Fat and Happy

I’m happy. How could I not be? I’ve got me a good man and a plethora of children. I have meaningful work and a gorgeous home. Best of all, I am in love with the Lord and know how treasured I am by him.

Sometimes I feel guilty for being so happy. Some of my closest friends are going through difficult times; I read the news; I’ve been to Africa and seen the suffering there. The world is not always a happy place. But then I remember the words that held me when I thought I would die of despair. “Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us,” (Psalm 90:15). God must have been smiling when I bawled out those words, knowing he would answer that prayer beyond what I could ask or imagine.

I know what it is to suffer, but as I always say, “Through all the circumstances of my life, I have gained more than I have lost ... and I'm not just talking weight.”

Maybe I should talk weight, though. I mean, all this happiness is causing my scale to malfunction. (Certainly, I don’t weigh that much!) I’ve been enjoying my life so much—“taking time to heal,” as my friends all say—that I’m edging toward gluttony. My blessing intake is not balanced with my blessing output.

In Africa, fat is in. Not many there can afford the amount of food it takes to get overweight, so big bellies are shown off the way Americans might show off a new Porsche or a fancy home. I've seen a large woman in Liberia rub her jelly belly as lovingly as one would pet the family dog ... as I held a starving, orphan boy in my arms. Her arrogance disgusted me.

It disgusted me all the more when I realized I was just like her.

I don’t want to be fat and happy. I don’t want to be rubbing my jelly-belly blessings when others are suffering. God blesses me so I can be a blessing to others. God didn’t give Abraham a son so that old Abe could show off his family photo album to his friends; God gave Abraham a son so that all nations could be blessed through him.

With this in mind, I took a small step and volunteered at a homeless shelter today. I was surprised to discover that I was nervous about going; I mean, it wasn't so long ago that my own home in the inner city acted as a sort of homeless shelter for my struggling neighbors. It’s scary how quickly I became uncomfortable around the type of people I used to live with, the type of people Jesus loved so madly. Anyway, I went and sorted clothes at the second-hand store they're starting up. And it was fun! I’m going to go again next week.

I’m glad I’m realizing before it happens that fat and happy doesn’t last forever. If I’m not giving as much of this joy away as I can, I’ll end up fat and miserable.