Monday, May 24, was my 32nd birthday.
On Wednesday, during church, I checked my blood sugar. 143.
Bit too high.
Amazingly, I had forgotten the possibility that I was diabetic. I had gestational diabetes during both pregnancies, but once Jordan was born and I started feeling better, I went back to old eating habits, and the idea that diabetes hadn’t gone away this time drifted away. The regular Dr Pepper I drank at dinnertime Wednesday, and how lousy I felt during service, brought the idea back.
It is past time I started taking better care of myself. But better late than too late, or never at all.
I’m going to start taking better care of myself in several regards: health, financial, physical condition, stress level. I’m reasonably certain that improvements in the first three areas will directly impact the fourth.
I seem to have started with the fourth area first, though. Apparently, a lot of my stress lately has been caused by poor communication. (Imagine that.) With two conversations, one with my supervisor at work and one with my husband Chris, I have cleared up most of my interpersonal stress.
This clearing allows me to reevaluate what is important and what is not, and to notice things such as my blood sugar being too high.
I want to help others, and I am learning how. One of the first things I had to learn was that the term missionary doesn’t have to mean someone who travels to a far away country and helps people there. A missionary can be someone in your neighborhood, in your workplace, in your family. A servant of God can be anyone, anywhere. He has placed us where we are for His reasons. With this in mind, I have relaxed about how I might best serve Him and His other children. But first I must help myself out a little so I CAN help others to the best of my abilities.
Bit by bit, little by little. A post I read recently on Slacktivist titled “Study War No More” received a comment from Will Wildman. The last part struck me:
The essence of hope that Fred always advocates is all about the seemingly endless Holy Saturday – awash in doubt and implacable, saturated evil – and the conviction that Sunday – victory and harmony and paradise, however you might envision it – will exist, already does exist in the future. It occurs to me that the way to engage that conviction may be to start things and push forward things that you know you’re never going to see the conclusion of, because limiting yourself only to things that can be finished in the time you have means never touching some of the biggest and most important work.