Hope Continues

Hope Continues
10/26/14

Lamentations 3:21-26 (NLT)
21 " Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this:
22 The faithful love of the Lord never ends!
His mercies never cease.
23 Great is his faithfulness;
his mercies begin afresh each morning.
24 I say to myself, 'the lord is my inheritance
Therefore, I will hope in him!'
25 The lord is good to those who
depend on him
to those who search him.
26 So it is good to wait quietly
for salvation from the Lord."

I was up this week to pick the scripture and share it and my thoughts with the people.  It is lovely how it spoke to me differently from the day I felt called to use it and then today.  Today my eyes fell on the  23rd verse "Great is his faithfulness; his mercies begin afresh each morning."  For this I am grateful because I wake this morning, after a night of purging, not feeling very hopeful for my recovery from the eating disorder, nerve, and even my recent resurgence of some gut issues.  My guilt manifests into true physical pain in the form of a head ache and the discomfort of my belly and even my chest flutters with some PVC's. Today I don't have to beat myself up because I feel beaten up.  I won't back down from this task, even though I feel less than worthy of reading the scripture, because in my heart I know this would serve Satan instead of God.

I read over my thoughts I have prepared for the service, and realize they speak to me even more today than when I wrote them.  Did God know about my purge before I did it?  OF course he did.  My thoughts.  I look out into the congregation and I see people that love the Lord, but I also see people like myself that are broken, sick, or facing a struggle or two or three......Maybe some of you aren't in those shoes right now and I praise Jesus for your healing and redemption in your lives. While at the same time feeling a little slighted that I am still waiting.  So I, like most of you find myself still desiring healing, recovery, and complete restoration.  The world tells me I will possibly manage my symptoms and or struggles, but never be really free of them.  Maybe you have experienced the same thing from well meaning people, counselors, or physicians in your lives?  I find myself thinking again, is there such a thing as a full recovery and totally arrested symptoms for what ails me or what ails you?  Once again, I have no clue what God has in store for you, for me, but I try not to get too discouraged because I know my God loves me and you.  He is with us!  I NEED to believe in a full recovery for me and for you, or this battle we fight every day would be futile......without hope.  This is just what Satan wants us to feel; hopeless! But I know this isn't God's will for you or for me.

When I am tired and weary I remind myself to turn to God the Father and still "dare to hope."  I also try to remember that sometimes we don't need to take some giant leap of faith, but just walk in faith and hope one small step at a time.

"His mercies never cease"  I cling to this today and wonder if I can except His mercy and grace for me: That same mercy and grace that I stand and encourage the congregation to accept.  It is easier for me to extend this invitation to the congregation, than accept it for myself.  Yes, I blew it again, but "his mercies begin afresh each morning." I hear God speak to me "Hope Liz, you must continue to hope.  Meditate on this scripture.  I will be good to you as you continue to search for me.  I will be merciful with you each new day.  Show others mercy, but accept mine and show yourself mercy and wait on me."

And if a personal word isn't enough God seems to send me a confirmation of his words in a song, Crave by King and Country.

I won't turn to dust now
Let these tears rust now
         On my face
Give me the spark now
   To believe, to see

  Hope is what we crave
And that will never change
      So I stand and wait
   I need a drop of grace
     To carry me today
   A simple song to say
It's written on my soul:
Hope's what we crave

So today I will wait and I will dare to hope for my spark of healing even through my tears.

Work!

"1 Chronicles 28:20 (NIV) " Be strong, be courageous, and do the work.  Do not be afraid or discouraged for the Lord you God my God is with you.

I find myself in a situation that has caused me stress and heartache as I worry about one of my precious children.  The details aren't important right now, but how I deal with it is.  I have always been a stress non-eater, but because I am so fresh into some semblance of recovery I am aware that I could easily use this as an excuse to dive right back into restricting.  I know the eating disorder can sneak up and grab me from behind like a bandit and quickly pull me back into its snare.  I hesitate, but finally admit this to my therapist.  Part of me may still want it, but most of me wants it to get the fuck out of my life.

Although she has actually used the term recovery (Oh how I need to hear this) with me lately, and that I am not "knee deep" in the Eating Disorder, I feel it calling for me every day.  It feels like I am still caught in its web of symptoms. At times I am free from some of the symptoms, but never all of them at one time. I feel like a fly stuck in a spiders web.  Its whole body can be free of the web, but as long as just the tip of its wing is stuck it isn't able to fly.  I want to fly!  No, I want to soar.  I am so sick and tired of this illness. I am tired of caring about my food, my exercise, my weight, my body!

I believe that it is good that I am getting pissed off at it, but I am also frustrated as I don't know how to make all this stuff not matter.  I have been strong, courageous, and worked my fucking ass off, and it is still there whether I like it or not.  It lingers in my head calling for me like a relentless telemarketer, no matter how many times I hang up on it.  I find myself irritated every time my therapist says "that is how powerful the eating disorder is still."  Fuck the eating disorder!  Doesn't she see, or anyone see, that I don't want to give it power, it takes it.  I don't want this anymore than someone wants cancer, Parkinson's, or any other life-threatening illness.  Why is mental illness a choice, but cancer and other illness aren't? Actually eating disorders are seen as a choice more than other mental illness, like Bi-Polar, Major Depressive Disorder, or schizophrenia. No one chooses any mental illness.  I didn't choose this, it chose me.  Sometimes I wonder if allow myself to still purge occasionally, because I don't feel like anyone believes I can truly be symptom free, except maybe Rich.  I stare at the toilet, sink, wherever I am and think "what the hell! may as well purge."  I need to start thinking fuck you the eating disorder and those who don't believe I can ever be totally free.  I believe in  my God.  And I know he can transform my mind because he promises me this.  Can I believe in me?  Is there such a thing as full recovery and arrested symptoms?  I have no clue, but I try not to get discouraged because God is with me.  I need to believe in the possibility of full recovery, or this fight would be futile; Without hope!

I go back and find hope again in Romans 12:2 (NIV) "Do not be transformed my the patterns of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.  Then you will be able to test and approve of  what God's will is - his good, pleasing and perfect will."  I don't know what this will look like or when my healing will be complete, but this I know for sure; This is not God's will for me the rest of my life.  I love how the (NLT) reads, "let God transform"  My only job is to step out in faith and trust him. The transformation is his job.  I am so exhausted from the fight, but I believe I can find the faith and energy to take one small step at a time.  I may not know how to make a giant leap, but I do know how to press through fatigue one step at a time.  I do this when I run, even if I have to stop and walk, I always mange to finish the race.

I remind myself of this today as I leave my therapist's office feeling more than overwhelmed as she lists all the different pieces of my eating disorder.  I restrict, exercise, purge, and yes I know I have an inaccurate body image.  I think "please don't say it, please don't say it!"  She says it "It's complicated!" I hear "you are complicated." I try to process what is said.  Is it (eating disorders) complicated, am I complicating my recovery, or am I complicated?  For a second I am back in second grade asking the teacher for help and she points her finger at me "you need to stop asking questions.  You are a  nuisance." I know that isn't what my therapist is saying, but it is what I am feeling in the moment.  I feel like she thinks there is something more I  could or should be doing, but I have no clue what.  And just like second grade I am trying to find the answer to questions I am not sure I even understand.  I try not to feel hopeless since I am not helpless with God on my side.

There are somethings I can choose to do around the eating disorder.  I can choose to eat even when I am not hungry because I do need nourishment.  I can choose to keep my food in, and to take a day off from working out.  I can even choose to stay off the scale.  What I can't seem to choose are my thoughts about food, weight and my body.  I can't choose to enjoy food and find pleasure in the taste or texture without first thinking about what my body will do with it.  I can't choose to take a day off from working out with out feeling guilty or that my body will turn to mush over night.  It is this internal struggle that wears me out, and leaves me wondering if I will ever be free. Is that why my therapist finds this so "heat breaking?" Is it because she believes I will never truly be free and will simply have to learn  live in the gray?  I try not to let myself go there, because it too breaks my heart.

While others can look at me and see a "perfect" body, I rarely can see it.  Even on those days that I see my body through others' eyes, it is hard for me to appreciate it because I know the price I have paid to achieve it.  It is just  reminder of my eating disordered life. It is like looking at the scars left behind after open heart surgery, or cancer, it is always a reminder of discomfort, pain and suffering.

Body

Body

Psalm 139:13-16 ”You formed the way I think and feel.

                        You put me together in my mother’s womb.

                        14 I praise you because you made me in such a wonderful way

                        I know how amazing that was!

                        15 You could see my bones grow as my body took shape,

                        Hidden in my mother’s womb.

                        16 You could see my body grow each passing day.

                        You listed all my parts, and not one of them was missing.

My deepest wish today is to walk past my sacred mirror and not be enslaved to scanning my body from head to toe to critique it and point out the real or perceived flaws that can make or break my day.  Actually my deepest wish would be to walk past the sacred mirror and see the image of the amazing wonderful person God formed in my mother’s womb.  To stop and gaze at this wonderful body as God did watching my bones grow as my body took shape.  How lovely to imagine God watching his creation (me) grow with each passing day.  I remember how I watched in awe from the outside as my belly expanded with each passing day, not realizing fully the miracle unfolding in my womb, I can only imagine God’s awe and pride in seeing his design (me) taking shape in the womb.

I cannot begin know how sad and confused he must be by my dissatisfaction with my body that he made in such a wonderful way.  I have spent most my life thinking, writing and talking about hating my body when I should be praising him for how wonderfully he made me inside and out. I should know how amazing he made me and praise him for that, yet I continue to find fault.

I know that some of this is the eating disorder talking, but I also believe that women, in our culture are expected to have some degree of dissatisfaction with our bodies, so it feels prideful or arrogant to just say thank you when someone compliments our bodies. We aren’t supposed to love our bodies, but starve them, work them out, and then we are still supposed to criticize them for not being enough.   We somehow have bought into the lies that we are simply never enough inside or out.  I also feel fraudulent, as I know the price I have paid to attain this "Perfect" body that I rarely see.  Social norms coupled with the eating disorder feeds the poor body image, which in reality is poor self-image.  I would, because of the eating disorder prefer that people not comment on my body at all.  For those of us that struggle with, or against our bodies, these comments just create confusion.  If I look “good” is this good, or is it “bad?”  When I hear people comment that I look good, all I hear is “you have gained weight.” When they say I look “bad,” I hear you are too thin.  If I am not careful both breath life into the eating disorder that hasn’t fully arrested. 

I am frustrated that I continue to find my identity in the eating disorder instead of who I am in Christ.  “Imagine a woman who refuses to use her life energy disguising the change in her body and life” (Patricia Lynn Reilly).  I have wasted so much of my life energy on my body. I am so much more than my body.  My deepest wish would be that I could see my body as Christ sees it and allow my life energy of the Holy Spirit to burn brightly for all to see.  I regularly dim this light of the Father as I spend my life energy focused on disliking my body.  How can I possibly shine His love for all of us, when I don’t love this body that he made in a wonderful way?  I wonder which comes first loving this body or the amazing woman that lives within?

I decide that today I am going to go through my usual ritual of approaching the sacred mirror and stand naked before it, but I am not allowed say anything negative about it.  I am just going to stand and praise God for how wonderfully made I am.  This is going to be rough and far out of my comfort zone.  Am I allowed to like my body or at least parts of it?  I feel God strongly calling be to go with it, so I do.

I start at the top of my head, and it feels awkward and un-natural since I always start with my belly.  I look at my hair the way it falls straight softly framing my face.  I have come to like my brown poker straight hair.  It has been short, long, and everywhere in between.  I really do have great hair and I like the way it is thick and full.  I love to change it up with my mood knowing it will quickly grow from short to long so I can change it up time and time again.  I rarely have a bad hair day.  I would love to let it go gray just to see what it would look like, but it seems like more work than coloring it.

I grew up believing I was less than beautiful because my eyes weren’t blue like my mother’s.  My eyes are dark brown like my father’s eyes and grandmother’s.  I felt like it was my fault and I had somehow let her down by having brown eyes. I was too young to understand genetics at the time.  I hated my brown eyes until the days of Van Morrison and Jimmy Buffett’s Brown-Eyed Girl. When my husband began calling me his brown-eyed girl I decided my eyes were the perfect color.  Is there even a song about blue eyed girls?  I tell everyone that this is one song that will be played in celebration of my brown eyes at my funeral.  And yes, I had some work done to take away the bags the rested under them since my childhood.  I like them even better now, but I no longer wish for blue eyes.

I take a moment and look into my eyes and think about being the apple of God’s eye. It is hard to look myself in the eyes searching for beauty when I am used to seeing ashes. I believe I am beginning to see that he never meant for me to be ashes.

Then I allow my eyes scan my face noticing my freckles.  I love my freckles and how they change like objects of nature with the seasons.  They bud in the warmth of the spring sun, bloom like wild flowers in the long days of summer’s light: becoming abundant and rich in color.  My freckles begin to fade away with the sinking sun of fall and then almost disappear; hibernating like bears in winter until spring’s sun once again calls them forth. 

There is a slight cleft in my chin that makes me feel unique and special.  No clue as to why, but I have always felt it distinctive, my own unique beauty mark.  I have always wanted to be pretty and today as I look at my face I am pleased with what I see.  

So my brown eyes wander to my body, as I stand naked….Now What? I like that I am tallish for a woman, and am evenly proportioned.  Weight gets evenly distributed when and if I decide to gain it.  I love my broad shoulders that either came from years of swimming butterfly, or made butterfly my best stoke.  Either way I like them and the way clothes hang from them down the length of my long arms.  My long arms glide gracefully through the water or make it difficult to go over or around with a tennis ball.  According to my coach, I have the wingspan of a 747.  This is good for tennis, but also reaching the top shelves in the grocery, reaching to the sky in praise and worship, and group hugs. I like that they are well muscled and look good in tank tops.

I stare at my breasts, which are unremarkable, but then I remember seeing them in the reflection of the TV attached to the treadmill.  They have filled out slightly and they have a nice feminine rise and fall to them as I run.  Right now it is the best of both worlds.  I can see the subtle fullness as they rise and I can see my ribs across my chest as they fall.  With the right bra on I no longer look shapeless.  I stop for a moment to mourn the bones I once treasured concealed beneath my flesh.  I am okay, and as friend after friend loses some or all of a breast to Breast cancer I am grateful mine are both intact covering the bones I once treasured.  I find myself gently touching my small biopsy scar.

I turn around to look at my back.  How am I going to do this?  I grab a small hand mirror turning in all sorts of directions until I can see most of it.  Wow, I am surprised to realize that it has just the right amount of muscle that strikes a balance between strong and sexy.  I think I like it and imagine slipping into a dress that would accentuate this strength and beauty.  It also still has the slight V shape that either allowed me to be a great swimmer, or came from countless hours in the pool.

I notice the small of my back how it is gently sloped and meets the top of my pelvis The first thing that comes to mind isn’t what I see, but what I feel.  I feel a warmth of affection move through me as I think of how many times my husband has rested his hand in this very spot as he walks beside me or holds me in his arms. The small of my back, I decide is just perfect.  My eyes start to glance at my flesh just above my pelvis on my flank. Since I can’t say anything nice, I stop myself and move on. 

My ass?  I still really don’t have an ass right now.  I miss my once high shapely rock hard ass, but until I can lift again, I am happy that it is small and tight.  I notice the area on the side of my hips where the glutes melt into my legs.  I love my legs and the dancers hollow that is the space between the two.  It is an indication of my athleticism.  It is something that I have never set out to create, but just happens from running, swimming, and skiing.  I love that I don’t have to work for it and that it is sexy.   

I have always liked my legs they are long, well proportioned, and muscled.  I like the definition in my quads, that I can pick see each of the four muscles that comprise my thigh.  I turn sideways and admire the line along the side of my legs the separate the anterior muscles from the posterior muscles of my hamstrings.  I grab the hand mirror once again to see that my hamstrings are defined as well.  I like the fact that they are strong and have carried me through all of my days, sometimes walking and often running.  I love the way my legs look when I wear heels, but quite frankly prefer running shoes and my cowboy boots.

I stand and stare at myself wondering if I  could  love this body as it is let alone with more weight on it.  Did I love it when I was I carried more weight?  I find myself baffled by my own question, because I can only assess what I see right now reflecting back at me.  Although I am not at my thinnest, I am still not at my goal weight (what is it anyways).  Would I still love these same parts of me that I am able to love today?  Is it a risk I am willing to take?

One thing I am sure of is that I am grateful that despite all I have put it through, it still carries me through this journey! My deepest wish is that one day I can see my body and love it not just for its appearance, but the amazing woman living beneath the surface.