Three hundred seventy-five. What?! How could my cholesterol have jumped more than 150 points in just three years?
“I’m going to start you on a low-dose medication,” the doctor said, “but it can only do so much. You’ll need to change your diet and your exercise habits. Schedule a visit with our nutritionist right away.”
Heart disease ran in my family, but I always thought I’d have more time before it became an issue. I was 51—wasn’t that too young for cholesterol medication and fiber-packed diets? Sure, I’d put on a few extra pounds over the years, but didn’t everyone?
I made an appointment with Beth, the nutritionist my doctor recommended. She asked me to keep a food journal for a week before we met.
Beth read through my entries when I went in to see her. “There’s way too much salt and sugar in your diet,” she said. Like the sweets I’d snacked on between meals and the soy sauce in my stir-fry dinner.
“You’ve got six weeks till our next appointment,” Beth said. “With a few modifications, you can lower your cholesterol significantly.”
Easy for her to say. Every year after my physical, I vowed to take control of my cholesterol. Eat right, exercise, say goodbye to those three cookies a day. But I’d slack off after a month. I’d been trying to change my ways ever since my forties. How would this time be any different?
I went home and flipped open my Bible, hoping to find reassurance that God still loved me, high cholesterol and all. Instead I found Philippians 4:13: “I can do all this through him who gives me strength.”
I’d never read that verse in the context of my health before. With my history of failing to follow through, I needed all the help I could get.
I chose a few more verses and scribbled them on yellow sticky notes. I put them on the kitchen counter, my bathroom mirror, my car dashboard—little reminders to lean on God, not just for my spiritual health but for my physical health.
If you find honey, eat just enough—too much of it, and you will vomit. —Proverbs 25:16
On Day One of my diet, I set out to make oatmeal the way Beth had recommended, with no sugar or salt. “Hospital food,” I grumbled, mixing the oats with water.
I had a major sweet tooth. As a little girl, I’d sneak lumps of brown sugar from the bag in the cupboard. I was used to sprinkling my morning oatmeal with brown sugar, which according to Beth was a big no-no.
Instead, I topped my breakfast with two teaspoons of ground flaxseed, a quarter teaspoon of cinnamon and half a diced apple. Bland and flavorless, here we come, I thought, taking my first nibble.
Actually, not bad. Just a hint of sweetness. Before I knew it, I’d scraped the bowl clean!
The rest of the week, I experimented with Beth’s tips, substituting spices for salt and fruit for sugar. If I was tempted to have a dessert, I glanced at Proverbs 25:16, stuck to my refrigerator door. Everything in moderation. Just a little bit of honey—or in my case, cinnamon—to add flavor.
Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. —Lamentations 3:22–23
It happened on Day 10 of the diet. The laundry was folded, the fridge was stocked and the house was spotless. I sat back with a book. But all I could think about were the chocolate-chip cookies, my husband, Rod’s, favorite, in the cookie jar.
I cut up an apple, ate a few slices. That didn’t satisfy my sweet tooth. What was the harm in just one cookie? I’d been good all week—didn’t I deserve a little reward? I pulled out a cookie, savoring the chocolaty goodness. Cookies should always be eaten in twos, I told myself. I grabbed another. And another.
Before I knew it, I had eaten eight cookies.
My food journal glared at me from the kitchen counter. Not even two weeks into my diet and I’d already failed. How would I make it through another month?
God’s compassions are new every morning, I reminded myself. It was a slipup, not the end of the world. I could start fresh tomorrow. In fact, why wait till morning? That night, I ate a sensible dinner. When I craved dessert afterward, I finished the apple I’d sliced up in the afternoon. The next day, I turned to a new page in my food journal and began again.
Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ. —Galatians 6:2
Every Monday, I had a longstanding breakfast date with my friend Zanne. Usually we caught up over French toast and bacon. I was a little embarrassed to pull out my plastic baggie of flaxseed and cinnamon to dump on top of my boring oatmeal.
“That looks so good,” Zanne said. “You know, I’m really proud of you!”
Zanne asked the waitress to bring us some sides of fruit. Zanne didn’t need to watch her cholesterol. But on those Monday mornings, we were in it together.
The next week at breakfast with Zanne, when I told her I’d lost two pounds, we celebrated with blueberries. Reporting back to a friend made the struggles easier to bear and the victories so much sweeter.
When you walk, your steps will not be hampered; when you run, you will not stumble. —Proverbs 4:12
Maybe there was something to healthy eating. By Week Three, my energy level was soaring. Time to kick things up a notch. I was no athlete. But walking? Even I could manage that. I challenged myself to reach 10,000 steps by the end of the first day.
At 10 o’clock at night, though, I’d only reached 9,000 steps.
“Aren’t you coming to bed?” my husband asked. I sat on the edge of the mattress, checking my pedometer. I was so close!
“Not yet,” I said, putting my sneakers on again. “I think I’ll take a quick turn around the block. I want to hit ten thousand steps.”
Rod stared at me for a moment, then got out of bed. “Can’t let you go alone, now can I?”
It took us 15 minutes to walk around the block. We recapped our day as we went. By the time we reached our driveway again, I had more than 10,000 steps and a new nightly ritual with Rod.
Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God?… Therefore honor God with your bodies. —I Corinthians 6:19–20
Week Five was Rod’s fifty-first birthday. We made reservations at one of the best restaurants in town. I pulled out the black Calvin Klein dress that I’d banished to the back of my closet. It hadn’t fit in at least a decade. Now it zipped up easily.
At dinner, we ordered the salad and pork chops. Nothing too crazy. Then the waiter arrived with the dessert menus. Molten chocolate cake. Crème brûlée. Apple crumble. I was full, but I wanted to order two of everything!
Instead, I pulled out the sticky note I’d tucked in my purse. I reread the words from I Corinthians.
I handed the menu back to the waiter. I’d had an amazing meal, without having to stuff myself senseless. Sure, it was Rod’s birthday. But the best gift I could give him was my clean bill of health.
And that’s exactly what I did one week later at my nutritionist’s.
My cholesterol was 179, almost 200 points down in six weeks. “I told you you could do it,” Beth said.
It wasn’t just me. The medication helped. And so did the Great Healer, verse by verse. That’s what made the difference.
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