Dan and I had a great trip to the Oregon seacoast. It was refreshing to enjoy the ocean view and breathe the salty sea air (Having a hottub in our room certainly helped too). But, like all good things, there can be too much of it.
We found a restaurant a mile down the beach from our hotel that fed our seafood cravings and our tightwad tendencies. Mo’s is a famous Oregon seacoast staple, known especially for its fabulous clam chowder, which is hands down the best I’ve ever had. So, every night, we walked down the beach, gorged ourselves on seafood, and walked back, thinking that the mile back would justify eating all those butter soaked clams.
Then, there was the hiking. Not only did we hike for over 3 miles around Ecola state park, we walked a few additional miles each day, exploring the town and back and forth to our fish fest. We purposefully chose a dinky town for relaxation, but like usual, we saw everything there was to see and spent all our energy, plus some, doing it.
I also did some swimming in the hotel’s pool in my insane attempt at “wellness,” something my friends from Switzerland had been telling me about. Basically, it’s the bizarre Scandinavian ritual of sweating it out in a hot sauna then plunging in a cold pool. Call me crazy, but I thought this was a recipe for a coronary. But those crazy northerners think it draws the toxins out of the skin. So, I read for awhile in the sauna until I felt hot and slimy, and then I dunked in the icy pool. Dan said I got bright red like a cooked lobster. I did this masochistic cycle a couple times and declared myself purified. Or something like that. Dan just watched, amused.
As you can imagine, I came back needing a vacation from my vacation. I went way too crazy with the food and had to go back to the baby food and liquid diet for a couple days to get back on track with my healing process. My body didn’t like all that walking, and it refused to do much more when I got home. Realistically, I got set back a few weeks on my recovery time.
Last weekend, when we got back, I was really beating myself up about overdoing it. There’s nothing like eating pureed green beans out of a glass jar to make you feel low. But I’ve been reflecting on a verse the past couple weeks, trying to take it to heart when I start berating myself for the unfolded pile of laundry sitting in the middle of the living room, or the stack of dishes waiting to be washed, or the ever-growing stack of magazines on our coffee table, or the fact that I haven’t finished memorizing the first chapter of James yet.
Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus (Romans 8:1).
I’m not perfect. I’m going to mess up. But I’ve got a Savior who loves me and accepts me just the same.
But I’d really like to be done with the baby food, and I’m annoyed with myself for overdoing it so much.
And yet, there is no condemnation for me because Jesus loves me and forgives me for overdoing it by being a seafood splurging, nature galavanting, “wellness” experimenting, DUMMY.