I spent most of yesterday in a storm -- literally. I'm at the ObesityHelp convention in Lexington after nearly an entire day watching grounded planes and seeing storm clouds go by. I found this journey so symbolic of my weight loss journey (and my life) that I didn't mind the delays, wet baggage and lack of sleep.

After a nearly two-hour delay in Baton Rouge, we headed out for Houston knowing that there was a monster storm hovering over most of southeast Texas. The storm was so big and dangerous, that the air traffic navigators were sending the planes on an "S" curve around it. This took nearly two more hours in the air. At maximum flying height, I discovered what it means to be taken out of a storm and allowed to ride side-by-side with it and view its beauty and force at the same time.

The pictures above show a storm the size of a mountain range. Lightning bolts and dark, rolling clouds put on one heck of a show. I took my camera out because I felt safe. Afterall, I had another persepective of this storm.

For two years, I've been riding in this storm. I get up, I get knocked back down, but I get up again. What some may see as slow weight loss progress, I choose to see as survival and life more abundantly.

The one thing I choose to remember about weighing 350 pounds is that life and death were daily considerations. I was not yet 40, but I had seen numerous surgeries, ICU units and buried babies whose coffins were little more than decorated shoe boxes. Life was good, but not abundant and there was litte hope for a long, happy existence.

Now, two years later, I love my size 18 jeans and fun-loving endurance, but most of all, I love the second chance that the Lord has extended to me.

Being removed from this storm for a moment of majesty, I viewed my progress and pain as a spectator. I see the challenge and I see the struggle, but I know I'm safe -- I'm only riding through the storm.