism, I, also, began to attend the meetings.

I was baffled yet captivated when I heard those people speak about God, like He cared about the nitty-gritty and the miseries of their lives. Faith, they believed, was meant for every day, not only for church on Sunday. One woman claimed that she experienced God as a benevolent coach. Moment by moment she could count on Him to provide the exact support or challenge she needed in order to achieve her personal best. Her experience seemed genuine and I was definitely intrigued. But what did it have to do with me? I knew God was much too busy to notice me weep when I could not find a single pair of pants that would zip anymore. He was obviously too far away to be bothered when I threw myself into yet another round of binging and despair.

To me, God was remote. With my life in that kind of turmoil, I barely gave Him a thought. I was down to attending Mass only about twice a year and then only to mollify my parents. Yet during those meetings, something had begun to stir deep within me—a yearning, a kind of homesickness. Hope had begun to flicker ever so dimly in my soul.

My weight began to drop a bit as changes in my daytime eating habits paid off, but an obstacle still loomed. Starving every day when I got off work at 5:00 p.m., I would inevitably start stuffing my face, plunging again into that compulsive and deadly cycle of mental, emotional and physical hell. This went on for weeks. Finally, the strangest thought penetrated my hopelessness: if I started going to daily Mass at 5:15 p.m., I could at least postpone the hemorrhage of nightly binging, thereby reducing its duration by one hour. In that moment, an invisible door opened before me. Oblivious to the glory that lay ahead, I stepped through.

Now, fast forward some years. My experiences with that group launched me into a new life. Gradually, I lost weight and kept it off. I stopped binging and am able to enjoy all foods in moderation. Wounds that once drove me to seek comfort in food were healed. I began to live the supernatural life for which we were all created, as I exchanged my childhood faith in a distant God for friendship with Jesus.

I found He loves me even when I am a mess. He picks me up when disappointment flattens me and puts me back together when I am crushed. He sorts me when I am running in too many directions, and makes a way when I see no way. He helps me forgive so I do not poison today with baggage from the past. He is a rock of truth when deceptive voices howl in my ears. He never gives up on me or throws me out to fend for myself. When I do get derailed, He reminds me that this life is only a flash and eternity is my enduring destination.

When I think back, I know for sure He was looking for me, even when I was not looking for Him. Once I began putting myself in places where He could get my attention, He welcomed me as I was and led me on from there. My progress, of course, required effort and continues to do so. What helps? Baby steps. Spending significant time with people who intentionally pursue what really matters. Asking for help when I need it. Trying out others’ suggestions now and then, instead of doing everything my way.

So thank you, Lucy, for asking, “Why do you like going to Mass?” Without answering directly, I hope these bits of my “inside story” (replete with pits and valleys, mysteries and supernatural wonders) have given you food for thought. Faith is a definitely a big subject. Where do you want to take it from here? Let us keep this conversation going. Tell me, what is your next question?

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Margaret Ann Stimatz

Margaret Ann Stimatz is a retired therapist currently working to publish her first book “Honey from the Rock: A Forty Day Retreat for Troubled Eaters”. She lives in Helena, Montana.

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