Give up and Go!

Part One of a three part series on slimming and health

“Oh my God,” are not the first words you want to hear from the nurse as she takes your blood pressure for a routine doctor visit.  “Let me take it again, sometimes this new machine acts up.”  “Is everything alright,” I asked swallowing my anxious dry mouth.  “Let me see if the doctor can see you now, Mr. Lobaugh. Just relax,” she said with a stressed smile, like a stewardess might say as the oxygen masks are falling from above your seat.  The doctor came in, took my blood pressure old school, stethoscope just below my bicep and the blood pressure pump from the wall. “Tom, please lie back and take a few deep breaths.”

With more anxiety my pitch went up as I asked, “What’s going on?”  “Let’s relax a moment. Deep breaths, close your eyes. I don’t want you stroking out on me Tom,” he shared with compassion and great concern.  “Have your days been under a lot of extra stress lately?” Come to think of it, the stress had increased at work and at home and I had fallen back into patterns of late at night stuffing of sweets and other comfort food to be satisfied; a trick of thinking being full is a peaceful easy feeling.  My BP that morning was 181 over 115, weighed in at 256, and was having a headache and difficulty breathing.  My snoring through the night, or during a nap, was keeping many people awake in the house, especially Kathy. Many night sweats due to high blood pressure and headaches were keeping me awake as well.  It was stressful on our marriage and one of us usually ended up on the sofa.  Doc said, “Tom you’ve got to loose the weight.”

Our minds are powerful and our bodies do whatever our minds tell them to do, and you know you are out of balance when the body, adjusting to the stuffing of food our mind needs to be fulfilled, takes over and the flesh cries out, every morning and evening “More sugar, more carbs, more of everything!” Had a goal at the beginning of 2009 of weighing 185 pounds with a 34” waist before the end of that year; it was the same weight when we married, and that good-looking guy in the tuxedo was inspiring. Two years later, sitting in the doctors office worried about stroking out, and feeling miserable about myself again, I wondered out loud, “When is there anymore time in the day to exercise, let alone eat right with all of the late meetings and long hours?” Walking back to the car with an increased prescription in blood pressure medicine to now twice a day ($150.00 a month with insurance), out of breath from the walk across the parking lot, nostalgic of those incredible years as a good athlete and shaking my head in disgust, I pulled my XXL shirt forward and away so it would hang loosely and mask the uncomfortable cling to my skin. I unbuttoned my size 40 pant (two sizes too small to mask the fat) so it would be easier to sit with my belly hanging over while driving home. I rubbed my aching knee from surgery in 2009 and remembered the surgeon saying, “You probably will never be able to run again, your knee is going to have to be replaced sometime soon, your weight all these years has just pounded that poor thing to death.”  I climbed into the car and wept. This was the single most depressing moment of my life and on March 28, 2011 I could not take it any more. I gave up.

Giving up is the most faithful action for those who believe in The Other. God was listening (always), and so began my soul’s slow and deliberate ascent from the depths and into the place of honor and beauty and love, balancing mind and body; taking control and guiding it’s destiny with it’s creator. It was as if the soul had woken from a long deep sleep and was ready to go and knew instantly what to do, that it was going to be difficult, that we were not alone, and somehow fueled a burning desire to get on with it and go. Everything was going to change and there was peace in knowing this; from preaching to experiencing others, to the way of viewing myself.  So, a new doctor was sought who would be real with me with excruciating clarity and honesty. Professional help was looked into to change behaviors and patterns. More guidance from a life coach was wanted and did whatever he said and his firs recommendation was to get the book, You on a Diet: The Owners Manual for Waist Management (Michael F. Roizen MD, and Mehmet C. Oz MD; Free Press, NY, NY; revised and updated 2009).  Prayer was asked from two trusted friends.  Keeping a record of slimming began and my son took the beginning picture of my body. We watched Biggest Loser as a family on Tuesday.  Kathy, the doctor, and life coach were the only three kept in the sacred loop of how much slimming was happening each week, and we decided to let these actions speak louder than words.

Give up and go was the inspiration from April - June.  Kathy helped set a time in the mornings, and we adjusted schedules at work and home to allow for a workout every day except Sunday. The YMCA was our family’s place to go for working out.  Following the book’s recommendation for eating right, as well as the doctor’s help in adjusting some eating plans for more protein and less carbs (am a carb junkie), increased energy and an overall healthier and positive feeling.  The week of June 23, 2011 saw four amazing things happen. The size 40 pants did not fit anymore, had slimmed 23 pounds to a weight of 230, stopped snoring, and for only 33 days of exercise we clocked 24 hours, logged 122 miles and burned 17,500 calories.  Kathy hugged me and said, “You’re disappearing!”  The doctor had to change my blood pressure medication because at the previous dosage for a larger man it was causing the slimmer me to be dizzy so he cut it in half.  The new BP was 122/74.  Our children began noticing and celebrating the slender me with smiles and handshakes and hugs.  Give up and go!  You can do it.  Now is your time.

Dr. Tom Lobaugh

Keep Going!

“I’m sorry but do we know this man,” whispered the Wells Fargo manager to the teller as she looked over her glasses skeptically, verifying the two signatures required on depositing the paycheck.  It was 5:40PM and the bank closed in twenty minutes.  Everyone wanted to go home.  We had not been into this branch in over thirty days. Looking at the manger with concern and questioning her customer service etiquette, I muttered, “Certainly we had enough superficial hellos and welcome gestures these past three years to recognize this face.”

“Umm, yes, we do,” the teller said, speaking softly through her closed full teeth smile revealing her embarrassment of the manager’s ignorance.  “This is Rev. Tom Lobaugh, you know the paastoorr from Trinity Presby-somethin’ church,” she smiled and nodded at me for approval. “Who,” said the manger with a continued unprofessionally loud murmur, trying to teach the teller about verifying proper identification, especially with someone the manager was suspicious. 

There were two simultaneous revelations: First, each of the teller booths at the counter appeared wider causing a strange thought at how many renovations were done swiftly; and second, the manager honestly and sincerely did not recognize me. That’s how slim I had become! Everyone’s schedule modified to accommodate a new consistent work out time incongruent with what normal banking hours dictate. The only morning routine that worked with one car between the five of us, was for me to drop everyone off at work and school between 7:30 and 8AM, and then get to the YMCA for at least a :45 minute workout, putting me into the office between 10:30 and 11. Something in my deepest tendency to be liked combining with this church’s lack of boundaries created a struggle with pleasing others instead of taking time for health. So, I began re-working a new limit into the calendar curbing extra-curricular time at the gym and caving into the pressure to make everyone else happy. Those changes would have been made had it not been for the Divine’s guidance at 4:30PM with Kathy calling in a reminder, “Babe, have you deposited your paycheck yet?”

The manager, surprised after connecting with the leaner me, apologized profusely and asked if there was some sickness causing the “weight loss.”  With tears welling for the greatest mistaken identity ever, I blubbered something like, “Yeah, yeah, the weight loss is intentional. I’ve slimmed 42 pounds to date. Thank you, thank you for the rest of my life for making today awesome.”  She would not be the last person to be genuinely concerned and surprised with a healthier appearance.

So, as you desire to trim your beautiful self, give up and go, and TODAY keep going!  TODAY is the only that matters. Everyone and their schedules will adjust and accommodate to the new you becoming who you really are. For freedom, you have been set free! Keep going and use words like, slim, slimming, and lean. They help capture a healthy positive happening.  Keep going! Keep going.

Dr. Tom Lobaugh​

Waisting Away

“Wow, honey, you look like you did in college,” Kathy said one morning.  “You look really good,” she said with a sexy growl. I turned red.  Her words remain encouraging today.  That is a picture of my old belt, fits a size 44, and reads XL on the inside leather.  Had to cut it to fit my trimming waistline; down to a size 40 five months into this plan and an exercise regimen counting out 70 consistent days with 49 hours, 279 miles, 45,245 calories burned, and a BP reading 110/73!

The book You On A Diet, needs no other endorsement. Having read the book twice, it is the most comprehensive helpful thesis on health I have ever read.  Perhaps, it is the great pictures and cartoons accompanying their terrific research captivating my attention. Page twelve of the introduction is what takes many by surprise and holds our attention, changing the way we think about our body and health.  For years, and in many of our doctors consultations, we have heard time and again, “loose the weight.”  Listen to the word again, “loosing;” as if something was lost and would be found.  Don’t know about you, but I don’t ever want to find that weight again.  Loosing also means there is something lost, a looser to be ridiculed.  Our family enjoys the show Biggest Looser, and the title throws us.  “Congratulations, you are the biggest looser,” sounds negative and though true in terms of weight loss, the kudos do not rightly affirm what those contestants are truly going through; which is becoming a healthier, slimmer, truer you!  It should be called, “The Real You!”   I progress.

Back to page twelve of You on a Diet.  The good doctors talk about the most significant breakthrough toward good health; waist size!  The healthy waist size for a woman is 32.5”, and for men it is 35”.  It has been a joy watching my body slim to what my wife said, and into becoming the real me; and keeping track of the weight has not been important.  Dr.’s Roizen and Dr. Oz’s approach to “waist management,” is the only important figure to focus on and move toward.

Answering dear friends questions one night after a slew of difficult meetings, on why I was making so much progress, I made sure they would get the book to help jump start their new life, I showed them my waist and how my old pleated pants were bunching up even with a new “cut belt” holding the mess up.  Our friend’s wife said with a laugh, “You need to go shopping for new clothes, and stay away from pleats!” I can remember the afternoon at Macys twenty-three years ago, when I had jumped two waist sizes and was given the “talk” by the clothing guy, “Perhaps you should try something with a pleated front, you’ll look better.”  Listening to that silliness play again in my head, worthless.  Realizing I could shop for flat front pants, hilarious.

For a little while, during the late summer and early fall of 2011, I was grateful for bigger shirts because it covered the vagabond look I was sporting with my chopped up belt. My parents had purchased a suit for me ten years ago when I was “seriously” going to loose weight for the fiftieth time. The suit’s waist size is a 38 and it was purchased to help motivate “weight loss.” Instead, it collected dust for ten years and was a constant reminder of what had not been done.  With Kathy’s encouragement that morning, I sneaked into the closet later that night and tried it on and it fit. Thinking out loud, “How can I be in a 38, that’s two sizes away from my goal of 34 inches,” I ran to mirror and growled.  Funny thing is I was only able to wear the suit for two months; flew right through it.  In fact, we gave all of my suits, and slacks and sport coats and sweaters to Goodwill.  It is an amazing freedom to watch your closet slim.

That’s when many in the church began to see the results.  One woman shared after services with some joy, “Pastor, you are wasting away before our very eyes!”  And that’s when the homonym fell out of the sky: Waisting away. How fun to be waisting away! For the first time in 25 years I could see my goal waist of 34” buckling around me.  Cheesy, I know. What I did not see coming was the 34” being a brief gift at Christmas.  To date, we have been through three cycles of three different shopping times, and each purchase of a new belt, or pair of jeans with a healthier waistline, makes Kathy grin from ear to ear.

Give up and Go, Keep Going because TODAY is the only day that matters, and Waist Away into the true beautiful you.  You are worth every slendering waisted inch toward a healthier longer life. You are moving into lean. Good for you. Today is your day!

 Dr. Tom Lobaugh

Blue Kentucky Moon

It was after 10:00PM. There was the kind of full moon rising so bright it lighted our path. My stomach growled in the quiet of the night as the camp directors and I were walking toward our dorm rooms. Julie turned to the other director and said,

“I’m hungry. Let’s get to the kitchen and see if they have any food.”

The lights were on in the mess hall and we could hear voices laughing loudly. It was the staff cleaning up. As we walked in with hungry looks on our faces, the head cook, with greasy hair tied tightly beneath a half worn hair net and missing a couple of teeth shouted over the empty buffet,

“Ever had fried bologna preacher boy?” Everyone quietly hummed a chorus of, “Mmmm.”

“Nope, but I’ll try it as long as you all eat it with me,” I said smiling and a little nervous.

He sliced the bologna off the slab, fried it up in butter and oil with just a hint of salt and pepper, and we walked outside with our paper plates stacked high with this strange late night treat. Another cook commented while chewing her bologna slice in between words,

“Damn, that’s a big ‘ol moon! It’s so close, bet if you threw a piece of bologna at it, it’d stick!”

Two slices into our stack, the same cook saw a man appear from the woods below and hollered,

“Hey Roy!”

Roy walked to us slowly, dressed in a black suit with a white shirt and black southern bow tie (a mix between Abraham Lincoln, Colonel Sanders, and The Salvation Army). He had a well-trimmed beard, salt and pepper hair, and was smoking a pipe. The sweet tobacco aroma reminded me of my grandfather. One small puff at a time he moved toward the steps. He stood 6’ 5” tall with every movement deliberate and slow. He had deep brown eyes and his weathered face told it’s own story of a life lived in hardship. His words were careful and speaking thoughtfully with an Appalachian accent and smile, he looked into our faces and with a profound sincerity and somber tone he said,

“Children of the Lord, doin’ God’s work will be repaid a hundred fold for their labors when the Kingdom comes. Ya’ll got any bologna to share?”

In this part of the South when a guest offers a sincere blessing it is good to invite them in, especially when it’s something as good as fried bologna.

Most of the time Roy spent his afternoons on the steps of the local Dairy Queen. He was a tainted treasure of the community. Roy’s past, like many of us, was broken and imperfect, and sadly many of his decisions were played loudly in public many years ago. He was considered the town’s most influential preacher and then poor choices led him astray

and he lost his family, congregation, and part of himself. Roy was almost always homeless moving from apartment to apartment. Home for him was always at another’s table and establishment, and every time Roy was grateful for everyone’s hospitality. After eating a couple of slices, he peered out at the moon, and leaned into me whispering directly,

“Preacher boy, that is blue Kentucky moon, and there ‘aint nothin’ like it in the whole wide world. You remember that when you’re ministrin’ to other folks … just love ‘em where they’re at with what they got.”

Twenty years later the taste of that fried bologna, the damp summer evening in the light of a rare blue Kentucky moon, and Roy’s words continue to inspire.

Who inspires you? Take a moment and write down three living people who inspire you. Send them a ‘thank you’ note either by facebook, a tweet, an e-mail, or old school it with a stamp. When you look around at the people in your life today each person carries a gift of inspiration just for you. Most importantly, you are an inspiration for others! What happens when you invite yourself into another’s life with the anticipation of hearing and seeing what the inspired message is? They are heard and recognized. That moment becomes a shared space of something far greater than they imagined their day to be. The simple act of invitation into their space breathes new life into them. So, before you leave the house today or tomorrow, take a moment and think of an inspiring phrase to share. Let it be simple and short, perhaps something from your heart that you may be feeling. Share it with at least one person before you call it a day.

Dr. Tom Lobaugh

The Gift

That’s TJ “Ice Man” Brown and Jonathan “Lo Lo” Lobaugh.  They are best friends for life.

Played basketball the other day with Jon and TJ at the YMCA.  They are seniors at Midland High School, and both played varsity basketball this year together.  They shot for captains. Jon hit the first three and TJ followed with his.  Jon has one of the most beautiful shots I have ever seen.  When he is in the zone, you cannot help but smile at his form and confidence. He is also one of the most loyal friends and best teammate encouragers I have ever met; especially when the absolute worst scenario is playing out, or he finds himself in the midst of a difficult mess.  His greatest strength is being positive, and he has a way of inspiring players and coaches to greatness, no matter the situation; and this is not just a proud father talking it is the honest to God truth. We have often said to him, “We wished we had a friend like you in high school.”  TJ’s basketball game is confident, strong, and he is fun to watch play.  He is a play maker, and he’s so good he signed with Abilene Christian University before basketball got started this past year.  TJ stopped Jon during their workout on the court, as if lost in thought like TJ had been suddenly touched by a basketball muse, and said, “Hard work is always greater than talent, when talent doesn’t work hard.”  What a gift.

Jon picked first and chose his dad.  I began making wise-cracking, self-degrading comments, “I’m sure Jon’s probably thinking, ‘Well that was nice of me to pick my old man, but I’ve given that game away,’” There were some courtesy laughs.  Not from Jon. Being the shortest guy on the court, and not having touched the ball in over four months, confidence was waning from the old man to produce anything, and I didn’t want to embarrass Jon.  His focus on me was steady and certain, the kind of seriousness from an athlete that was saying with his eyes, “Let’s get this party started, ‘cuz we about to open a can of whoop ass, and we don’t anyone to miss out on the fun!”  It startled me, and got me thinking that we could actually win.  We were down by nine, and then we were tied (all of Jon’s shots) and I started to play better and stronger and faster. We lost the game, and this old man came away with something huge on the court; confidence. What a gift.

Mentioning to Jon on the way home, “Don’t ever want to be in the way on the court with you and your friends, and if your they ever think it’s a little weird that your old man is ‘hanging around’ just say the word, Jon,” was disappointing to him.  His vision was not being fully understood.  He was not embarrassed.  He chose his dad because he loved me and believed in me.  He was encouraged by the all of the healthy exercise producing a better me and he said, “Dad, your inspiring to all my friends, they look at you and say to me, ‘Jon, your dad’s a beast!’”  What a gift.

Your actions are inspiring people all around you by the healthy wiry you that is coming into full focus in the eyes of those around you. Good for you. Look at yourself in the mirror and say, “I love myself.” Really, go ahead and do it. Give yourself a huge hug, and feel your arms going around a leaner you (whoo hoo), and say deeply and profoundly to yourself, “I love myself.”  What a gift!

Dr. Tom Lobaugh

Life Saving Laughter

Being part of a two-week mission trip to Heredia, Costa Rica ...  and was preaching and leading worship services at night. At the weekend break between the two weeks, I decided to stay behind and not go with the team into town, and instead focused on the sermons for the coming week. There was a beautiful large tree near the dining hall … Waved goodbye to the bus load of students and adult sponsors and my brother, and headed back to our cabana for Bible and pen and paper.

As I walked into our little cabin, I heard noises coming from our bedrooms and I announced myself to who I thought were camp workers fixing our shower that had broken a couple of days before, when out of one of our rooms burst a young man with a .38 revolver and he pointed it to my forehead and shouted at me in Spanish to lay down on the floor. I had a feeling that getting on the floor was not a good idea, so I sat on the sofa and said with serious tones, “Soy del pastor, soy del pastor” (I am a pastor). He lowered the gun from my head, breathed in a heavy sigh, and tapped my chin with the gun, to raise my head so he could look at me.  As I raised my head, and our eyes met, he smiled at me, and we connected in a strange way, a way that I knew he was not a harmful person. At that moment, another young man, very short and angry, jumped into the room screaming at the top of his lungs, “Plata! Plata! Plata! Donde esta la Plata!” I am confident that in moments of high stress, your brain does not function well in another language and I reasonably translated Plata, as plates.  When I figured out what they wanted in my mind, I was thrilled to help these gentlemen. So, I raised my hand to speak, as if I was in a level one class on criminal behavior and I needed to interrupt the teacher with the answer. So, I told them I knew where the plata was (just in the kitchen behind me) and I convinced the one young man with whom I had made a connection and who still had the gun, to allow me to get up and proceed with caution, my arms raised in submission, into the kitchen to retrieve the plates. When I came around the corner with a stack of plastic plates, the young man with the gun tried desperately to keep himself from laughing, and the more he tried not to laugh, the sillier it became, and the funnier it tickled him. I was so pleased with myself that I put my arm on the shoulder of the young man with the gun, and was now laughing hysterically, and handed the plates to the other person who was not very happy at all. He threw the plates on the floor and with a terribly patronizing tone and poor attitude he said, “Plata, plata es dinero, dolares, stupido,” which roughly translated means plata is slang for money, and is translated as silver, and I was simply an idiot.

Unfortunately, my joy turned to fear, and I sat on the sofa with my head in my hands. They returned to our rooms and took what they wanted. As they left through the back bedroom, breaking out a window and into the yard, I turned to see where they were going. The young man without a sense of humor grabbed the revolver, pointed it at me, and the other kinder young man reached for his arm and pushed the gun down as he fired. The bullet ricocheted off the door handle and went into the floor between my feet.  I remember it being very quiet for what felt like a long time. Then I ran through the front door yelling for the camp custodians, who came running with machetes to my rescue, and as we were all running and hollering I kept thinking of that strange connection with the thief, the smile and laughter we shared, the touch, and I had to stop for a moment beneath the tree near the dining hall, and I laughed until I cried until I laughed again.  And I said a prayer of thanksgiving, and then I called my wife. Funniest part of all is what they took. They stole all of my underwear and all of the other men’s underwear from their suitcases. I almost lost my life over my underwear?! Several hours later, as I was telling the story with passion and intensity, my brother leaned over to me and said with a deep Mexican accent, “Senor, did you know that these men were the notorious Banditos de la Fruita de Looma?”

It was good to laugh that day in spite of the violent actions and stress. It helped relive the uncertainty and put the moment in perspective, especially with the thief who smiled. These instances also put your whole life in perspective asking critical questions like, what is most important in life?

Who will you encourage to smile and risk connecting with this week? Inspire someone to smile, and you inspire the world!

Meggert, Sandra S. Creative Humor at Work: Living the Humor Perspective, University Press of America, 2009; pg. 11-12.

Hands

Our hands and fingers are storytellers. They carry the touch and feel of our life experiences. They help us with what we need, reach for what we want, create a living, give direction, and express how we feel. Our hands protect us and can protect others. They can be extended to others in a time of need for comfort and compassion. Our hands can also harm. Our hands are a gift as they help us tell our life story.

Was mesmerized during communion the other day (a time in a faith community where we share in a sacred tradition of eating some bread dipped in wine or grape juice and pause to remember what the Lord did for the world, namely setting the world free to love).  The hands who came to tear the bread and dip it in the cup were incredibly unique.  Each hand with fingers scarred or painted, some with jewelry and others with nails bitten.  There were calloused hands, and soe without a finger, and some whose hands were crooked and bent.  Some were dirty, some spotted with age, some shaking and others quick. There were those who were small and young and soft and gentle, and others that were short and others long. Every hand told a story of their life as they reached into the plate, took their piece of bread and dipped it into the cup (a spiritual moment of touching The Other's sacrificial love). Awed by the beauty of The Other who welcomes all of our hands without condition it was encouraging to feel the Holy with each other, in the forgiveness and hope and joy of our lives. Each of our hands telling our story, as they touched another story of grace and mercy, was a powerful Spirit filled moment where heaven met earth in our hands; touching the face of God and feeling the hands and side of the Lord.  It was a moment in our life where people were reaching out to each other, and no matter who we were or what our hands had been through, we were welcome at God's table of love together.  Perhaps our hands are blessed to become a blessing of hope for the world where The Other's story of grace and peace is told through our touch, our work, and our expressions for each other.

In your family take a moment this week to look at each other's hands and to share about where your hands can best be used to share in a holy moment at home? In the workplace take a moment to see other's hands, and as you shake hands this week with clients recognize who they are and what they have been through. Take a look at your hands and fingers, what amazing story do they tell of the encouragement they are and have been for you?

Dr. Tom Lobaugh

Inspirationary