Gluttony isn't Funny

Throughout my entire life, my heavenly Father has always pursued me. He pursued me when I was a two-year-old baby. I didn't know His name then. I simply referred to him as a light. My parents were not religious. My earth father was a non-practicing Jew who called himself a pagan. My mother was a non-practicing Catholic who rarely went to church. It was nothing short of a miracle that at age 15, my mother enrolled me in a Protestant private academy. I was 15-years-old when I first heard that Jesus loved me and had died for my sins. I had heard that I was sinful most of my life and I knew about Jesus. I really didn't want to hear anymore about being sinful and worthless. Yep, sinful...worthless... got it. Thanks.

However, one day I heard that Jesus loved me and loved me just the way I am. What!? I don't have to jump over hurdles and bark like a dog and play dead? I don't have to "do" myself to death? I was told to give my life to Jesus and He would give me a hope and a purpose. Yes, tell me where to sign up because I am so in for complete acceptance!

Sadly, I didn't understand what Jesus was offering me. Complete acceptance. I said the prayer and joined a church. I then spent the next 20 years serving myself to death. I enjoyed serving very much. However, I never asked God what He wanted me to do. If there was a need, I was certain I needed to meet it. I gave away cars, clothes, furniture, money, and every single minute I had and didn't have. There were few ministries in which I didn't serve.  I brought home prostitutes, homeless families, and questionable teenagers much to my mother's chagrin. I was certain that the more I did the more God would love me.  If the church said that God wanted me to give; I'd give it and sometimes not having enough to meet my own needs.

The church spoke against cheating, lying, homosexuality, evading your taxes, and they even told us who to vote for at times.  However, they never spoke against gluttony. In fact, there were a few times the fat minister made jokes about rushing the sermon so he could get to lunch.  I knew my eating habits were not pleasing to God. But, I didn't know how to stop; so I continued to overeat and eat! It wasn't funny.

As my faith grew, things at home became worse. My mother didn't want to hear about my God. She didn't want to know that bringing her boyfriend over to spend the night was wrong. She didn't want me to question her idols and tarot cards. She didn't like me throwing away her cigarettes. And she really didn't like me trying to convert my sister. "We are Catholic!" she would scream. Although, none of us really knew what being Catholic meant at all. Our virgin Mary statue sitting next to the giant gold Buddha and the little elephants that mama said would bring us luck.

To be honest, I was seriously self-righteous and annoying. I can't imagine what I put my poor mother through trying to condemn her of all her wrongs. The day finally came when she asked me to leave. I was 16-years-old. I didn't have a car and I didn't know how to drive. We didn't have family in the United States and I didn't have anywhere to go. I had God though. He sent me a sweet lady through my church that needed a roommate.