Sugar, the Other White Heat

In yet another attempt to help me realize that HE really is my only comfort in life and in death...

I went to the doctor because I was falling asleep almost every time I ate white rice or sugar.  He checked my blood sugar levels, and despite losing weight, eating no gluten and exercising more, my levels have gone up.  I still don't have full fledged diabetes, but its getting there.  So, to help stave off the inevitable as long as possible, he started me on metformin.  He warned me there would likely be some digestive issues until my body adjusts to the drug.  Well, that was the ultimate understatement...kinda like, "holding this stick of dynamite will likely result in some muscular issues to your arm."  Why do doctors say stuff like that?  Seriously?  Its just "pressure," right?

 I'm convinced this is payback for that time I made fun of an elderly person I knew that sounded like a nuclear air assault in the lavatory every morning.  Has anyone else noticed that everything you laugh at old people for eventually happens to you?  I am waiting for that 2 inch chin hair to show up any day now...

The irony of all of this is that I went to the doctor because I wanted to be able to eat sugar without passing out.  Well...he definitely helped that.  Now, when I eat sugar, I am not sleepy, I'm running like FloJo to the closest little girls room where it takes every ounce of restraint not to scream, "duck and cover" to my poor housemates....nope, definitely NOT sleepy when I eat sugar anymore.

Okay, so why have I put you through this graphic description of my gastrointestinal distress?  The truth is, my Father will do ANYTHING to prove to me that HE is all I need.  When I'm stressed, I don't need bread or cake or donuts or cookies or Hershey's dark chocolate kisses in the beautiful purple foil wrapper that actually sing the Hallelujah chorus when they melt on my tongue.  No!  When I am stressed, I need Jesus, His promises, His salvation, His love....Well, I just need HIM.

Sometimes I can take the subtle hint.  Sometimes I can read the verse and get the point.  Sometimes I need a flamethrower to the intestines.  Point made.