Why I Eat Ice Cream and Other Mysteries

As a dietitian, I feel a fair amount of professional pressure to be a shining example of how to have a healthy relationship with food. Society, with its ubiquitous emphasis on thinness, also crowds my conscious with cries of "get thin, be thin, stay thin." Currently, I am failing miserably in both these pursuits.

I have a love-hate relationship with food right now. I hate that I love it. Inappropriate guilt for satisfying physical hunger is a symptom of disordered eating. That's not what I have, however. I have well-deserved guilt for using food to attempt to satisfy my emotional needs. Much of my guilt lately flows out from the fount of my ice cream addiction.

I love ice cream. I eat it by the bowl full--bowl, not measuring cup! Until recently, I have not taken the initiative to examine my deep need for this delicacy. In preparing for a recent counseling session with a weight loss client of mine, it became quite obvious that I was in a situation of the 'pot calling the kettle black'.

What is behind the behaviors I have that I know aren't beneficial for me? I don't have every answer, but I do have one for the ice cream. Here's the scoop: ice cream feeds my soul.

When I was little and went to stay the week with my grandparents (affectionately known as 'vacation'), we had coffee (well, I got hot cocoa) and ice cream at 9 pm nightly. It was their ritual, and one that I looked forward to immensely. Both during and after college, I lived with Gran and Gramps on-and-off. Those were great days for me. There is something incredibly comforting about Gran's quiet faith, and my Grandpa was a better dad to me than my dad ever was. During those years, ice cream was still standard.

Now, I find myself headed to the Haagen Daas on a near-nightly basis. In a brilliant moment of insight, I realize that I am attempting to recreate the peace, companionship, and sense of security that Grandma's house gave me all those years ago. In the midst of a chaotic, sleep-deprived, financially stressed and busy life, I am seeking something to soothe my soul.

My challenge for myself is to find a fitting substitute to seek solace in. Epiphany is rarely valuable without some sort of action stemming from the revelation. Perhaps prayer--for I, too, share that faith I found so welcoming as a child. Writing letters to Gran, maybe? A moment--a quiet one?--of soothing reflection. I'm not sure just yet. The appropriate answer is a mystery still waiting to be revealed.

Garment of God

From mountain tiara
To the hem of the sea
Dressed in the clouds
And adorned in beauty

From the ribbons of flowers
to the seams of the lands
All of this glory
Made by Your hands

Each bit of creation
Sewn from spire to spire
demonstrating Your wisdom
Your love and desire

To see this body
through scarlet redeemed
Each captivity broken
And sinful heart reemed

The glory of heaven
The majesty earth
Like muslin to satin
Of the soul's deep worth

The train of Your robe
Cathedral length
Reaching down to me
With incredible strength

Drawing my praise
Like a bobbin of thread
Stitching Your garments
With glory instead

"...I saw the Lord seated on a throne, lofty and exalted, with the train of His robe filling the temple." --Isaiah 6:1