Radiant
Psalm 34:5 "Those who look to him are radiant; their faces never covered with shame"
God again uses the image of light to reach out and comfort me. So not only does he delight in me, he now sees me as radiant. I believe he wants me to see past the shame I have carried that feeds the eating disorder, as well as the unique shame that comes with the eating disorder itself. It is a viscous cycle that I want out of, but just can't quite figure out how extricate myself from the behaviors that, as I have said before, seems hard wired into my brain. It is like skiing a black diamond from top to bottom. My heart races, not from the physical exertion, but from the adrenaline and dopamine flooding through my body. I am going way too fast on a slope that is way to steep, but somehow I make it down. My legs quiver from fear and my lungs burn from breathing quickly as if to keep up with the racing of my heart. I take a quick inventory to make sure I am really still standing and in one piece. I am frightened, I am tired and know I was lucky to escape unharmed, yet I get back in the lift line, knowing that I am pushing my limits.
That is what the eating disorder is beginning to feel like. It is scary, dangerous, and I am lucky to survive, but I keep going back to it again and again even though I know that it is always that one last run that takes you out. Last year at this time I could have cared less if I died on the steep slope of the eating disorder. I didn't care if it hurt me or I hurt myself, but I am shifting as God reveals more and more of himself to me, and that he loves me, delights in me and now I am radiant! My pastor asks me to look myself in the eyes everyday and say "I love you Liz" "Really? I am not sure if I can do that. It feels, well, contrived and unnatural. I know that God wants me to love myself as he loves me, but I am not sure I can do this. I am not sure I believe it," I say back to him. It is easy for me to look in the mirror and pick myself apart and tell the woman staring back how much I hate her, but tell her I love her; I am not so sure. He encourages me to just try it. If I could scream the lies that Satan would have me believe, how much more would I be able to believe the truth about the woman God loves and delights in if only I would speak it to her. I agree to give it a try and find that each time I do the haze that I see myself through is starting to lift like the fog off the mountains that take my breath away.
I have used my dad's death as an excuse to flirt with the eating disorder. At least that is what I thought I was doing since I had been feeling so much better and stronger. I believe I am in recovery. I just don't feel "sick" anymore, and really don't think I look anorexic or too thin. My therapist disagrees. She spends much of the session pointing out each piece of the eating disorder that is still alive. She pulls out her notes from my last appontment and reads them to me. I am not sure if it is to make me feel better or worse, but I feel worse. I am not sure if it is what she reads or the clinical way that the notes are written. It was like listening to someone describe the results of working with a chimpanzee for research. I felt hidden behind the illness even as I believe I am starting to emerge. I feel the tears beginning to well up, but it is almost time for me to go so I draw in a long breath allowing God to hold them again. This felt safer since he has no time limit. I think she sees the despair on my face. She hugs me and says "The eating disorder is BIG, but you are doing great, you really are!" I leave feeling defeated, hopeless, and too weak to keep pressing into God and recovery.
I felt old and childlike at the same time. That familiar feeling of shame starts to rise like bile in my throat, and that is when God reminds me that as long as I keep looking to him I am radiant and released of my shame.
Sunday, November 17, 2013
Friday, November 8, 2013
Light
LIGHT
Psalm 18:17-19 "He rescued me from my powerful enemy; From my Foes that were too strong for me; They confronted my in the day of my disaster; But the Lord was my support; He brought me out into a spacious place;(Get This)Because He delighted in me.
28 You Lord keep my lamp burning; My God turns darkness into light.
Ephesians 1:18 I pray that you hearts will be flooded with light so that you can understand the confident hope he has given to those he called his holy people who are his rich and glorious inheritance.
1Peter 2:9 (NLT)"But you were not like that, for you are a chosen people. You are royal priests, a holy nation, God's very own possession. As a result, you can show others the goodness of God, for he called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.
There is a common word running through these three scriptures that I happened on this past week; Light. God is trying to speak to me through His word, and I begin to wonder how this ties into the question or answer for that matter: Who am I, and what about me causes Him to "delight in me" What is it that causes others to "delight in me" when I find it so difficult to delight in my self. Is it possible that God and those outside of my own body and definitely those outside of my own head see someone entirely different than I see my self? Could they possibly see light piercing threw the darkness of the eating disorder, with each ray bringing me out of the dark places of the last few years into his wonderful light?
God uses light to expose our strengths, but also our weakness. It is both my strengths and weakness that he is showing me and reminding me that he has a plan and a way out for me. As I read the above scriptures I know that he wants me to turn to him, yet I keep getting sucked back into the habits and rituals of the eating disorder. I use my dads death as an excuse. I get to flirt with the eating disorder again because I am grieving. God is coming to rescue me and I turn away. This weekend was just like the last. I ate well on Friday night and though my desire to purge was pulling at me and calling me like a siren's song, I stopped and tried to focus on God and his promise that he will lead me out of this darkness. I hear him whisper in my ear that I will be okay. I wake on the Saturdays and I am okay. It is just as he has promised. I am rested I am strong. I run for miles soaking in warm sun, followed by a gentle cooling breeze. "You are doing it'' I hear him say. " You are growing stronger from the inside out."
Yet it is in those moments of growing and strength that I panic. Who am I without the disorder. It is as if I wear eating disorder as who I am. Then I falter. Then I purge. Recently I have fallen back into the rituals that accompanied me for the past two years. I think that some of it rises out of comfort, and some of it out of needing take some sort of inventory of body since I have agreed to stay off the scale. So, I only get to know my weight every 2 weeks when I meet with my nutritionist.
I find I am beginning some days now with the same anorexic rituals that I retrieved from my adolescents two years ago. As I wake to the strum and vibration of my cell phone, I begin to take inventory of my body. It as if I think that in the darkness of the night I have morphed into the fat ugly body that I fear.
I curl tightly into a ball, like an infant curling into it's familiar fetal position, and slowly run my hands along my legs as they unfurl. I check to feel for the muscles and bones just under the surface of my skin unobstructed by some potential new layer of fat. Are the veins that that scared me, yet somehow mesmerized me still protruding? Are they still palpable? I point and flex my toes causing calves to grow taut, and I feel for the firm ball of tissue as it contracts and relaxes under my fingers. I need to know they can be felt and seen,
I stretch out supine under the weight of the covers. My hands wander the length of my thighs as I feel for the 4 definite muscles that form my quads. Can I feel each one, or have my legs become a glob of fat and other useless tissue? I feel for the line of definition along the side of my thighs, and then confirm the existence of my "dancer's hollow" I let out the breath I had been holding.
My hands wander up over my hipbones fearing they will no longer rise above by belly, but they do.
I let out another breath that sounds more like a sigh of relief as I realize my belly sinks leaving a space between the waistband of my pajama bottoms and the surface of my skin. How much longer until the two will meet? Should they meet? Will they meet if I gain the 5-6 pounds that would please everyone, but possibly me. They have never met before even when I was 10 pounds heavier than I am now.
The assessment continues. I palpate my body like I would a patient in the squad, but instead of looking for injuries, I am checking for flaws. I need to feel the segments of my rectus I draw my finger around each segment hoping there is no new layer of sub-cutaneous fat. Then I run my finger along the mid-line of the rectus until it lands on the ridge of the vertical internal scar from my hysterectomy. I have felt the emotional scar of the procedure for years, but it is only now that I feel the physical scar. So, now it is because of my weight and the eating disorder that physical and emotional scars are revealed
Next I feel for my ribs through my back and even through my breasts, noting the scar from the biopsy a year ago. I think for a moment, maybe cancer would be easier than this. The treatment either works or it doesn't. There is a beginning and an end.
I run my hands down one arm then the other, stopping along the way, and finally wrapping one hand around each wrist insuring my fingers still touch each-other as they encircle the bones. I turn to my right and then to my left seeing if my belly still looks flat and intact. And slowly get out of bed.
I know this seems like a long drawn out process, but like the eating disorder itself, it is hardwired somewhere in my brain. I can process how my body feels, as fast as you can google eating disorders on your high speed internet.
I then go to get dressed and stand in front of the mirror as I shower and dry off for the day. I allow my eyes to yes, survey my body, but then I allow my eyes to wander to my face. I hear God speaking to me "Liz there is a beautiful face attached to that body. Look her in the eyes. Who do you see? No don't turn away in shame. Look carefully you are not just a body, you are my daughter and I delight in you. I delight in your transparency, your tenacity, your sensitivity, how you love me, you step away, but you love me and you keep coming back to curl up on my lap listening to me intently seeking my heart and seeking to know me. These are just a few of the qualities that make you who you are, and remember that each time you falter and are broken, I am collecting the pieces and just wait until you see the beautiful stained glass mosaic I am creating. It will leave you speechless!"
Psalm 18:17-19 "He rescued me from my powerful enemy; From my Foes that were too strong for me; They confronted my in the day of my disaster; But the Lord was my support; He brought me out into a spacious place;(Get This)Because He delighted in me.
28 You Lord keep my lamp burning; My God turns darkness into light.
Ephesians 1:18 I pray that you hearts will be flooded with light so that you can understand the confident hope he has given to those he called his holy people who are his rich and glorious inheritance.
1Peter 2:9 (NLT)"But you were not like that, for you are a chosen people. You are royal priests, a holy nation, God's very own possession. As a result, you can show others the goodness of God, for he called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.
There is a common word running through these three scriptures that I happened on this past week; Light. God is trying to speak to me through His word, and I begin to wonder how this ties into the question or answer for that matter: Who am I, and what about me causes Him to "delight in me" What is it that causes others to "delight in me" when I find it so difficult to delight in my self. Is it possible that God and those outside of my own body and definitely those outside of my own head see someone entirely different than I see my self? Could they possibly see light piercing threw the darkness of the eating disorder, with each ray bringing me out of the dark places of the last few years into his wonderful light?
God uses light to expose our strengths, but also our weakness. It is both my strengths and weakness that he is showing me and reminding me that he has a plan and a way out for me. As I read the above scriptures I know that he wants me to turn to him, yet I keep getting sucked back into the habits and rituals of the eating disorder. I use my dads death as an excuse. I get to flirt with the eating disorder again because I am grieving. God is coming to rescue me and I turn away. This weekend was just like the last. I ate well on Friday night and though my desire to purge was pulling at me and calling me like a siren's song, I stopped and tried to focus on God and his promise that he will lead me out of this darkness. I hear him whisper in my ear that I will be okay. I wake on the Saturdays and I am okay. It is just as he has promised. I am rested I am strong. I run for miles soaking in warm sun, followed by a gentle cooling breeze. "You are doing it'' I hear him say. " You are growing stronger from the inside out."
Yet it is in those moments of growing and strength that I panic. Who am I without the disorder. It is as if I wear eating disorder as who I am. Then I falter. Then I purge. Recently I have fallen back into the rituals that accompanied me for the past two years. I think that some of it rises out of comfort, and some of it out of needing take some sort of inventory of body since I have agreed to stay off the scale. So, I only get to know my weight every 2 weeks when I meet with my nutritionist.
I find I am beginning some days now with the same anorexic rituals that I retrieved from my adolescents two years ago. As I wake to the strum and vibration of my cell phone, I begin to take inventory of my body. It as if I think that in the darkness of the night I have morphed into the fat ugly body that I fear.
I curl tightly into a ball, like an infant curling into it's familiar fetal position, and slowly run my hands along my legs as they unfurl. I check to feel for the muscles and bones just under the surface of my skin unobstructed by some potential new layer of fat. Are the veins that that scared me, yet somehow mesmerized me still protruding? Are they still palpable? I point and flex my toes causing calves to grow taut, and I feel for the firm ball of tissue as it contracts and relaxes under my fingers. I need to know they can be felt and seen,
I stretch out supine under the weight of the covers. My hands wander the length of my thighs as I feel for the 4 definite muscles that form my quads. Can I feel each one, or have my legs become a glob of fat and other useless tissue? I feel for the line of definition along the side of my thighs, and then confirm the existence of my "dancer's hollow" I let out the breath I had been holding.
My hands wander up over my hipbones fearing they will no longer rise above by belly, but they do.
I let out another breath that sounds more like a sigh of relief as I realize my belly sinks leaving a space between the waistband of my pajama bottoms and the surface of my skin. How much longer until the two will meet? Should they meet? Will they meet if I gain the 5-6 pounds that would please everyone, but possibly me. They have never met before even when I was 10 pounds heavier than I am now.
The assessment continues. I palpate my body like I would a patient in the squad, but instead of looking for injuries, I am checking for flaws. I need to feel the segments of my rectus I draw my finger around each segment hoping there is no new layer of sub-cutaneous fat. Then I run my finger along the mid-line of the rectus until it lands on the ridge of the vertical internal scar from my hysterectomy. I have felt the emotional scar of the procedure for years, but it is only now that I feel the physical scar. So, now it is because of my weight and the eating disorder that physical and emotional scars are revealed
Next I feel for my ribs through my back and even through my breasts, noting the scar from the biopsy a year ago. I think for a moment, maybe cancer would be easier than this. The treatment either works or it doesn't. There is a beginning and an end.
I run my hands down one arm then the other, stopping along the way, and finally wrapping one hand around each wrist insuring my fingers still touch each-other as they encircle the bones. I turn to my right and then to my left seeing if my belly still looks flat and intact. And slowly get out of bed.
I know this seems like a long drawn out process, but like the eating disorder itself, it is hardwired somewhere in my brain. I can process how my body feels, as fast as you can google eating disorders on your high speed internet.
I then go to get dressed and stand in front of the mirror as I shower and dry off for the day. I allow my eyes to yes, survey my body, but then I allow my eyes to wander to my face. I hear God speaking to me "Liz there is a beautiful face attached to that body. Look her in the eyes. Who do you see? No don't turn away in shame. Look carefully you are not just a body, you are my daughter and I delight in you. I delight in your transparency, your tenacity, your sensitivity, how you love me, you step away, but you love me and you keep coming back to curl up on my lap listening to me intently seeking my heart and seeking to know me. These are just a few of the qualities that make you who you are, and remember that each time you falter and are broken, I am collecting the pieces and just wait until you see the beautiful stained glass mosaic I am creating. It will leave you speechless!"
Monday, October 21, 2013
Water!
Isaiah 43:18-19 "But forget all that, it is nothing compared to what I am going to do . For I am about to do something new. See, I have already begun! Do you not see it? I will make a pathway through the wilderness. I will create rivers in the dry waste land"
I look backwards and remember describing myself as a flower wilting in the dessert desperately trying to find water to bring the flower back to life. I also began to think about water and how essential it is for life as I watched my father die. I know that a human being can go three weeks without food, three days without water, and three minutes with out air before dying. I count backwards from the time of my father's death and realize that he died just after three days without water.
It has been one month since my flawed hero, handsome Henry Kleinfeldt, Bop, Hank, The Hankster, Pops, Dad, and Daddy went home to be with the Lord guided by a glorious full moon. Dad did it his way and waited until he was alone with his savior. I know he didn't want us all hanging around fussing and crying. Or repeating Christmas Vacation word for word. ( That drove him crazy). He never was comfortable with being the center of attention, but I so wanted to hold his hand and walk him home just as he walked me to school, and my children to school on their first days.
I was tired and my heart ached as the nurse suggested that we go home 2 at a time to rest as she thought he would make it into the morning. I walked over to his bed and lay my hands on his one more time. Ok, "now" I thought "it is time." So I lean down and speak to him the words I couldn't bring myself to do earlier. "Dad, it's Liz, I love you so and forgive the last two years and I know from the core of my being that you are so very sorry and that you love me with a love that is deep and everlasting. The past two years can not erase the other forty-seven years. I am so grateful that the Lord gave us to you when you were so young, and although you will die young I had you for almost 50 years. My boys, now really men, adored you as much as you adored them. I praise God that I was young when I had them. You gave them the gifts of love, support, friendship, faith, and fun. And fun they had with you, although I probably wouldn't have let them watch Terminator, or Jaws when they were eight and ten years old, it is one of heir fondest memories. Really they seem no worse for the wear."
I stop for a moment to catch my breath and say to him "Dad I want to be here with you when you go home, but it is ok if you need to go before I return. You have suffered long enough. You deserve to be set free from all the pain; The physical, and the emotional. Jesus suffered for you and he is waiting for you, to present you washed clean and forgiven to your heavenly father 'Abba'. I will be alright." I stop short of promising him that I will leave the eating disorder behind. I couldn't make I promise that I knew I couldn't keep for the immediate future. And just as I walked with the eating disorder back into his room, it was with my trusted friend that I walked out. However this was searing pain that even Anorexia couldn't numb.
So it is in the dry waste land of death that I see the new thing that God has already begun to do as I allow myself to feel, to grieve. Feeling my tears roll down my cheeks is like releasing a torrent of water from a dam. It is grief for more than my father's death, but that of my feelings that I have held in check for years, sometimes with the eating disorder, sometimes by my fear of not being heard, and more often than not disguised in anger.
This torrent of water is different. It isn't one of misplaced rage swirling out of control waiting to suck anyone or any thing under its surface to drown. A rage, that like a swirling rapid, would cause anyone to seek to go around it; Not through it! This rush of water is like the water that flows as the sun warms and slowly melts the snow pack of the hills allowing it to flow towards the streams, river, and eventually the lake. As I allow the warm memories of my father to come to the surface, and learn to trust my heavenly father, his Son begins to soften the hard protective shell the eating disorder formed protectively around my heart.
Like the water of the river that flows in to the lake, there is an ebb and a flow to my life and my recovery. There are times when my anger explodes like rapids, although there are few times that this happens. There are times that I am calm and move slowly forward, making progress like sitting in an inter tube going with the flow of the current. It is these time that I sit back and soak in all that surrounds me, and allow myself to be connected with the people in my life. More importantly it is these time that I allow myself to just be. I connect with me allowing myself to feel happy, sad, lonely, cranky, and hungry. Hungry, yes for food, but also for life.
Then there are those times that I feel more like the salmon that I sit and watch on the Bear River fighting to get up and over the dam to even begin the arduous task of insuring their survival. Some will fight with all they have to survive. Time and time again they move backwards then thrust themselves with great effort to make the leap just to keep swimming upstream. Some will keep this up for hours on end until they succeed. Others will try once, twice maybe three times and then give up allowing the river to carry them back into vast cold waters of the lake where there future is uncertain.
This past week I was the salmon that tried a few times and gave up. I felt like just riding the current backwards even if it meant falling into my rage, that leads to restricting, and eventually purging. then waking up the next day feeling horrible not from the purge, but because I purged. Even if I had the energy to make the leap I wasn't sure I deserved to try again. How many times do I get to begin again?
The sun rose Sunday and again today, and a new day dawned. So I guess I get to begin again. Today I am the salmon fighting to take the leap. Mine isn't over a dam, but a leap of faith. Faith that He holds my future in His hands and has already begun something new that may be just out of my view. The tears that I feel hopefully are making a stream that will forge its way through this wilderness of my life and finally water this flower allowing her to bloom.
I look backwards and remember describing myself as a flower wilting in the dessert desperately trying to find water to bring the flower back to life. I also began to think about water and how essential it is for life as I watched my father die. I know that a human being can go three weeks without food, three days without water, and three minutes with out air before dying. I count backwards from the time of my father's death and realize that he died just after three days without water.
It has been one month since my flawed hero, handsome Henry Kleinfeldt, Bop, Hank, The Hankster, Pops, Dad, and Daddy went home to be with the Lord guided by a glorious full moon. Dad did it his way and waited until he was alone with his savior. I know he didn't want us all hanging around fussing and crying. Or repeating Christmas Vacation word for word. ( That drove him crazy). He never was comfortable with being the center of attention, but I so wanted to hold his hand and walk him home just as he walked me to school, and my children to school on their first days.
I was tired and my heart ached as the nurse suggested that we go home 2 at a time to rest as she thought he would make it into the morning. I walked over to his bed and lay my hands on his one more time. Ok, "now" I thought "it is time." So I lean down and speak to him the words I couldn't bring myself to do earlier. "Dad, it's Liz, I love you so and forgive the last two years and I know from the core of my being that you are so very sorry and that you love me with a love that is deep and everlasting. The past two years can not erase the other forty-seven years. I am so grateful that the Lord gave us to you when you were so young, and although you will die young I had you for almost 50 years. My boys, now really men, adored you as much as you adored them. I praise God that I was young when I had them. You gave them the gifts of love, support, friendship, faith, and fun. And fun they had with you, although I probably wouldn't have let them watch Terminator, or Jaws when they were eight and ten years old, it is one of heir fondest memories. Really they seem no worse for the wear."
I stop for a moment to catch my breath and say to him "Dad I want to be here with you when you go home, but it is ok if you need to go before I return. You have suffered long enough. You deserve to be set free from all the pain; The physical, and the emotional. Jesus suffered for you and he is waiting for you, to present you washed clean and forgiven to your heavenly father 'Abba'. I will be alright." I stop short of promising him that I will leave the eating disorder behind. I couldn't make I promise that I knew I couldn't keep for the immediate future. And just as I walked with the eating disorder back into his room, it was with my trusted friend that I walked out. However this was searing pain that even Anorexia couldn't numb.
So it is in the dry waste land of death that I see the new thing that God has already begun to do as I allow myself to feel, to grieve. Feeling my tears roll down my cheeks is like releasing a torrent of water from a dam. It is grief for more than my father's death, but that of my feelings that I have held in check for years, sometimes with the eating disorder, sometimes by my fear of not being heard, and more often than not disguised in anger.
This torrent of water is different. It isn't one of misplaced rage swirling out of control waiting to suck anyone or any thing under its surface to drown. A rage, that like a swirling rapid, would cause anyone to seek to go around it; Not through it! This rush of water is like the water that flows as the sun warms and slowly melts the snow pack of the hills allowing it to flow towards the streams, river, and eventually the lake. As I allow the warm memories of my father to come to the surface, and learn to trust my heavenly father, his Son begins to soften the hard protective shell the eating disorder formed protectively around my heart.
Like the water of the river that flows in to the lake, there is an ebb and a flow to my life and my recovery. There are times when my anger explodes like rapids, although there are few times that this happens. There are times that I am calm and move slowly forward, making progress like sitting in an inter tube going with the flow of the current. It is these time that I sit back and soak in all that surrounds me, and allow myself to be connected with the people in my life. More importantly it is these time that I allow myself to just be. I connect with me allowing myself to feel happy, sad, lonely, cranky, and hungry. Hungry, yes for food, but also for life.
Then there are those times that I feel more like the salmon that I sit and watch on the Bear River fighting to get up and over the dam to even begin the arduous task of insuring their survival. Some will fight with all they have to survive. Time and time again they move backwards then thrust themselves with great effort to make the leap just to keep swimming upstream. Some will keep this up for hours on end until they succeed. Others will try once, twice maybe three times and then give up allowing the river to carry them back into vast cold waters of the lake where there future is uncertain.
This past week I was the salmon that tried a few times and gave up. I felt like just riding the current backwards even if it meant falling into my rage, that leads to restricting, and eventually purging. then waking up the next day feeling horrible not from the purge, but because I purged. Even if I had the energy to make the leap I wasn't sure I deserved to try again. How many times do I get to begin again?
The sun rose Sunday and again today, and a new day dawned. So I guess I get to begin again. Today I am the salmon fighting to take the leap. Mine isn't over a dam, but a leap of faith. Faith that He holds my future in His hands and has already begun something new that may be just out of my view. The tears that I feel hopefully are making a stream that will forge its way through this wilderness of my life and finally water this flower allowing her to bloom.
Saturday, October 12, 2013
Life in Death
September 16
Psalm 17:13-14 "I am still confident in this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord"
I find myself slipping back into old thoughts, anguish and frustration the past couple days. I wonder if the fog I am trying to look through is a normal part of grief, or if I am being swept up by the depression that threatened my life a few short months ago. Maybe I am just worn out from from trying to be strong through my dad's death, and trying to "be strong as I wait on the Lord to heal my gut (whatever) and the eating disorder.
My life has been a blur. The past 3 weeks feel like one. Well, one very long week that began September 16, 2013. It was on this day that for the second time in my life I thought "I am an adult." The first was watching my son get married, but on this, the sixteenth day of September I do not want to be an adult.
The call came minutes before my alarm was set to wake me from my restless slumber to call Hospice to care for my father. Eight o'clock I figured was an appropriate time to make this call. My ring tone "I love the way you love me" shatters the silence, although I am already in and out of sleep and quickly reach for the phone I look at the caller ID "unknown" "shit!" I think as I am pretty sure it is the nursing center calling me. I fear that he has died during the night, and guilt began to crowd my thoughts. First I was concerned that I hadn't been there, and second that I hadn't arranged for Hospice the day before so that he could have at least pasted comfortably. Why me? I am going to have the be the bearer of bad news to the whole family. So no matter how small and frail I try to make myself, I am still the go to person. Somehow my weakness is my strength. I think to myself sarcastically that starving does take a great deal of strength. (I guess)
"Yes" I tell the voice on the other end of the phone, "we all agree that it is time to call in Hospice
especially if his night was as horrible as it sounds. The second call comes minutes later. "Can we start the Ativan and morphine before you actually meet with the Hospice nurse" The words piercing through the fog of just waking up and my heart at the same time. "Yes" I say, "he deserves to be comfortable." I wonder for a moment if I am dreaming? I have had dreams like this before. Then I hear some noise from the end of the hallway. Mitch! How could I forget that he had come home yesterday just to hold Bop's hand one last time. I see him now walking out of his room, bleary eyed in boxers. It is then that I realize with a heavy heart, that this is not a dream. I hear the toilet flush and I ask him what his plans are. "I am going back to bed," he says as if I am missing the obvious. All the while I am wishing I were still in bed dreaming my reality.
Well, now what? I make the phone call to all my family and a few select friends, including my pastor. I find myself wandering around the house picking up this and that. Pouring another cup of coffee, eat a few bites of cereal, and take my meds. I have a feeling I am going to really need them over the next few days, just when I was wondering if I really needed them at all. Can I face my brother after our phone call that brought me to tears for hours? Am I really the shallow, selfish person that he left me feeling like? I remind myself that I am doing the best I can, and ironically I think out loud "It is well with my soul", but it still hurts.
I go through the usual debate of call, don't call my therapist. Is this a clinical emergency, or just part of life that sucks for all of us? I decide to just leave a message. Maybe she will get it, maybe she won't. She seems like a far away part of my life right now, but I am aware of the eating disorder as I think that this gives me an excuse for not eating. Pitiful! My dad is dying and I am thinking that at least I may drop a few pounds in the process of being with him as he dies, and as I grieve. I tell myself that I deserve to go to the eating disorder since I can't go to my dad.
I can go to my heavenly father. I need to pray, but am not sure what to pray for, or even how to pray. I sit quietly then begin to pray in the spirit. The Holy Spirit will know what I need and what my dad needs. I listen to my praise music, turning up the music to drown out the sound of my sobbing. I don't want to wake up Mitch. Like anything can wake up a 21 year old used to living in a frat house?
I am wound and ready to spring out of my skin; wanting to spring out of my current situation. I want to be with Mitch, but let him sleep. I go out or a quick run, pounding the pavement as if it is at fault for my father's illness and impending death.
I wake Mitch to go back to school. He seems sad and a little unsure of how to deal with the feelings a grief beginning to seep out of his pores. He is torn as he knows he must go back up to school, but wants to be, no needs to be, with his family. Bop could be like this for days even weeks, so I encourage him to go back to school. I know that is what his grandfather would want him to do. We go to lunch first, but I can't eat. I send him off with tears spilling down my cheeks.
I enter the nursing center relieved to see a few friends there with him, because I was not remotely prepared to see him restless and in obvious distress lifting his arms repetitively trying to breath. I imagine that that is what Jesus felt like as he slowly suffocated on the cross for dad, for me, for us all.
Each breath sounded wet and labored. It almost sounds like listening to someone breath from a regulator under the surface of the sea. After a while it becomes oddly comforting. There is still a rhythm of life to it
I made some calls as it became evident that he would be with us maybe a day or two, not weeks. Jerry, his life long friend comes down the hall, and I meet him to tell him that he has rapidly declined since Friday. He cries like a baby. How beautiful it is to see his unashamed love and emotion. Their connection runs long and deep. I cry, I shut down, I cry, I shut down as I watch a parade of my past march through the door. Their faces etched with age, their hair, if they had any was mostly gray, but every eye was misted in tears. I am numb, I am cried out, and I fill the void by taking care of "business"; checking in with nurses, visitors, and signing papers. How should I feel, what should I be doing, and am I doing it right? Whatever the fuck right is in this situation? All I know is I need to do this correctly.
It is loud and crowded in the room when the Hospice nurse arrives. By the way he is nothing like the little old nurse I expected. He is very young, very tan, very gay, very kind, and compassionate as he tells each us to give him permission to go. I look at my dad and wander to rub his head, then turn back. Nope, not yet. He may be ready, but I am not. He tells us, including my mom who decides to come that Dad is indeed in the active process of dying. He will most likely die by day break. I am anxious and irritated. Part of me wants everyone to get the fuck out so I can be with my daddy. Instead I wander outside. How can this be? It is a beautiful fall day. I stand on the hillside that over looks the village that my dad dearly loved, and realize that life is going on all around me. Did I expect the world to stop and pause because my dad was dying? I pull my sweater closed around my waist letting it envelop me as it wraps over itself. I am strangely comforted feeling as physically frail as I feel emotionally. I begin to scold myself for going there, but than think "fuck off "my dad is dying I will feel this way if I want to, and if the eating disorder wants to show up to ease my emotional pain, fine with me, and the two us make the slow lonely walk back to his room.
Sunday, September 22, 2013
Loving and grieving in the midst of anger
" Be imitators of God, therefore as dearly loved children, and live a life of love, just as Christ loved us and gave Himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God. ( Ephesians 5:1-2) (NIV)
" Love the Lord you God with all your strength and with all your mind; and, love you neighbor as yourself" Luke 10:27 (NIV)
It has been two and a half years since I relapsed into the world of anorexia. Hungering for nothing, yet starving for so much. It has been one and a half years since God used a picture of me serving his people in Belize to see that I was in grave physical and emotional danger. It has been one year since I began to attempt to eat by faith and allow my self to satiate my physical hunger and consequently recognize that I hungered for more than food, but to love myself and take in the love of those around me. It has also been one year since my body began to reject most food I attempted to eat. Imagine that? After 2 years of seeing food as the enemy, I was now asking it to see food as my ally. It has been six months since I weighed under 112lbs and was thinking that dying would be a better way out for me. Six weeks since I entered my first triathlon and maintained my weight while competing. One month since I did my second triathlon and placed fourth overall in woman. It has been 2 weeks since I last purged just to see if I could. One day since I last restricted, somewhat afraid of weighing in at the doctors. Twelve hours since I decide that I am still hungry, and after a long debate with myself, allow myself a bowl of cereal at 10 pm. Today I listen to my very tired body and take the day off after countless days of running, biking, and swimming without a break. And I see myself moving forward allowing myself to come back into view, it is not without fear.
Fear, it is so powerful. I fear losing weight. I fear gaining weight. I fear eating. I fear not eating. I fear purging. I fear not purging. I fear that by taking control, I am somehow giving up control. I realize I am still holding on to the eating disorder when I should be letting go.
It has been 1 week since I last spoke with my father, and five days since I let him go home to be with the Lord. And now since I can't hold onto him or reach out to him, I reach out to the eating disorder, or maybe it is reaching out to me. I am tired and overwhelmed with emotion and find it hard to eat. Even during the years of recovery, it was always hard to eat when I was scared, sad, or angry, but always bounced back after a few days. I know I have probably dropped a few pounds and this time it tries to pull me in to its snare. I don't want to go back there, but am too tired to fight it.
I hear the Lord remind me that I am not going to have to fight this all alone. He sends me family and friends to comfort me and pray for me. I am surrounded by love. I ask myself " do you love yourself enough to hold onto the ground you have gained?" I find it hard to know the answer in the midst of my anger and grief. The last 2 years of my father's life were tarnished by actions I will probably never understand. I have been angry, I have been hurt, and it was so very easy to be angry. The grief that came roaring at me like a hungry lion and it caught me by surprise. The compassion that the Holy Spirit gave me for both my parents took me by surprise. Be careful what you pray for.
Just as I am not a mere ball of eating disordered symptoms, he was more than the sum of his recent past transgressions. Despite it all he was my daddy, and more than that he was my hero. And I allow myself to grieve in hopes that by allowing my feelings to be big, scary,and powerful, I won't need to fadeaway.....
" Love the Lord you God with all your strength and with all your mind; and, love you neighbor as yourself" Luke 10:27 (NIV)
It has been two and a half years since I relapsed into the world of anorexia. Hungering for nothing, yet starving for so much. It has been one and a half years since God used a picture of me serving his people in Belize to see that I was in grave physical and emotional danger. It has been one year since I began to attempt to eat by faith and allow my self to satiate my physical hunger and consequently recognize that I hungered for more than food, but to love myself and take in the love of those around me. It has also been one year since my body began to reject most food I attempted to eat. Imagine that? After 2 years of seeing food as the enemy, I was now asking it to see food as my ally. It has been six months since I weighed under 112lbs and was thinking that dying would be a better way out for me. Six weeks since I entered my first triathlon and maintained my weight while competing. One month since I did my second triathlon and placed fourth overall in woman. It has been 2 weeks since I last purged just to see if I could. One day since I last restricted, somewhat afraid of weighing in at the doctors. Twelve hours since I decide that I am still hungry, and after a long debate with myself, allow myself a bowl of cereal at 10 pm. Today I listen to my very tired body and take the day off after countless days of running, biking, and swimming without a break. And I see myself moving forward allowing myself to come back into view, it is not without fear.
Fear, it is so powerful. I fear losing weight. I fear gaining weight. I fear eating. I fear not eating. I fear purging. I fear not purging. I fear that by taking control, I am somehow giving up control. I realize I am still holding on to the eating disorder when I should be letting go.
It has been 1 week since I last spoke with my father, and five days since I let him go home to be with the Lord. And now since I can't hold onto him or reach out to him, I reach out to the eating disorder, or maybe it is reaching out to me. I am tired and overwhelmed with emotion and find it hard to eat. Even during the years of recovery, it was always hard to eat when I was scared, sad, or angry, but always bounced back after a few days. I know I have probably dropped a few pounds and this time it tries to pull me in to its snare. I don't want to go back there, but am too tired to fight it.
I hear the Lord remind me that I am not going to have to fight this all alone. He sends me family and friends to comfort me and pray for me. I am surrounded by love. I ask myself " do you love yourself enough to hold onto the ground you have gained?" I find it hard to know the answer in the midst of my anger and grief. The last 2 years of my father's life were tarnished by actions I will probably never understand. I have been angry, I have been hurt, and it was so very easy to be angry. The grief that came roaring at me like a hungry lion and it caught me by surprise. The compassion that the Holy Spirit gave me for both my parents took me by surprise. Be careful what you pray for.
Just as I am not a mere ball of eating disordered symptoms, he was more than the sum of his recent past transgressions. Despite it all he was my daddy, and more than that he was my hero. And I allow myself to grieve in hopes that by allowing my feelings to be big, scary,and powerful, I won't need to fadeaway.....
Friday, August 16, 2013
Strength and Redemption
Lamentations 3:58 "You Lord took up my case and redeemed my life"
Romans 8:26-27 " In the same way the Spirit helps in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for,but the spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words can't express. And the father who knows all hearts knows what the spirt is saying, for the spirit pleads for us believers in harmony with God's own will"
I know that it is not God's will for me to be sick, yet there is something in me that feels like I need to stay here on the fringe of sick and well. A part of me that believes that I am nothing without the eating disorder, that there is somehow strength in my frailty and small frame. This is the last part of of the illness I fight to hold onto, or let go of and give to God. I have allowed my mind to grow, my emotions to felt and revealed, and my spirit to be filled by the Holy Spirit, but this I hold back. I am reassured that He is indeed strength in my weakness, and He intercedes for me when I have know idea how to pray or what to pray. By praying in the spirit he bears witness to my soul and reveals himself to me.
My body still rebels, at times, as I continue to eat by faith even when I am not hungry or when my gut is hurting. I still keep myself small enough, but I am so much stronger physically than I was two years or even a year ago. It is interesting how this time around I am not obsessed with counting calories, diets, or thinking about food all the time. I am just not hungry or aware of my hunger(most the time). It is as though the anorexia was hard wired into my brain many years ago and once I decided to tap into that line I didn't have to work at the eating disorder. The energy flowed effortlessly out of that wire flooding my mind body and spirit to enable me to literally fadeaway with out even thinking about it.
So now, in order to maintain the ground I have gained I must think about it and eat by faith. I have done two triathlons in the past few weeks. I placed in both of them as my physical strength begins to return. It is a fine line I walk being strong enough to compete, but small enough to.....I am not sure. I am also aware that it is a fine line I walk between training out of passion for the sport and compulsion to stay small. I have been there before allowing the eating disorder to sabotage my high school swimming career. I loved the sport and was competitive, but over a short period of time my passion became my compulsion. I used the swimming to feed the eating disorder while I wasn't feeding myself. As I faded away my compulsion grew and the passion for the sport slipped away. I was no longer able to keep up with the team and my coach had to let me go I love competing in these triathlons. God is my strength in my weakness and trusting in this, I eat by faith not wanting the eating disorder to sabotage my passion or my life.
I falter time and time again as I do eat by faith, and ignore His still small voice and purge what I take in. Yet it is fewer times, and not as often. It is also less of what I take in. Meaning that it isn't the
whole meal, but just enough to remind myself that I could if I wanted to and little enough to tell the
Eating Disorder that I really am in charge. It can have less and less of me and I can have more food and more of me in mind, spirit, and eventually physically. I feel some remorse, and guilt when I do this; however I don't allow myself to go into self-loathing any more. Even as I pretend I don't hear His voice telling me "stop undoing what I am trying to do" He groans for me he redeems me, He loves me. The condemnation isn't from God. He wants to scoop me up and put me back on track. Satan, however, would prefer to see me walk down the path of powerlessness and self-loathing.
Growth! It is hard for me to measure my growth in overtaking this illness because the only tangible measurement of my growth, my weight, falls below the bar that has been set for me. The intangibles of emotional and spiritual growth are difficult for me to measure and see. I have set my own bar so high and it is constantly in flux. I must turn to others to point out my growth. I turn to those that I have entrusted with my pain, my struggles, and my truth which at times is very ugly and disturbing. It is humbling and scary to not see yourself clearly physically, but even more terrifying to not see yourself at all from the inside out. So I turn to those I have entrusted with all of me to show me how I have grown. Little by little I see the growth that they see in me, and I almost believe it.
So for now I am trying to be content with the growth that isn't actually measurable by a scale; growth that is coming from the inside out, and that someone greater than I could ever imagine is pulling for me and interceding for me with groans I can't begin to comprehend.
Romans 8:26-27 " In the same way the Spirit helps in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for,but the spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words can't express. And the father who knows all hearts knows what the spirt is saying, for the spirit pleads for us believers in harmony with God's own will"
I know that it is not God's will for me to be sick, yet there is something in me that feels like I need to stay here on the fringe of sick and well. A part of me that believes that I am nothing without the eating disorder, that there is somehow strength in my frailty and small frame. This is the last part of of the illness I fight to hold onto, or let go of and give to God. I have allowed my mind to grow, my emotions to felt and revealed, and my spirit to be filled by the Holy Spirit, but this I hold back. I am reassured that He is indeed strength in my weakness, and He intercedes for me when I have know idea how to pray or what to pray. By praying in the spirit he bears witness to my soul and reveals himself to me.
My body still rebels, at times, as I continue to eat by faith even when I am not hungry or when my gut is hurting. I still keep myself small enough, but I am so much stronger physically than I was two years or even a year ago. It is interesting how this time around I am not obsessed with counting calories, diets, or thinking about food all the time. I am just not hungry or aware of my hunger(most the time). It is as though the anorexia was hard wired into my brain many years ago and once I decided to tap into that line I didn't have to work at the eating disorder. The energy flowed effortlessly out of that wire flooding my mind body and spirit to enable me to literally fadeaway with out even thinking about it.
So now, in order to maintain the ground I have gained I must think about it and eat by faith. I have done two triathlons in the past few weeks. I placed in both of them as my physical strength begins to return. It is a fine line I walk being strong enough to compete, but small enough to.....I am not sure. I am also aware that it is a fine line I walk between training out of passion for the sport and compulsion to stay small. I have been there before allowing the eating disorder to sabotage my high school swimming career. I loved the sport and was competitive, but over a short period of time my passion became my compulsion. I used the swimming to feed the eating disorder while I wasn't feeding myself. As I faded away my compulsion grew and the passion for the sport slipped away. I was no longer able to keep up with the team and my coach had to let me go I love competing in these triathlons. God is my strength in my weakness and trusting in this, I eat by faith not wanting the eating disorder to sabotage my passion or my life.
I falter time and time again as I do eat by faith, and ignore His still small voice and purge what I take in. Yet it is fewer times, and not as often. It is also less of what I take in. Meaning that it isn't the
whole meal, but just enough to remind myself that I could if I wanted to and little enough to tell the
Eating Disorder that I really am in charge. It can have less and less of me and I can have more food and more of me in mind, spirit, and eventually physically. I feel some remorse, and guilt when I do this; however I don't allow myself to go into self-loathing any more. Even as I pretend I don't hear His voice telling me "stop undoing what I am trying to do" He groans for me he redeems me, He loves me. The condemnation isn't from God. He wants to scoop me up and put me back on track. Satan, however, would prefer to see me walk down the path of powerlessness and self-loathing.
Growth! It is hard for me to measure my growth in overtaking this illness because the only tangible measurement of my growth, my weight, falls below the bar that has been set for me. The intangibles of emotional and spiritual growth are difficult for me to measure and see. I have set my own bar so high and it is constantly in flux. I must turn to others to point out my growth. I turn to those that I have entrusted with my pain, my struggles, and my truth which at times is very ugly and disturbing. It is humbling and scary to not see yourself clearly physically, but even more terrifying to not see yourself at all from the inside out. So I turn to those I have entrusted with all of me to show me how I have grown. Little by little I see the growth that they see in me, and I almost believe it.
So for now I am trying to be content with the growth that isn't actually measurable by a scale; growth that is coming from the inside out, and that someone greater than I could ever imagine is pulling for me and interceding for me with groans I can't begin to comprehend.
Monday, August 5, 2013
And He Will Rescue Me Again...
2 Corinthians 1:10 (NLT) "And he did rescue us from mortal danger and he will rescue us again. We have placed our confidence in him and he will continue to rescue us"
So, before I even begin I want to make sure that my readers know that the quote I am using is from the book Gaining:The Truth About Life After Eating Disorders by Amiee Liu and is from a study done in London by Janet Treasure using a method called functional magnetic resonance imaging. It can be found on pages 86-87 of Gaining:The Truth About Life After Eating Disorders.
I wake up this morning feeling down, and restless. I sit for a moment before even getting out of bed trying to figure out what has triggered this empty listless feeling rising from within me before I even rise to face my day. It is a sense of dread, a loss of time; time lost to the eating disorder and fear that I am running out of time to recover and come back once again from the eating disorder.
I believe what has set of this cascade of fear of loss time and running out of time comes from reading, for me, two powerful paragraphs from the book afore mentioned Gaining. " The longer a person has been ill, the stronger the response of the frontal region, which also dispenses moral judgment such as guilt" Treasure is speaking of the eating disordered brain's response to food being displaced from the area of the brain that should be responsible for response to food. "When people return to normal eating habits., however, multiple areas of the brain spring into action to override the disordered response to food. This patching, Treasure said acts as a brake on the impulse to suppress the appetite. The more time that passes without relapse, the stronger more permanent the patch becomes. It cannot, however, produce a truly normal appetite response. Even after decades after their list fast or purge, former anorexics and bulimics will respond to the sight of layer cake with a complex mix of attractions, resistance, guilt, calculation, permission and release."
This quote has been weighing (no pun intended ) on my mind for the past few days. I suppose the weight of it is what has now brought me to the this sense of pain and sorrow. If I was truly recovered for 20 years, why did my "Patch" unravel so easily in such a short amount of time? Why didn't this carefully constructed patch that I worked so hard create, hold like it was supposed to? Why didn't it hold its place protecting me from, well, protecting me from myself. I find myself fighting back the tears all day long as I ponder this. What did I do wrong that this "patch" didn't just fray around the edges, but became completely unstitched. This isn't fair! Was it not enough to have had the eating disorder in the first place? Now, where others recover and their brains adjust, mine remains flawed. Even the way I go about the eating disorder isn't right. I find my self asking the question, " Was I ever in recovery?"
I feel like I have flaws on top of my flaws. I try to remind myself that I am human, therefore I am flawed. I remind myself that the illness, flaws and all do not need to define me. It isn't a statement about my character. I am still compassionate, sensitive, thoughtful, kind, generous, honest, open, a prayer warrior, even with the flaws. Still I wonder why didn't my "patch" hold? Did little pieces of it fray each time I restricted or purged over the past twenty years? Was it that this time I din't leave enough time between the behavior to weave it back together.
I begin to think in a rather circuitous direction. If the "patch" was meant to hold, did it fail me and allow the eating disorder back in, or did becoming eating disordered again (which theoretically shouldn't have happened after twenty years) cause it to unravel? My brain hurts as I try to analyze the theory and myself.
How can I make sense of this? How can I understand why God brought me through this journey only to send me back through it once again? I look to God's promises. I think of my pastor and his faith in my complete healing. I spent much of the day praying, seeking, and crying out to God. I hear him say a couple things to me. If I knew why, would it really change anything about the current journey? Probably not, but I would sure like to know the end of the story. Then I see 2Corinthians 10:1 and believe that he did indeed rescue me before, and he will do it again. God won't give up on me, as long as I don't give up on myself. Genesis 28:15 "I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go, and I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you."(NLT)
I still look for meaning in this illness, this relapse. I need something other than the fact that we live in this fallen world. 2 Corinthians 1:4,6(NLT) "God comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When we are weighed down with troubles, it is for your comfort and your salvation! For when we ourselves are comforted, we will certainly comfort you. Then you can patiently endure the same things." Ah, but does patiently mean gracefully? I am rather clumsy even as I endure. I guess God will use my less than graceful passage through pain and suffering as well.
I want to curl up and fadeaway, but I will fight because I know it will be for his glory. My God knows the end of the story. He sees the beautiful stained glass mosaic that he continues to create out of the broken pieces of my life. I picture God's stories told through the stained glass windows of a church and envision He will be revealed as he shines through the window of my life. So although still down and tired; I am not out of the fight.
So, before I even begin I want to make sure that my readers know that the quote I am using is from the book Gaining:The Truth About Life After Eating Disorders by Amiee Liu and is from a study done in London by Janet Treasure using a method called functional magnetic resonance imaging. It can be found on pages 86-87 of Gaining:The Truth About Life After Eating Disorders.
I wake up this morning feeling down, and restless. I sit for a moment before even getting out of bed trying to figure out what has triggered this empty listless feeling rising from within me before I even rise to face my day. It is a sense of dread, a loss of time; time lost to the eating disorder and fear that I am running out of time to recover and come back once again from the eating disorder.
I believe what has set of this cascade of fear of loss time and running out of time comes from reading, for me, two powerful paragraphs from the book afore mentioned Gaining. " The longer a person has been ill, the stronger the response of the frontal region, which also dispenses moral judgment such as guilt" Treasure is speaking of the eating disordered brain's response to food being displaced from the area of the brain that should be responsible for response to food. "When people return to normal eating habits., however, multiple areas of the brain spring into action to override the disordered response to food. This patching, Treasure said acts as a brake on the impulse to suppress the appetite. The more time that passes without relapse, the stronger more permanent the patch becomes. It cannot, however, produce a truly normal appetite response. Even after decades after their list fast or purge, former anorexics and bulimics will respond to the sight of layer cake with a complex mix of attractions, resistance, guilt, calculation, permission and release."
This quote has been weighing (no pun intended ) on my mind for the past few days. I suppose the weight of it is what has now brought me to the this sense of pain and sorrow. If I was truly recovered for 20 years, why did my "Patch" unravel so easily in such a short amount of time? Why didn't this carefully constructed patch that I worked so hard create, hold like it was supposed to? Why didn't it hold its place protecting me from, well, protecting me from myself. I find myself fighting back the tears all day long as I ponder this. What did I do wrong that this "patch" didn't just fray around the edges, but became completely unstitched. This isn't fair! Was it not enough to have had the eating disorder in the first place? Now, where others recover and their brains adjust, mine remains flawed. Even the way I go about the eating disorder isn't right. I find my self asking the question, " Was I ever in recovery?"
I feel like I have flaws on top of my flaws. I try to remind myself that I am human, therefore I am flawed. I remind myself that the illness, flaws and all do not need to define me. It isn't a statement about my character. I am still compassionate, sensitive, thoughtful, kind, generous, honest, open, a prayer warrior, even with the flaws. Still I wonder why didn't my "patch" hold? Did little pieces of it fray each time I restricted or purged over the past twenty years? Was it that this time I din't leave enough time between the behavior to weave it back together.
I begin to think in a rather circuitous direction. If the "patch" was meant to hold, did it fail me and allow the eating disorder back in, or did becoming eating disordered again (which theoretically shouldn't have happened after twenty years) cause it to unravel? My brain hurts as I try to analyze the theory and myself.
How can I make sense of this? How can I understand why God brought me through this journey only to send me back through it once again? I look to God's promises. I think of my pastor and his faith in my complete healing. I spent much of the day praying, seeking, and crying out to God. I hear him say a couple things to me. If I knew why, would it really change anything about the current journey? Probably not, but I would sure like to know the end of the story. Then I see 2Corinthians 10:1 and believe that he did indeed rescue me before, and he will do it again. God won't give up on me, as long as I don't give up on myself. Genesis 28:15 "I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go, and I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you."(NLT)
I still look for meaning in this illness, this relapse. I need something other than the fact that we live in this fallen world. 2 Corinthians 1:4,6(NLT) "God comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When we are weighed down with troubles, it is for your comfort and your salvation! For when we ourselves are comforted, we will certainly comfort you. Then you can patiently endure the same things." Ah, but does patiently mean gracefully? I am rather clumsy even as I endure. I guess God will use my less than graceful passage through pain and suffering as well.
I want to curl up and fadeaway, but I will fight because I know it will be for his glory. My God knows the end of the story. He sees the beautiful stained glass mosaic that he continues to create out of the broken pieces of my life. I picture God's stories told through the stained glass windows of a church and envision He will be revealed as he shines through the window of my life. So although still down and tired; I am not out of the fight.
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