The call came at 7:50 on a Monday morning. I was not in the mood to get up.
"Wake up, princess."
"No."
"Come on, wake up. We're going to work out."
"I don't want to."
You see, I had made a fatal mistake. I looked at the proverbial "man in the mirror" (or woman, in this case), and like Michael Jackson, decided to make a change. I needed to lose weight. Unfortunately, unlike Michael, I couldn't afford liposuction, so I had to do it the hard way. Exercise.
My "friend" Chuckie decided he was going to help me. We would start walking together, he said. Walking sounded harmless. It wasn't that strenuous. It was better than high impact aerobics with ESPN, at any rate. And the motivation would be helpful. So I agreed.
I didn't count on wake up calls at 7:50 in the morning.
"I'll be over in 5 minutes," he said. I heard myself saying OK. He hung up and I stumbled out of bed, digging through my drawers for something I never wore; a pair of socks. They might come in handy.
He arrived, and watched as I laced up my black tennis shoes. "I'm not going to work you real hard today, you're just starting," he said. I was insulted. How dare he insinuate that I couldn't keep up?
"I'll be OK," I insisted during warm up stretches. But I was starting to doubt myself. I hadn't done some of this stuff in years. I mean, toe touches? I can't even see my toes!
No one said change was easy.
We left the house at 8:10. I was feeling better about this exercise thing. The sun was shining through big, puffy white clouds, and a slight breeze was blowing. The sky looked so blue. It was truly a beautiful day. And, in 30 minutes or less, I'd be back at home.
"We'll walk to the corner of Orange Avenue, then up to Wanish Way, and back. OK?" Chuckie, my faithful "trainer", broke into my admiration of nature. He looked at me closely, then demanded, "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine." Sure, I was breathing a little hard, but I wasn't about to die.
"OK, I'm going to run on ahead, and I'll come back." He left me to watch his retreating form and envy the way he could actually run, when I could barely get above a brisk walk. He also left me to discover a lesson. It's hard to exercise when the only exercise you've done in years is to walk to the refrigerator and back.
Finally, I reached the corner. I was elated. I was overjoyed. I was definitely ready to turn around and go home.
It was not to be.
"Well," says Chuckie, "we can do one of two things. We can turn around and walk back the way we came, or we can take Wanish down to Osceola Street and go the long way around."
"Let's go back." I was adamant. The "long way around" would take at least another 30 minutes and would add at least another mile to our journey. I was tired. My legs were protesting, my lower back and buttocks were killing me. I was ready to drop. "I'll never make it."
"Sure you will, I have faith in you."
"I know my body, I'll never get there. I'll collapse in the middle of the road."
"No, you won't. Come on." He began walking down Wanish Way, the exact opposite direction of the way I wanted to go. I contemplated mutiny, but somehow that didn't seem right. I couldn't just leave him. So, reluctantly, I followed.
We were only halfway down the street when my body started to complain. And when my body complains, it complains loud. I was ready to sit down in the middle of the road and cry.
"Are you OK?" he asked me. The perfect picture of health, he had the nerve to have a smile on his face.
"Yeah, I'm fine." I'm such a liar. I was praying for God to send some angels to push me down the road. Silently, I looked to heaven, asking, "Can I get some reinforcements?" But somehow, I knew I have to get home without heavenly assistance. Oh, well, it was worth a try.
"Come on, you're almost there."
"I still have to hit the hardest part."
There is only one thing that an out of shape person dreads on a walk. A hill. Osceola Street was all uphill. It meant that the last stretch was downhill, but I still had to get up there.
"I'm catching the bus." I said to myself. Then I thought about it. I was famous for never completing what I started. Why not start now.
The hill was giving me grief. It was all I could do to make myself place one foot in front of the other. It got so bad that Chuckie actually tried to push me up the hill at one point, but I rebuked him. I was going to do this on my own.
Somehow, I made it. I looked at the top of the hill and could see home.
The rest of the walk was a breeze. Downhill is always easy. And with my feet aching and my legs screaming bloody murder, I walked home to collapse on my living room couch.
Over a bowl of Fruit Loops, Chuckie smiled at me. "I'm so proud of you," he said. And I was proud of myself. I had walked approximately 2 � miles.
I had also learned a valuable lesson.
So many of us have lofty goals. I want to lose ten pounds by the high school reunion. I want to graduate from college. I want to be a famous novelist. I want to get married and have children. I want to get a good job. I want to make something of myself. The tradgedy is that most of the time, we never start the walk. We go back and forth to our spiritual refridgerator, getting fed on the Word, and yet never exercising its power. We go around in anointed circles. Stagnating. Wishing we could have enough will power to follow dreams.
Finally, we decide to start. We're happy, jubilant, confident. Then God shows us the road he wants us to take. The long one.
Have you ever looked down the road of your goals and despaired of ever reaching them?
It takes pain and sacrifice to reach a goal. The majority of the time, the road is longer than we'd like. We get tired. We get weary. We feel like giving up and crying in the middle of the road. It's easier to give up. So we do. And we see our dreams fade in the dust with whispers of regret. And God mourns for another dream that we've lost.
It wasn't just me and my friend on that road Monday morning. God was with me every step of the way. And when you are walking down the road of change and growth, he is with you then. Encouraging you. Pushing you. In some places, even carrying you. He doesn't want you to give up.
The hills will come. The road will get hard to climb. Sometimes it looks impossible. We'll protest, "There's got to be another way, an easier way." But it's worth it to climb the hills and go the way he shows us.
Nothing else can prepare us for the sight of home, the sight of a goal within reach, as to go through the hard test.
Change. It's never easy. But it's worth it. Don't give up on your miracle of change.
Thank you, Chuckie.