by Julie Haddon
Lucia said that all Punchinello needed to do was to go visit Eli, and he would explain.
Punchinello made his way to the woodcarver’s shop and was greeted with a strong, deep voice. “Punchinello!” said Eli. “How good to see you.”20 Eli picked up his creation and after taking in all those dots said, “I don’t care what the other Wemmicks think … and you shouldn’t either. All that matters is what I think. And I think you are pretty special.”21
Punchinello wasn’t sure he was buying it. He couldn’t run fast. Just like me, he couldn’t jump well. His paint was obviously peeling. But as if reading his mind, Eli interrupted Punchinello’s thoughts. He explained that the reason stickers didn’t stick to Lucia is because she had decided that what Eli thought about her was far more important than what all of the other Wemmicks thought. Eli told Punchinello that stickers only stick if you let them, and that as long as Punchinello came to visit him every single day, he would be reminded of Eli’s care, and all of those dots would fall away. “You are special because I made you,” Eli said, “and I don’t make mistakes.”
Punchinello turned to leave the woodcarver’s shop and had the thought, I think he really means that. And as he did, the first dot fell to the ground.
Overweight people are all too accustomed to the “dots” of others’ judgment, rejection and painful prejudice. I know, because I used to wear them. And it was incredibly difficult to avoid buying the lie that somehow I was “less than” all the thinner, star-covered people around me.
Upon losing nearly a hundred pounds I mistakenly thought that I would also lose the propensity to let other people’s opinions shape my view of myself. On too many occasions since the show, I’ve fallen back into the old paradigm of thinking that I just wasn’t all I should be. Specifically, it happens every time I open a magazine or watch TV. I see flawless skin and stunning faces and bodies that are perfect in every way, and it’s all I can do to remember that I, too, am worthy, exactly as I am.
I would have to learn the hard way that you can lose all the weight you want, but unless you simultaneously lose the psychological assumption that you are inferior to other people, your weight will probably come back because you’ve failed to address the deeper issue that’s lurking in your soul.
There will always be someone prettier or smarter or funnier than I am, and so with some degree of regularity, I think back on how I felt at my finale, when I broke through that paper and for once presented an image of myself to the world that I was deeply and completely proud of.
I remember that I am still a work in progress—physically, mentally and spiritually—and that God promises new mercies for every day.
I remember that although I am not perfect, I was created in the image of God and that he clearly makes no mistakes.
And with each and every remembrance, thankfully, I drop another dot.
You and I are worth the good decisions we make. We are worth all the abundance we can bear. God says it. I believe it. And, as Beth Moore—one of my favorite inspirational speakers—says, “that settles that.”
CHAPTER 9
Dwelling Place
LAST SUMMER I received a call from the producers of The Oprah Winfrey Show, asking if I’d be interested in appearing with several other former The Biggest Loser contestants, as well as with Jillian and Bob, to show America that it really is possible not only to lose weight but also to keep it off.
I didn’t need much time to formulate a reply. “Heck, yeah, I’ll be on Oprah! When’s the taping?”
After arriving in Chicago and being escorted to Harpo Studios, my friends and I were led through a rehearsal of the show. At some point during that run-through I remember taking note of the stage, the lights, the cameras and the intimate studio and thinking, “Holy guacamole. I’m going to be on the Oprah show. You gotta be kidding me!”
For years I have tuned in at four o’clock in the afternoon to watch Oprah interview world leaders and superstars, athletes and stay-at-home moms with incredible tales to tell. And now I was going to sit on that same stage? It was almost incomprehensible to me, given the fact that a mere twelve months prior I was embarrassed to be seen in public, let alone by millions on national TV.
I didn’t get to meet Oprah before the show started. Evidently that’s a practice of hers, so that her on-stage reaction to people will be genuine and fresh.
Halfway through the show, after I heard her interview several other former contestants from my seat backstage, including Season 5’s winner Ali Vincent and my The Biggest Loser all-time favorite Suzy Preston from Season 2, I heard Oprah in her classic announcer’s voice say, “Come on out, Juuulie Haddddden!” I waited for the screen to part that I had been standing behind and then walked to my center-stage mark as audience members cheered and hollered and clapped. Talk about surreal!
The other The Biggest Loser contestants and I had to be ushered out quite quickly after our show so that Celine Dion could set up for her appearance on the second show that was to be taped that day. Imagine my surprise when they didn’t ask me to stick around and sing back-up for her!
I approached Oprah to hug her neck and then hugged Jillian and Bob before I took my seat by their side. As the applause died down, Oprah began asking questions about what it was like to be on The Biggest Loser, especially given that it had meant being away from Mike and Noah for four months straight. “Who took care of your son that whole time?” Oprah asked.
“My amazing husband,” I replied. “But what was funny was that everybody in town thought that I’d left him. While I was gone, nobody was allowed to know where I was or what I was doing. People in the community would come up to Mike—who by all appearances had become a single dad—and say in a pitying tone, ‘We’re praying for you, hon.’”
I told Oprah that when I came back from being on the show, those same people were like, “Mm-hmm, cute little blonde thang went and got all skinny to try to get back with her man! We see how it is.”
“Oh yeah,” Oprah said with a laugh, “everyone has to be in everyone else’s business, right?”
“Exactly!” I replied. “I wanted to say to those people, ‘Hey, cut me some slack! My absence was legit! Really!’ But you know, people think what they want to think.”
While I was on stage people from the audience kept waving at me. I thought they were being so sweet, and so I waved right back. It wasn’t until later that I realized they were trying to get my attention to tell me that I’d left the price stickers on the soles of my shoes.
Just then producers had us cut away for a commercial break, and by the time the show resumed I had taken my seat on the front row of the audience, along with other The Biggest Loser contestants. Oprah was interviewing Jillian about her training philosophy, basically asking what it takes for a fat person to endure such grueling workouts.
I scanned the audience and for the first time that morning realized that I was sitting in a room full of me. Row by row I saw hundreds of thirty-something moms who were doing the best that they could. They looked pretty and polished and wore coordinated clothes, but underneath the facade I knew what life was really like.
As Jillian continued to talk about how contestants have to decide for themselves whether or not they’re going to submit to the process of transformation, my mind chased other thoughts. “These women surrounding me are leading busy lives,” I said to myself. “They spend all day, every day, giving themselves to everyone else and are convinced as they listen to all of us share diet and exercise tips that they will never be able to change. They don’t have the luxury of leaving their lives for months on end. And even if they could do so, they probably wouldn’t do so. They just don’t see their own worth.”
They were just like the old me, filled to the brim with “why me’s” instead of “why not me’s.” It had probably taken a series of logistical gymnastics for them to get to the TV show that day; how would they ever be able to orchestrate their schedules to accommodate a four-month TV appearance?
&
nbsp; I thought about how well I could relate to their plight, about how mere months prior I had been in their shoes. And suddenly something inside of me snapped. I had to say something. I had to say something now. I had to say something right now, and when I couldn’t contain it any longer, I did the unthinkable: I interrupted Oprah.
“First, you have to believe that you are worthy,” I said from my seat in a voice that was wobbly and weak.
The woman who has hosted kings and queens and dignitaries and even Brad Pitt threw her gaze my way and with more than a hint of shock in her eyes said, “Please stand up.”
Oh lawdy, what have I done?
I stood to my feet.
“You were saying?” said the most powerful woman on the planet.
“Oh … sorry,” I whimpered in my southern little-ol’-me tone. I ex-haled nervously and then kept going; what else could I do, given what I’d already done?
“All of these moms give of themselves day after day after day,” I said, feeling stronger on my own two legs by now, “and at the end of it all, there is nothing left for them.” I glanced at the women in the room and then continued, this time through heartfelt tears. “And I believe that if you believe that you are worth it … you know, I thought that my child needed more things to play with. He needed a mom to play with. I thought that my husband needed a wife to take care of him. He needed a wife who would take care of herself, so I can be there with him forever. So that’s why I want to say to women—especially women—you won’t start to change until you start believing that you are worth it.”
After the show, Oprah stopped me in the hallway and said, “I just want to tell you that I really love what you said out there. It is all about worthiness.” And then she walked away as I floated back to my dressing room, thinking, “I just had a one-on-one conversation with Oprah Winfrey!”
I took my seat once more as the heart inside of me swelled. I wanted so badly for the women all around me to catch the truth of what I was saying. I wanted them to know that they had to appear on their own priority list before a single thing would change. Diet and exercise are the easy part; it’s belief that is hardest to nail.
“The bottom line,” Oprah said as my thoughts swirled, “is that it’s about worthiness.”
“Exactly,” I murmured to myself. “I couldn’t agree with you more.”
THE HANDPICKED DWELLING PLACE OF GOD
People always ask me what is the most significant takeaway or the greatest “aha” from my time spent on The Biggest Loser campus. And I think my answer surprises them every time. My response has nothing to do with the nuances of protein, push-ups or how to play the game. “The most important thing I learned,” I instead explain, “is that you and I are worthy of living the life of our dreams.”
I knew it the day I was on Oprah’s show, and I know it still today.
In my view, you determine something’s worth by looking to the person or thing that finds it worthy. My grandmother—Great MaMa, my family calls her—is in her eighties and on more than one occasion has asked me what I want of hers “if something ever happens” to her. I hate that question, because who in her right mind wants to think about losing a precious member of the family? But still, she persists. And my answer’s the same every time.
I don’t want the china that’s in her cabinet or the jewelry that’s in her dresser drawer. The only thing I want is something the world would place far less value on than expensive dishes and diamonds—all I want is her Bible.
Great MaMa has read that Bible nearly every day of her adult life and has underlined and made notes beside her favorite passages. That Bible to me represents the heart of who she is, and I know that once she’s gone, it’s the one material possession that would make her still seem near. It would only bring in a few bucks at a garage sale, but its value to me is worth more than gold. You determine something’s worth by looking to the person who finds it worthy.
As God’s children, then, our worth must be off the charts, because the value he placed on our lives warranted the ultimate sacrifice. God says in his Word that he loves us so much that at a specific point in history he sent his only Son to die for us and set us free from our sin and wrongdoing. Sure, we have value because of the contributions we make in our lives, but our intrinsic worth exists only because of God. He designed us, he formed us before we entered our mother’s womb and he purposed us for great things before the world even began.
You and I are so much more than piles of lucky mud. We are intentional and intricate creations of the God of the universe, the God who gave everything so that we could live this thing called life.
I’m sure I learned as a kid in Sunday school that because Jesus Christ came to earth to serve as a divine Bridge, I could have a personal and intimate relationship with God. But it wasn’t until my body began to be transformed that I embraced the idea that I’m really and truly the “dwelling place” of God. It bends my brain to think about it, but it doesn’t make it any less true. The one who paints every sunset, who determined the position of every star, who raised up every mountain and who has the power to calm every storm—that One, he makes his home inside me. With every breath I breathe and every day I live, I can know his presence, his strength, his love and his grace.
I don’t have to talk to God in cryptic thee-and-thou prayers. I can chat with him like I’m sitting across from a friend—in reality, he’s even closer than that! I don’t have to wait until I’m sitting inside a church building on a Sunday morning to tell him what I need. I can call out to him any hour of any day, whether I’m in a church, a café or a mall. Anywhere I find myself can become a sacred spot, which was news to me—a girl who treated her body more like a fairground than holy ground most every day of her life.
If you’ve ever been to a state fair, then you know exactly what I mean. Fair-going conjures up images of people who throw on a stained tank top, cutoffs, and flip-flops and charitably call that an outfit. They shuffle around like sunburned zombies, eating as many on-a-stick food items as they can find and then wash it all down with guzzler-sized sodas and beer. It’s not exactly the picture of intentionality and reverence that comes to mind when you think about all things holy. “You’re not a fairground,” God would reveal to me. “You’re holy ground because I dwell here. Now all that’s left is for you to actually live like you believe that too!”
I remember seeing deep-fried Twinkies for sale at the Jacksonville Agricultural Fair one time. Surely the apocalypse is near.
One of the things that knitted my heart to the heart of Margie Marshall—the superfit diva of a trainer who has worked with me ever since I got home from the show—is that she gets this dwelling-place idea better than most people I know. Margie’s history is interesting to me because, while we find ourselves in a similar situation healthwise today, we started at opposite ends of the spectrum. I was the slothful, excuse-filled woman who couldn’t seem to stop downing chocolate cake, and she was the overtrained, obsessive workout freak who almost lost everything in the name of being fit.
“God had given me a passion for nutrition and exercise,” Margie told me one time, “but I took what had been given to me as a gracious gift and let it completely consume me.” Margie used to prize her workouts so much that she would gladly let other responsibilities slide if it meant she could spend one more hour at the gym. Her husband and her children paid a steep price for the lesson she had to learn the hard way, but she’ll tell you today that she would walk that path all over again if it meant gaining the intimacy with Christ she now knows.
When I returned from The Biggest Loser and asked Margie to be my personal trainer, I had no idea what my request would mean to her. “While you were on the show, I prayed one prayer on one occasion to God,” she later told me. “I felt foolish for asking him this, but in that prayer I pleaded with him to let me be your trainer once you were home. Through tears I told him that I desperately wanted another chance, that I promised I wouldn’t abuse his gracious gift this time
around, if only he’d let me work with you.”
Obviously, God answered her prayers. In her words, “It’s like God said, ‘Margie, I’m going to give you back these seeds that I gave you before, but this time, I want you to plant your garden my way.’”
Looking back, it’s interesting to see that God knew Margie needed me in order to live out her second chance, and I needed her in order to live out mine.
Nearly everyone I know can relate to Margie’s sentiment, because at one time or another we’ve all misused the stuff that God has given us to steward. Whether it’s a talent for singing, a gift for organizing and planning, the capacity to write great books, star in great plays, lead great businesses—whatever “it” is, if we’re not careful we’re all prone to make the “it” about us. Which would be fine, except that God then gets elbowed right out of our lives. And you try living in a house where nobody ever acknowledges your presence. The greatest Resident our souls could ever know deserves far better than that.
THE WONDERFUL WEIGHT OF WORTHINESS
Earlier this year I had the opportunity to write an article for Guideposts magazine for a cover story they were doing on the secrets of making personal change stick. When I received the edited version of my story back from their publishing team, one of the writers had included a powerful title to accompany it. “Worth the Weight,” it read. Instantly I thought, Dang! Why didn’t I think of that?
The title perfectly summed up my thoughts on making big changes stick, because when you understand your inherent worth, you treat yourself and those around you in an altogether different way. You tend to say yes to the things that will honor your body and no to the things that won’t. You tend to endure a little pain, knowing that the gain will be that much better. You tend to soak up every last, lovely drop of life because you understand that each one is a gift from your God. And you help others to do the same.