by Drew Dyck
But other children reacted very differently. When their mothers left, they would cry inconsolably or not react at all. When the mothers returned, these children seemed indifferent or resentful.11 The latter group was classified as having unhealthy attachments to their caregivers.
Subsequent studies found that children with “anxious” or “avoidant” attachments faced a host of emotional and physical challenges. One of the harmful effects of unhealthy attachment: the children are unable to handle stress and regulate their emotions and behaviors.12 Their ability to bond with their primary caregiver compromised their ability to control themselves.
The findings show us just how crucial it is for children to form healthy attachments to their parents (I think I’ll go give my kids a hug right now). It also led to another intriguing line of inquiry. What if the same principles of attachment apply to our relationship with God?
Researchers tackled that very question. They found that people who have a secure attachment to God reap benefits similar to people who attach securely to their parents.13 The inverse is also true: failure to form a healthy attachment to your heavenly Father creates many of the same problems as failing to attach to your earthly parents. Without a healthy attachment to God, we’re more likely to fall prey to destructive thinking and behaviors. And some of those behaviors are very serious. Studies show that people with an “anxious attachment” to God are more likely to suffer from paranoia, neuroticism, and eating disorders like bulimia.14
In one way it shouldn’t be surprising to find this link. After all, the Bible’s dominant title for God is “Father.” We are His children. It makes sense that our ability (on inability) to form a secure attachment to our heavenly Father would carry serious implications. My friend Duane Sherman, a student of the spiritual disciplines, believes a healthy attachment to God is foundational to spiritual growth. He explained it to me like this:
Many of the people who have engaged in spiritual disciplines for decades have not made the spiritual gains they would have hoped. Why is that? There’s often something deeper going on. We all have addictions or hang-ups or coping mechanisms. Going back to heal the broken parts of us is key to soul formation. We need to form new habits and practice the disciplines, but that’s step Number Two. First we have to go back and eliminate these coping mechanisms, these false sources of joy and love, through a secure attachment to God.
Developing that secure attachment will look differently for everyone. There are no formulas or quick fixes when it comes to this kind of deep soul work. But at the end of the day, attaching securely to God is about getting grace, not just as a theological concept, but a truth that penetrates our hearts. It means knowing at a core-deep level that we’re forgiven, justified, and redeemed. It means resting in God’s unconditional love and acceptance.
When this happens, our behavior changes. Grace allows us to mature. Like children with healthy attachments, we won’t freak out any time we sense God’s absence. Nor will we withdraw in cold indifference. It enables us to regulate our emotions and behavior, knowing we’re secure in the arms of our loving Father. It helps us exercise self-control.
“DO THE HARD THING”
When the English cleric John Stott died in 2011, tributes came pouring in. Billy Graham lamented the loss of his friend, calling him “one of the evangelical world’s greatest spokesmen.”15 Rowan Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury, praised Stott for his “graciousness and deep personal kindness” and life “of unsparing service and witness.”16 Even Time magazine, which had named Stott as one of their 100 most influential people, ran a warm obituary calling him “one of the world’s most influential and popular Evangelical figures.”17
Despite living in the same London neighborhood for his entire life, Stott made a major impact on Christians around the world. He was the chief drafter of the Lausanne Covenant, a global manifesto calling the church back to evangelism. He also wrote more than fifty books and ran a ministry equipping Bible teachers in the Global South.
Stott was the quintessential English gentleman: learned, refined, and unerringly gracious. Yet beneath the decorum, was a man of unusual discipline. Arising at 5:00 a.m. every morning, the lifelong bachelor kept a grueling speaking and writing schedule. He was always quick to serve others. In the wake of his death, the Latin American theologian René Padilla remembered being struck by this attribute.
On the previous night we had arrived in Bariloche, Argentina, in the middle of heavy rain. The street was muddy and, as a result, by the time we got to the room that had been assigned to us, our shoes were covered with mud. In the morning, as I woke up, I heard the sound of a brush—John was busy, brushing my shoes. “John!,” I exclaimed full of surprise, “What are you doing?”
“My dear René,” he responded, “Jesus taught us to wash each other’s feet. You do not need me to wash your feet, but I can brush your shoes.”18
Another ministry leader recalled the time he brought Stott in to speak to a group of pastors. The elderly Englishman arrived late at night and met with his host to discuss the format for the next day. The man assured the legendary cleric that the men were expecting a casual affair. He urged Stott “to reflect on what he had already written.” But that didn’t sit well with Stott.
When I told him this, he was quiet and looked away for about a minute—a long minute. He then said, “That will never do. These men have come long distances and having a free form discussion is a disservice to them. We’ll have to have something for them to discuss.”19
The man reassured Stott that preparing an original talk was unnecessary, but the next morning he found Stott at breakfast preparing his remarks. “He had stayed up most of the night preparing on topics he thought relevant to their ministries. When we convened the group, it was clear they were going to be treated to the fruits of his ‘all-nighter.’”20 Sure enough, the pastors drank in the words he had prepared specifically for them.
No one complained. No one interrupted. No one left the room for a full four hours. They knew they were the fortunate recipients of a rare opportunity as John discoursed on topic after topic and they scribbled notes. It was only at the break for lunch that they had a chance to ask questions—and they did!
John kept up that pace for three days, and when we concluded he was going strong while everyone else was dragging. I’ve never seen anything like it since.21
Stott’s actions that day were a perfect example of his belief about the purpose of self-control. “Why do I say that love is balanced by self-control?” he once asked in a sermon. “Because love is self-giving, and self-giving and self-control are complementary, the one to the other. How can we give ourselves in love until we’ve learned to control ourselves? Our self has to be mastered before it can be offered in the service of others.”22
That’s what Stott did that night—and on countless other occasions. He exhibited self-control in service of others. In the final days of his life, he gave these last words to his longtime assistant: “Do the hard thing.”23 That’s precisely what John Stott did over and over and over throughout his life. Not for himself, but for others. Not only in his power, but buoyed up and carried along by the power of the Holy Spirit.
Go and do likewise.
Self-Control Training: Entry #7—Fasting Continued
MY LEGS ARE WEAK, HEAD SWIMMING. I teeter on the verge of fainting. In my delirium, I grope for something to support me, but find nothing. I see mirages—milkshakes, burgers, pizza—they flicker invitingly, only to vanish as I approach. Then I hear a voice.
“Oh, stop acting like a baby. You’ve only missed two meals.”
The voice belongs to my wife, and she isn’t impressed with how I’ve been moping around the house. She’s right about my theatrics, but dieting—even for one day—is harder than I’d anticipated. Missing breakfast was fine. But by lunchtime, my stomach growled. By dinner I was dizzy. And sad.
I love the idea of fasting. That morning, I was feeling pretty spiritual. I read my Bible
and spent some time in prayer. I was looking forward to the day. I’d use the time when I’d normally spend eating to commune with God. But then the hunger and weakness set in and my attitude soured. By 9:00 p.m. I was famished. Instead of praying, I sat on the couch staring blankly at the TV. That’s when I heard the voice again. This time it was warm, compassionate. “You’re miserable,” my wife said. “We have leftovers from dinner. Why don’t you just eat some chicken and mashed potatoes?”
This is how temptation comes, I thought through the fog of my hunger. Sweet, appealing. There was even an angel of light. I took her up on the offer. Fasting fail #3.
When I think about fasting, I’m conflicted—and not just because it’s difficult to do. It goes deeper than that. I have mixed motivations. Am I fasting to lose weight and look better? Or am I doing it for spiritual reasons? There’s nothing wrong with wanting to lose weight (and let’s face it, I could afford to drop a few pounds), but I wonder if that motivation is ultimately strong enough. In chapter 2 we looked at what researchers call sanctified goals—objectives that serve some ultimate end. Study after study has found that people who have some overriding purpose for their goals are far more likely to accomplish them. Motivations matter. And I don’t know if looking better in a mirror is motivating enough.
Recently I’ve been following a friend’s weight-loss journey through her posts on Facebook. In her latest post, she announced that she’d lost a total of sixty-one pounds. In the new picture she posted of herself, she smiled broadly. She was almost unrecognizable from the photo she’d taken mere months before. But it wasn’t the weight loss that impressed me most; it was her reasons for doing it.
I press on even when the scale is not cooperating. I press on when I’d really rather eat something else. I press on when it is hard and I want to quit. I’m focused on my whys. I want to be able to take my girls on a roller coaster. I don’t want to go on medications because I can’t manage my weight and my diet. I want to live a long and healthy life for my girls and future grandchildren. And I want to feel good about myself and buy cute clothes again. I want those things more than I want a cheeseburger.
I guess you could say my friend had some superficial motivations. She longs for the day when she could “buy cute clothes again.” But her main motivation is her children. She wants to be there for them—and that enabled her to press on even when things got tough. Her example inspired me, and helped me think more clearly about my motivations for fasting. It’s probably okay to have some physical motivations, but the ultimate purpose of the practice should extend beyond myself.
A few days later I tried fasting again. The gnawing hunger, dizziness, and bad mood all came back with a vengeance. Yet this time, I pushed through. It was only one day, but I was starting to glimpse the spiritual benefits. No visions or mountaintop experiences. For me, the spiritual benefits were found in the opposite direction. When you fast, you’re weak, vulnerable. You slow down. Your energy levels drop, and there’s a sort of stillness to your life. You’re empty—literally. It’s an excellent reminder that you’re finite, dependent. It might not feel great, but spiritually speaking, it’s not a bad place to be.
Next, I decided to give the Daniel fast (the bagel-free version) a second try. For ten days, I’d eat nothing but fruits and vegetables. I’m not a fan of vegetables unless they’re on pizza. Even then, I sometimes pick them off. So I decided I’d make fruit and veggie smoothies. I pulled the blender out of retirement and loaded up on produce. I used frozen veggies and fruit. It’s amazing what you can eat if it’s cold. My kids even got in on the act, squealing for “Daddy drinks” every time I took out the blender.
It was still tough. For a guy whose idea of health food is a bacon cheeseburger with light mayo, the diet was jarring. For the first four days, my head was in a fog. Fortunately, once my stomach got used to the new regimen, it got easier. Plus it was nice to see the numbers on the scale falling. At the end of the ten days, I was down ten pounds. And weight loss wasn’t the only benefit. A few things I noticed during the fast …
I’m an automatic eater. During my fast, I was struck by how often I reached for food, just unconsciously. At one point, I popped a small cookie into my mouth and remembered I was fasting a nanosecond before biting down. I spit it into the garbage, bidding a reluctant farewell to the forbidden morsel. It reminded me of the research on habits. A lot of my poor eating decisions aren’t even really decisions. They’re habits. I’m on autopilot when I cram a lot of unhealthy food into my mouth. The fast slowed me down and made me aware of my eating choices. Hopefully I’ll be more conscious of what I eat in the future.
Discipline has a price. Fasting involves two kinds of sacrifices. First, you give up the freedom to satisfy that most basic, human yearning—hunger. That’s painful, but fasting has social consequences too. One young woman, Sophie DeMuth, reflected on this reality when she did the Whole30 diet. “For me, the 30-day challenge created unwanted distance between me and my friends and family,” she wrote. “My limited diet clashed against their freedom to eat whatever they wanted.”24
I can identify. You don’t realize how much of your social life revolves around food until you stop eating. Even in the space of ten days, I felt it. We hosted a couple of dinners, which I sat through sipping water. I went out to restaurants with my wife and kids and had to abstain. Fasting can make you feel like an outsider, even when you’re with family. But discipline always has a price. DeMuth went on to write, “Other acts of self-discipline come with their own set of losses: an earlier bedtime, shortened moments at home, or fewer places to hangout. Each sacrifice grinds against the norms of the world around us.”25 Fasting is no different. It comes with a cost.
Fasting is about gaining. From a biblical perspective, the goal of fasting isn’t just self-denial. We Christians aren’t grim ascetics who love to punish ours bodies. And it certainly isn’t to prove how spiritual you are. Fasting, I’ve come to realize, is about replacing. It’s giving up something physical to gain something spiritual. The Anglican bishop Todd Hunter puts it this way: “The stopping, the self-denial inherent in abstinence is meant to start, continue, and yield progress in the spiritual life. Its goal is to clear space and make room for something new.”26 When I fasted, it freed up time and attention to focus on God and examine myself. Saying no to physical hunger gave me an opportunity to seek spiritual nourishment.
I ended the ten-day period feeling physically and spiritually refreshed. I’ve decided to make fasting a regular part of my life. Maybe I’ll fast once a month. Or a few times a year … let’s not get crazy.
Chapter 8
Disciplined Living in an Age of Distraction
Strategies for Self Control in the Digital Era
“We are a people on the verge of amusing ourselves to death.”
—NEIL POSTMAN
I’m writing these words from the Seventh Circle of Dante’s Inferno.
Well, that’s what I call it. My kids call it “Chuck E. Cheese’s,” and they think it is heaven. Right now, they’re running around slapping buttons, whacking moles, spinning wheels, and shooting tiny basketballs into tiny hoops. I’m over here at the corner table eating cheap pizza and trying to write something intelligible. It isn’t easy to do amid the flashing lights, blaring games, and shrieking children. (Oh, and did I mention there’s a guy in a mouse costume running around high-fiving everyone?)
Pray for me in my hour of need.
As I sit here trying to concentrate, a thought occurs to me. The outside world is becoming more and more like this place. No, there aren’t people running around in giant mouse costumes. I’m talking about the distractions, the noise. Life has gotten louder, chaotic, and more disruptive. And just like at Chuck E. Cheese’s, a lot of the cacophony comes via screens.
There are the familiar diversions like TV, which, despite the advent of the internet, Americans continue to watch on average for more than five hours a day.1 Advertisements bombard us from every angle, more tha
n at any other time in history. In addition to these distractions, the internet has spawned a host of tools—like email, apps, social media, and online games—to grab even more of our time and attention. The average American now spends almost eleven hours a day staring at a screen.2 Throw in eight hours of sleep (which we should be getting, but aren’t), and that leaves a paltry six hours in which we risk making eye contact with another human being.
Self-control has always been hard. In every generation, Christians had to battle the flesh and the devil. But today the battle is different. It now involves resisting online porn and internet trolls. It requires not blowing money you don’t have on apps and one-click purchases. It means not frittering away hours scrolling through your Facebook feed or crushing digital candies on your phone. I’m not saying new media is all bad. It can enrich our lives when used properly and in moderation. But we’d be fooling ourselves if we didn’t recognize its drawbacks. If we’re serious about developing self-control we need to be aware of how new technologies tax our restraint.
I wish I could lecture you on the dangers of new media from Mount Solitude, where I pass my days in silence and prayerful meditation. But alas, I live in the proverbial valley, immersed in the distracting technology that has become the hallmark of modern life. Recently I saw a report showing the average American house now has seven digitally connected devices.3 I scoffed at the excess, then started counting the devices in my own home and came to a humbling realization: we have eight.
My online accounts have proliferated too. Every day I sign into three different email accounts and I check them compulsively. To modify a verse from the Bible, as a dog returns to his vomit, so I keep checking work-related email, even on weekends.