GO:
My Children
The Past
My Thoughts
Deadlines
Discouragement
Time
Ideas
Technology
My desire to be more
Things that I have yet to do
Words that need to be said
My Insecurities
My Tears
The Monster Within
These are the things that are screaming at me right now, in this moment, making me want to give up… run away… sit with my back against a corner.
Seasons like this have me asking God to speak louder than a whisper.
STOP
Ladies, why do we even ask this question? We know when we look fat. We are setting the recipient of our insecurity, up for a no win situation.
Here’s the deal, I’m tired of feeling things jiggle when I walk.
I have been bartering with myself for the last year when it comes to dropping some lbs.
It sounds something like this. I will pay closer attention to what I eat and don’t eat…
If I have to go up another pants size
If I have a roll under my bra
If I ever have a “gut”
If I’m uncomfortable naked
If one of my children ever says, “Am I having a baby brother or baby sister?
The list goes on, but that’s the gist.
Well, today was the day. I stopped making excuses. I decided to make a change. I dusted off the shake mix that I bought last year for this very reason and I made a shake as a meal replacement.
Doesn’t sound like a big deal, does it?
Well for someone who has never had a “working relationship” with food, it’s a very…big deal.
I have never thought of food in a positive way. In fact I rarely think of food at all. Which sounds funny coming from someone who is as big as she’s ever been.
For 12 years I had a condition called bulimarexia. Weird huh? I always liked being unique. I couldn’t just have your ole run-of-the-mill bulimia or anorexia, I had to have a combination of the two. I think it’s the bipolar of eating disorders.
Sometimes I would restrict for days eating a mere 165 calories and then I would switch it up by binging anywhere from 2,500-5,000 calories in one sitting and then stick my finger down my throat until there was nothing left but stomach acid. When I was feeling extra bold I would throw down a few boxes of laxatives (30-75 pills.) I still remember the way the pink candy coating tasted, especially when I would take too many and forcefully vomit.
BUT, I was skinny.
My family would say things like, “You’re killing yourself. You know that, right?”
“Well, at least I’ll die skinny.” I would say.
Talk about shallow, insecure and egotistical all wrapped into one dysfunctional package!
Without turning this post into a share at a support group and in an effort to shine light on this that I like to keep hidden, I wanted to be forthcoming about the monster within who rears its ugly head any time I consider focusing on the daily ins and outs of eating.
If I’m being completely honest, I’m scared.
Scared that I’ll fail. Scared that I’ll return to old habits that show results more quickly than doing it the right way. Scared that I have screwed up my metabolism so much that there’s no going back. Scared that I will become obsessed with the calories, portions and fat grams again.
So here, in the quiet of morning, when it’s only God and me. I ask Him to whisper His promises when I need them most. I ask for His protection from the monster within. I ask for His guidance as I walk this road to a healthier me. I ask for His grace when I am frustrated and want to quit.
This is a lifestyle that I am learning. Not a diet, or the newest craze. It’s a way to live in harmony with something that I need to sustain me.
In case you’re wondering, I gave up the eating disorders when I put down the booze. That was October 19, 2002.
Why did it take me so long to embark on this challenge to have a positive relationship with food? It’s like any other toxic relationship. I never wanted to return to the place of making an effort to control my weight.
The difference is, I don’t need alcohol to live, but I need food to survive. So, here I am…at the beginning…looking ahead, not behind. It’s going to be hard for me. The discipline to be healthy and not cut corners, will be difficult.
I’m ready. Today, I begin a new life.
If you or someone you love is struggling with an eating disorder, please, please, get help. It is serious and it wants to take your life. You can start by visiting the National Eating Disorders Association.
Luca Hill Cemetery 1816
My grandfather passed away when I was 7 yrs. old. That is the first memory that I have of losing someone close to me. I remember where I was sitting when my dad called to tell my mom of his passing. I don’t remember anything after that. The details of the funeral, my father’s immediate state of mind, my grandmother’s period of mourning…nothing.
From that time on, my dad has taken me to the old graveyard in a small town in Henry County, Alabama. There is a path leading straight through the middle and we would walk down the path, my hand in his, with a silence that was an unspoken understanding of reverence.
If I noticed a fresh mound of dirt I would say, “Who was that, Daddy?”
Dad would always know who it was and be able to share a brief history about them.
Before arriving at the plot where my grandfather was laid to rest, my dad would say in a loud voice while lifting his arms to the sky, “What matters now?!”
He would then turn and face the other direction while again exclaiming, “What matters now?!”
He then would turn to me and say, “My Joy, did you hear anything?”
“No, sir.” was my response.
“Do you know why?” he would ask.
“…Well…yes dad. They’re all dead.” was my reply.
What he would say next is what has been burned into my memory. And that was this…
“Right! They are all dead. What lay beneath the ground is rot and decay. What do you think matters to them now?”
“Well, nothin’… I guess?…”
“Nothing! Not their job, car, house, salary, weight, bank account balance, wardrobe… all of that is left behind for someone else to worry about. They’ve gone on to see about it. (This is a southern expression for someone’s passing.) What matters is the time before physical death. What you do with your life, resources, time... and where you put your faith. How you prepare for eternity. For these folks, it’s too late to plan.”
He would then take my little hand in his big hand as we walked to my grandfather’s headstone and removed the weeds or any ant beds that had taken up residence.
After that we would walk across the path to the headstone of a 13 yr. old girl who had died from leukemia. There were always flowers and the area was well maintained. Probably by her mother.
I would read the inscription out loud, but in a whisper, as I ran my hand across the marble, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. 2 Timothy 4:7.”
“Dad, she was prepared for eternity, wasn’t she?”
“Yes, Angel. She was.”
As I grew older and learned what stress felt like, dad would remind me of our walks through the cemetery. He would reiterate that whatever was happening would pass and as time went by, it wouldn’t have as much power as it seemingly had in the moment.
“Maybe you should take a walk through the cemetery?” he would say.
Though my hand was no longer securely in his, I would find a cemetery, walk somewhere close to the middle and say as loudly as I could, sometimes with tears, “WHAT MATTERS NOW?!” The only thing heard would be the echo of my own voice.
I would then answer my own question, “Nothing.”
Have you ever walked through a cemetery while talking to the tombstones? Maybe you should try it. You just might find that it is capable of bringing things into perspective that nothing else can.
2 Corinthians 4:16-18
“So we’re not giving up. How could we! Even though on the outside it often looks like things are falling apart on us, on the inside, where God is making new life, not a day goes by without his unfolding grace. These hard times are small potatoes compared to the coming good times, the lavish celebration prepared for us. There’s far more here than meets the eye. The things we see now are here today, gone tomorrow. But the things we can’t see now will last forever.”
As human beings, we want to be heard, noticed and affirmed. We want to know that we matter. There are multiple opportunities throughout the day to connect with strangers in a way that says, “I understand.” without using words.
At times I am blind to those right in front me… within arms reach. When I begin to view myself through the distorted lens of my ego, I will quickly think myself “better than.” I must thoroughly and swiftly diffuse this misconception.
When I come to the end of myself is when my eyes are opened and I can readily relate to the pain of another. “God, open my eyes to see what you see.”
By asking God to direct my thinking, the simple, seemingly mundane, happenings throughout the day take on new form. Instead of judgement, I can see myself…
~ In the eyes of the elderly lady in the check out line trying to separate her coupons one by one with shaking hands, as the line behind her grows longer and the faces appear more agitated while the exaggerated sighs confirm disapproval.
~ In the little boy on the corner awkwardly waiting alone for his bus.
~ In the driver with aggravated hands in the air and a marred expression on her face, showing her disdain for the fact that the person in front of her is turning left when she needs to go straight.
~ In the expression of the little girl, just scolded by her mother, with tears running down her cheeks.
~ In the suit walking across the street falsely exuding the confidence that he so desperately wishes he had.
~ In the cashier at the deli with diamond earrings too big to be real, red fingernails and enough makeup to think she’s hiding how desperately she wants someone to see her for who she really is.
~ In the lady pumping $4.39 worth of gas into her car, praying that it’s enough to last at least a couple of days.
Throughout my day, I am capable of relating, encouraging and projecting light onto others. Isn’t that what God called me to do as a follower of Christ? After all, it wasn’t that long ago when I was the one sending silent screams of desperation to anyone who would notice.
I assess my day on the drive home. What could I have done better? Where could I have chosen compassion? How will I live tomorrow differently?
On this particular day, my heart is heavy and my thoughts are many. I pull into the garage, walk into the house, slip my shoes off at the door and head up the stairs.
There it is.
I pick it up and run my finger along the intricate work in the beautiful silver adorning the wood. I can remember when I saved enough money to buy this cross. I had been eyeing it for weeks.
Today, I see myself in it as well.
This cross was bought with a price. I cherish it. It is strategically placed in a part of our room where I see it multiple times a day. A visual reminder of the beautiful gift that Christ gave, in giving His life for mine all those years ago and then saving me again not so very long ago.
It all comes back to the cross.
As I rest the beautiful symbol back in it’s place, I smile, exhale, and bask in the eternal security of the ultimate sacrifice of my Savior. His crucifixion on a cross (made from a tree that His Father created), stained with His blood (that sanctifies my sin), displaying His body (naked and vulnerable), beaten beyond recognition… for me… and for all of those I see throughout the day, coming and going.
We were all bought with a price, much too high for my earthly mind to comprehend. Imagine the possibilities if we were able to fully absorb and then exemplify to others the meaning of the cross.
It changes everything.
Grab your favorite beverage and get comfortable because we are going to talk about sex.
Yep, I said it. S-E-X.
I cannot keep quiet about this any longer! Married people, you are missing it. You’re missing out on one of the main ingredients that makes a marriage solid.
If your upbringing was anything like mine, “the talk” involved a book with cartoon illustrations, words I couldn’t say without laughing and a very nervous parent who had never been more eager to get through a conversation.
Very little was said about it in our home and that made it all the more intriguing to me.
Yet somehow, when it came to this subject, I learned the formula;
Sex = Dirty, Unclean, Shame. It’s going to be incredibly uncomfortable and you should, “Save it for the one you love.” Huh?
I have talked to multiple women over the last few months. All of them have been married less than nine years. Eight out of ten of them are not having sex with their husband. And by not having sex, I mean one time or less per month.
There are lot’s of excuses, some are really good, valid reasons. When you have young children, especially a baby, the last thing that most women are thinking about is the thing that got them pregnant in the first place.
SO, have you gotten off track? Don’t know where to start?
Ladies…
Guys…
You are not off the hook here.
When we marry, God gives us a license to explore, enjoy and play.
For some of us, we didn’t wait for the license. We didn’t do anything in the order that it was intended.
Right or wrong, here is my take on that…
I think the reason God doesn’t want us sleeping around and getting knocked up and/or contracting something that we can’t wash off, is because He knows how much it will hurt us. It’s a hurt not easily healed. He knows that we will carry the weight of shame and guilt with us, sometimes for a lifetime. He is protecting our heart.
The way He designed this whole crazy, beautiful, mysterious act is, well… kind of perfect. He knew what He was doing.
Please hear me when I say that, I wasn’t wearing white on my wedding day. I have felt damaged and broken for years and then something that can only be explained as a “spiritual awakening” happened.
This man, who I believe God chose and designed for me and me for him. He didn’t look at me with shame or disgust. He didn’t talk to me like a worthless whore. In fact, he treated me like his queen and now all that I know and have ever known… is him. When I close my eyes, he is the only one I see. He is the only one I want to see.
Ladies, some of you are shaking your head as tears run down your cheeks and saying, “You don’t know what I’ve done.”
You’re right. However, I know what I’ve done. I know what I’ve thought in my mind about doing, which Jesus said is one in the same. And I am here to testify that nothing, NO ONE, is beyond redemption.
Right now you’re saying in your mind, “BUT…”
There are no buts in forgiveness, Darling. Strike that from your vocabulary where needed.
Some of you reading this have given your body away in hopes of filling up the emptiness that you feel. Others make a living by taking your clothes off and spinning on a pole. Some of you are helping them make a living by going and watching them spin on a pole. Though I do not condone this (just as I do not condone past behaviors of my own), I have known some “professional dancers” who have a bigger heart and purer motives than many Christians. I am confident that there is no condemnation in Christ. Nothing will fill a void like His grace, mercy and love. Nothing.
Some of you had someone force themselves on you. Whether you were a child when it happened or an adult, it’s not your fault. Regardless, you feel stained. I am here to tell you that the blood of Christ is better than any bleach out there and He will make you new. Brand new. He is in the business of restoration. He makes beautiful things out of our pain. If we let Him…
I was talking with a friend not long ago who was an exotic dancer and professional escort for several years. She now has a hard time even thinking about being intimate with anyone, let alone her husband. Her exact comment was, “I’ve done everything and it was dirty and wrong. I have no desire to do those things with my husband. It just reminds me of who I was and what I used to be.”
“Let it go.” Sound too simple? Well that’s because it is simple. Not to be confused with easy.
This man, who is being punished for something in the past that he was not even a part of, loves you and wants you, just the way you are.
I encouraged her and will encourage you, that every time she closes her eyes and sees things that seem to be tattooed in her memory, to picture it going through a shredder. Find something to replace it. It doesn’t have to be sexual. You may have to repeat the shredding over and over and over again. Eventually your mind will be transformed.
When those visions and memories creep in and give you that sick feeling, know that it is not from God. It is not from the One who created you with great purpose. The One who designed you from scratch. The Master’s hands formed you from the beginning and they are on you still.
None of us are beyond the reach of our Savior.
Now, I know I am opening myself up to some major criticism, judgement and misinterpretation… I’m okay with that. I’m not an expert. I do think that we should feel the freedom to talk with our spouse about sex, intimacy and our body without acting like it’s a four letter word.
Can we do that? Can we stop projecting shame onto others? Can we who are married, make an effort to remind our spouse why they would never want to look anywhere else for sexual intimacy? Can we see ourselves, our bodies and our marriage through the eyes of the One who created it all in the first place?
Can those of you who are not with someone right now, look ahead with great anticipation, eager to experience sexual intimacy and all that comes with it, the way God intended it to be?
Try it… I dare ya!
Four years ago, today, our youngest son was born.
The pregnancy started with tears and confusion, wondering how I could possibly be in that small percentage of women who actually get pregnant while on birth control. After all, less than a year before, God had blessed us with a beautiful son.
I wanted this baby. I just wasn’t sure about God’s timing. What would it mean for the baby that I was on birth control for the first 2-3 months after conception?
“Lord, how am I going to do this?” was my first thought.
The very next thought, “I feel like I just got my body back! I don’t want to get fat again!”
It never fails, I turn into the rebellious teen, throwing a tantrum. Because after all, it’s all about me. Isn’t it?
Here’s the deal. I am selfish.
When left to my own devices, I am self absorbed, egotistical, self-centered, opportunistic, self-serving, inconsiderate….and the list doesn’t stop there! It could go on and on and on.
However, all of that can change, IF, before my feet hit the floor in the morning, I will say these seven words “God, I invite you into my day.”
You may be thinking, “One doesn’t invite God into their day. He is already there.” Well friend, not for me. I mean, yes, of course He’s there. But if I am not intentional about requesting His input in even the smallest of daily details, I won’t notice His presence and I’ll screw it all up.
His ways are not my ways. The process He uses to bring things to fruition is far beyond anything that I am capable of doing.
Just when I thought I had been broken and repaired more times than necessary, the One creating the masterpiece, gently led me into another season of silence.
This pregnancy would bring with it more challenges than I, as an individual and Chris and I, as a couple have ever had to face. I had several health issues surface that led to surgery, preterm labor, bed rest and the high risk wing of the hospital. We became part of the unemployed and uninsured when the economy tanked. Our daughter and oldest son became seriously ill (at different times) and were hospitalized during the span of about 6 months.
“Where was God?“
He was there.
In the midst of all the uncertainties, He was there, He had a plan and He was not surprised by any of the outcomes.
At times, in His silence, His presence is unmistakable.
Our adored baby boy arrived almost 4 weeks early, weighing in at a whopping 7 lbs 15 oz. He was the biggest preemie in the NICU
I now have this beautiful scar on my belly. A constant reminder that God’s plan is perfect. If it had been left up to me, nothing would have happened the way it did and I would have forfeited the blessings.
It would take thousands of words to adequately explain what I have learned, the ways I have grown, the changes in perspective and priorities, the multitude of blessings and the beauty of the everyday, that have come with my youngest son’s birth.
I cannot imagine my life without this remarkable child.
It’s easy to say now that;
I wish I had enjoyed each moment and not worried so much.
I wish I had trusted the maker of the universe.
I wish I had listened more to the Father’s assurance and inquired less about “why?”
I wish I had been a much better example of “faith in action” to others.
However, I am so, so grateful for others who were the hands of feet of Christ for our family.
My baby boy is 4 years old today. It goes by fast. Much like blinking, really. Old people used to say things like that when I was quite a bit younger. I thought they were silly. Now I see the wisdom in their words, while realizing that they weren’t so old after all.
Happy Birthday to my Precious One, whom I love and am so incredibly proud of. He is the perfect example of an undeserved gift. The kind that only God, in His amazing grace and mercy, can give. I am so grateful. And though completely undeserving, we are beyond blessed.
Ask any child who Cinderella is and they will most assuredly know.
When asking my 3 yr. old son if he knew who Cinderella was, he said, “Ewwwww. I don’t like Cinderella.” I would say that’s right on track with where he needs to be. Like her or not, he knows who she is.
The other day on my drive home, the song “Cinderella” by Steven Curtis Chapman came on. I have heard this song many times with goosebumps covering my arms, while envisioning a little girl standing on her daddy’s feet as he dances her around.
This time was different. The tears began streaming down my face. I literally said out loud, “What is wrong with me?! This is ridiculous! Dry it up!”
I have been thinking about it ever since. Singing the lyrics over and over in my mind. “I will dance with Cinderella, while she is here in my arms, ‘Cause I know something the prince never knew…” Each time, I feel the lump well up in my throat.
When I finally took the time to sit down and start writing, clarity was found.
How many of us aspired to be a princess? Not just any princess. THE Princess. Cinderella. Nothing sounded better than being rescued from a life of chores and mean sisters. Throw in a personal fairy godmother, a makeover, a prince, a happily ever after and most of all, being able to say, “Shove it!” to the wicked stepmother and we have ourselves a fairytale.
And then something went wrong.
It wasn’t that we had brown hair instead of blond or that we didn’t have a stepmother or stepsisters to fit the story. It was that some of us took a different path. We thought that after enjoying adventure and having more “fun” we could come back and cross the finish line of life, as a Cinderella.
I haven’t read the story of Cinderella in quite some time, but from all the times I have read it in the past, I don’t recall the part where she cusses out the bartender when he yells “last call.” Or cuts marks on her body as a painful reminder that she’s real. Or where she sticks her fingers down her throat until she pukes everything that she had just binged so that she can eat more and keep stuffing those feelings down while maintaining the illusion of control. I don’t remember where she gives herself away to those who’s name she can’t even remember? Or where she stands before the full length mirror, a skin cloaked skeleton, scrutinizing every inch of her body.
Those pages must have been missing from the book.
For many of us, they are the most prevalent. Those descriptions mark a part in our story where everything changed. Shame became a constant companion. The reflection in the mirror was unrecognizable.
The realization came that there would be no horse-drawn carriage to take us to the ball. There was no army frantically searching the land to find the foot that fit the glass slipper (our foot), while the prince pines away back at the castle awaiting the return of his true love.
“Who’s ever heard of glass shoes anyway?!”
None of us dreamed of being addicts or alcoholics, prostitutes or strippers, a teenage mother or a 20-something divorcee.
We all had similar dreams. So what happened?
Well, when I was 12…
When he…
When she…
We all have our _____________ to fill.
Our story to tell.
It doesn’t matter the details of destruction. All that matters is from today… from this moment… how the story ends.
May I paint a mental picture for you, Beautiful One?
We aren’t waiting for the prince.
There is no clock to strike midnight and strip us of our dreams.
The King Himself prepares a place for us. The Creator of the heavens, waits for us. He beckons us. He eagerly awaits eternity with us. I don’t know how your story reads up to now, but I know how it can end.
You are a Precious Treasure, Favored, Adored by the Creator of heaven and earth.
Don’t give up, Darling.
Keep going.
It is in those times of weariness that we must listen for His whisper and embrace the anticipation of one day being His bride.
There is no better “ever after.”
*Photos taken from google
Even A Girl Like Me 