“Lord, Help Me When I don’t want to Be Good”



I have been remiss in thinking I can write a book that has anything to do with weight. I need to spend time unceasingly, steadfastly focused on God, and I don’t. My breakfast a couple of months ago as I originally wrote this post was three cups of coffee, two pieces of pineapple upside cake, one honey bun. Now, that I considered my actions, I pretty well predicted that I will experience diarrhea the next day.
Why do I give in to my wants and not my nutritional needs? This is my disease element, if I choose to label my behavior as an addiction and part of the medical model of diagnosis. But my mistake was in running to the comfort of food and not depending on God’s provision for me. He will take care of me in doing the things I need to do.
Today I want to write and to study, but I also need to finish some other projects. Back to the central thought–my behavior is a sin. I know some have their addiction problems solved instantaneously by God; others have to work it out to get out from under an habituated behavior. Do you, like me, scream internally that you and your situation are somehow special, unique, or different?
We will use any excuse not to change. My behavior is really a will problem–a sin problem. I want my way, my will.

And I know that God wants–wills–what is best for me. I live in an earthly body, tempted and giving in to temptation. Sometimes I should not even get out of bed, and I certainly know what I should not have in the house with me–sweets or sugars of any kind. One bite leads to another and it is all appetite, not hunger. I deserve–my body deserves–that I treat my body with respect, feed it to fuel it, not to stuff my emotions. What were my emotions? I had dreamed about teaching, given up because of the muscular dystrophy (INCLUSION BODY MYOSITIS).

But my behavior yesterday was also addictive. I thank God I did not order that yarn–only $150 for boocoodles (sorry, you Francophiles and French purists–I leaned this term before beaucoup d’argent} of yarn; however, the shipping and handling were almost the same cost. utter selfishness.

This near action caused me to consider that my addiction is really excessism manifested by secrecy, selfishness, pride, and sense of entitlement. No, I don’t deserve everything I see/want. I must desire more of God, His indwelling spirit–it is present but I can quench its still small voice. My will has a name and it is not addiction. It is “mememememememememe,” always craving to do and to want without consideration of God’s plan, or purpose, or higher intent.

Over and over I have missed the mark because of me. I do not take every thought captive to the obedience of Christ and thus put another nail in or another whip mark on His blessed sacrificial body. Do I not care what I am doing? Have I lost all concern for following Jesus? Do I really want what I see or think of at any price. It’s too easy to fall into a medical model and say, “Yes, it is addiction.”

An addiction gets progressively worse so that the body must meet its substance need regardless of the cost or the effect or the possible consequence, Do I not fit into that category? But doesn’t everyone in some way? Some are addicted to their seemingly uncontrollable anger outbursts, or maybe they just like the high they get from feeling powerful.

How do I feel when I overeat?    


 (not even me)and then that whiny remorseful sniveling coward shows up ashamed of what she has done and how and what she has eaten. “Oh, wretched woman that I am–I do not that which I should do and do that which I should not.”

For me overeating or eating compulsively is sin. I miss the mark;  I don’t heed what is best for me according to God’s plan. My good Methodist son in love reminds me gently : “Everything in moderation, including moderation.” Sadly, I let sins pile up, unrepented, unconfessed, only slightly acknowledged,. I should feel a deep sadness that I do not consider what it cost the Son of God to pay the price for me. My negligence in this area is more overwhelming to me than my consideration of my body as a temple, a holy place set apart for the Holy Spirit to indwell for comfort, for conviction, for guidance. 














 So MANY days I do not want to be “good.” I don’t want to give up that which tastes good or appeals to me to substitute that which is good, nutritious, live-sustaining. On those I ignore the spiritual disciplines that should be a primary focus—prayer, Bible study, asking for myself to be surrendered and ready for service. On those days I am in rebellion.

I am willing to serve others, just not equipped because not indwelt. Over the years I have chosen what it is that I want to eat, and my choices have become more healthy as I have learned more about nutrition. However, I do not want to feel empowered; I want to feel surrendered. To give myself a break here, I also remind myself of the doctor’s orders :”Rest before you get tired.” At first, I had no idea how to live out that instruction. As my disease progressed without improvement, I started to understand greatly . God’s love language is obedience. To give Him the love gift HE WANTS, I MUST OBEY. That means I need to get a daily word and step out in faith to live it as best I understand.


About Dot Ainsworth Day

After 25 years in the classroom as an English teacher and over twenty years as a family therapist, I am confined to home with a muscular dystrophy and have begun to write: my family history, MEMORIES OF THE SHARECROPPER'S FAMILY, was published February 27, 2017. Through this blog, I hope you enjoy learning more about muscular dystrophy, the (ahem) joys of having a caregiver or care partner and the management of daily activities. THAT'S WHAT FRIENDS ARE FOR is a short story now being stretched into a novel. A TASTE FOR MURDER, a family story of murder discussed on another blog and in the family history, is still in the first draft stage. Note: Writing a novel based on real characters and avoiding offense or lawsuit is difficult enough. Its being a first novel and my learning the intricacies of dialogue and plotting​ have made for a slow learning curve.
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