887 days ago, Phil drove me to UPS to pick up a package that I couldn't wait until the next day to get: my brand-spanking-new Wii Fit game and board. Only, it was so much more than that. In that package lay my health, my happiness, the key to non-dimpled thighs and finally being able to wear those ribbed tank tops from Target over my side-fat without shame.
3 days ago, Phil and I lay on our bed lamenting the fact that we have both gained a lot of weight since we got married.
“Maybe,” I suggested, “we should buy an elliptical machine.”
He shook his head, “We never use that stuff when we actually buy it.”
“How would you know?” I said, “We've never bought anything like that.” I stopped short. He didn't even need to say it. The Wii Fit.
My brand-spanking-new Wii Fit board lay dusty in a drawer under our TV. Every time I opened the drawer I felt the shame. I quit opening the drawer and had repressed the hope for smooth thighs a long time ago.
“If I tell you something super stupid, will you promise not to laugh at me?” I asked him. He said yes. I went on to admit that I was scared of what the Wii Fit board would say to me. If you've never Wii-Fitted, you don't know what I mean, but it talks to you. It says passive aggressive things too, like, “Haven't seen you in awhile.” JERK. Plus, it weighs you and says things in this little voice it has like, “You're obese!” And then your little Wii character swells up like a balloon.
“Will you hold my hand?” I asked him.
And he did. We got the board out, we changed the batteries, we dug the disk out of the closet, and he held my hand as the Wii Fit board weighed me and made all its little comments.
This is my favorite verse as of lately from Isaiah 41:13, “For I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, 'Do not fear; I will help you.”
In the face of shame, of failure, of snide video games, love holds your hand.