Outside the Fence

Outside the Fence

Thank you for being a listening ear when I just have to explode with the goodness and truth about my Savior Jesus Christ. He has more than saved my soul, He has more than removed the dread of death, He has more than rescued me from the pit of hell - Jesus daily saves me from my personal hell.

Everyone has it. A personal hell. A circular thought pattern of anxiety on an endless loop. Like a hamster on a wheel, the cogs churn all night in your mind, working, twisting, writhing to find some answer you missed before.

A personal hell. A habit you hate that nips at your heels like a rabid dog. It's breath is death. If you're lucky, for now, you're one step ahead of it.

A personal hell. A never fading memory. Faces or words that lurk in your quiet moments, feasting on your peace.

A personal hell. Impending possibilities of unemployment, illness, danger, financial collapse. Everyone has a personal hell.

As most of you know, my hell was born in the form of anorexia. But the habit of starving and compulsive exercise fed on my peace and grew into anxious, relentless thoughts of calories and laziness and bulging body parts. Then, anxiety swelled until it infected my mind with fear of poverty, fear of loneliness, fear of change and of course an every growing fear of food. And finally, even when recovery began blinking sporadically on the horizon, and I began plunging toward it in blind, uncoordinated desperation; then my hell bloomed like licking flames behind me. Memories.

Bless the Lord Oh My Soul! Who becomes my vision and my only thought!

Two weeks ago, I learned that I now weigh as much as I did before I ever dueled with anorexia. That in itself is enough of a change to fan the flames of fear. Then, this weekend, my husband and I attended a marriage retreat in Staunton, VA. It was a chaplain's event called Strong Bonds. 

[Side note, if you have an opportunity to go on one of these retreats - take it! Especially, if for some reason Chaplain Denning is leading it!]

Back to Jesus' valiant rescue...I always fret over these types of "fun" events. They are anything but fun for me. My regular workouts are threatened by pathetic hotel gyms and no space outside to go running; not to mention early morning obligations. And, nice as everyone seems to think free food is, for an anorexic, the idea of a prepared plate being set in front of you is terrifying.

Who knows how much butter some careless caterer used on the mashed potatoes? What if they serve dessert? How do I say no when everyone is watching and moaning over how sublime the cheesecake is? How am I going to find safe food to eat if these are my only options? On top of all that, a retreat is supposed to be relaxing and fun. For most people that means lingering over good conversation and dark beer. Or, swirling red wine while debating the merits of a restaurant's barbecue ribs. For me, that means sustained agony in a place of temptation while bound by a bunch of self-woven rules.

The first night there, we went down to dinner. I had told them that I am a vegetarian so the caterer brought me a plate of pasta, drizzled with olive oil and flecked with onions, mushrooms and green pepper. Yikes! Patrick was served chicken, mashed potatoes and green beans.

My darling hubby looked at my plate and asked, "Do you want my potatoes and green beans? I'll eat your pasta."

"Okay."

So we traded partial plates and I ate. I ate every delicious creamy swirl of potato and every green bean dripping with golden butter. And it was good! But the best part is that fear did not rise up in my throat. Anorexia did not loom behind me all night with a tightening grip on my neck. We finished the evening over  beers by the fireplace in the hotel bar.

But Day 2 was even more spectacular! At breakfast, I did not eat the special, safe food I had thrown into my duffle bag "just in case." Instead, I enjoyed fried potatoes and scrambled eggs! Then, I sat on my derrière for a three hour lecture! After the lecture, lunch was served. I tried to refuse it and Patrick agreed to take me to Subway later.

But when the waitress delivered a veggie wrap the size of a small torpedo, my tummy growled. The thin flour tortilla was crammed with broccoli, mushrooms, sprouts, full-fat cheese... and dressing. Some saucy, delicious, doubtlessly not-light dressing.

OK, OK. I'll eat half. Oh well, I'll eat all of it - it's so good!

I could go on and on about the excitement rumbling against residual fear in my belly. But the tantalizing hope of a different future - holidays not spent skulking in the kitchen to monitor the usage of oil. Date nights not wasted at Subway restaurant so that I can get a  50 calorie salad. What if.... it doesn't have to be that way forever?

Tiny Staunton is quaint, to be nice it's historic, but there's not much to do. So, we found ourselves sitting in a little bar a couple hours later, sampling beers with friends. So much for a low calorie afternoon! Then, of course, dinner time arrived. That merciless hour when every American is supposed to eat...again.

We landed at the Mill Street Grill. (Highly recommended by everyone, if you're in the area.) Just a salad, I told myself. Just the side salad.

Oh, but I love shrimp. I had lived through Friday night. I had lived through most of Saturday. What if, simply enjoying Saturday night too, isn't a crime? So I had shrimp and salad. And hot chocolate when we got back to our room.

If you have never argued with yourself about the merits of a certain food, or the innate evil of an extra calorie. If you have never run an extra mile to compensate for a delightful dessert or celebrating your own birthday, then maybe you don't have any idea the freedom that I enjoyed this weekend.

But, if you have ever skipped a meal so that you could go out to eat later. If you have ever run an extra mile (or two, or three) because you ate four extra crackers. If you have ever stayed awake counting calories instead of sheep - then you know exactly what I mean. You know exactly the type of freedom that we have not danced in for so many years. 

The truth is you may not be there yet. The truth is, I didn't think I was there. But Jesus knew I was. And Jesus is the one who saved me. And Jesus is the one who surprised me by throwing open the gates I have long hidden behind.

Oh the beauty of the view as I stand here in His arms surveying the landscape of blessing He has in store for me - and you. 

But now, this is what the Lord says, He who created you Oh Jacob, He who formed you Oh Israel: 'Fear not, for I have redeemed you. I have summoned you by name and you are mine.' Is. 43:1

Fear Not: 31 Days to Freedom from Fear

First published on February 25, 2013 on Predatory Lies

Born to Deliver, A Book Review

Born to Deliver, A Book Review

Maybe the most compelling story isn’t the one we identify with, but the one that breaks our hearts. It’s the story we pray never comes true.

The book, Born to Deliver, is the personal story of Kathy Brace and the slow, painful, permanent way that Jesus drew her to Himself. At the tender age of fifteen, Brace found herself pregnant and abandoned by her boyfriend. Her alcoholic father had deserted her, her mother and her brother Eric years before. Caught up in her own pain and the numbing mechanics of providing for a family as a single woman, Kathy’s mother was emotionally unavailable. Through a series of bad romantic relationships and illegitimate pregnancies, Kathy’s brother was her only reliable friend.

Loneliness echoes through the pages of this story. Though she has never experienced unconditional love, the structure of a family or the comfort of a committed husband, a longing resides deep in Kathy’s heart. More than anything she desires a happy life. But she has no idea where to find it, and no real understanding of what it looks like.

If only I knew what it actually looked like so that I would know when I found it.” (pg. 30)

From a stark home for unwed mothers or wives with unwanted pregnancies, to an empty, cold green delivery room, the reader’s heart sinks a little heavier with Kathy’s own heart in each chapter. I could almost feel the bruises and scrapes when she threw herself from a moving car, not caring what could happen. I shook with her when she held a gun to her head, and I shivered with her against the cold metal table in a back alley abortion clinic.

Every chapter of, Born to Deliver, has a new climax, a painful experience that seems a little sharper than before. However, a strand of hope winds its way through Kathy’s story. With a cliffhanger at the end of every chapter, there remains a conviction that light is just around the corner. With another page, another day, another year in her life, hope is coming. Jesus will rescue His daughter, His bride.

First published at Start Marriage Right, Feb. 7, 2013

Strength To Break the Mold

Strength to Break the Mold

Strength is definable. It is measured by goals met, challenges faced, races won. And we know who the winners are. It is always the last man standing, the one with the most gold stars. The strongest person is always the man on top.

But the steps to success have been trod for so long. The path to recognition is well marked and heavily traveled. What if it takes more strength, what if it is a greater test of fortitude to forge a new path? Perhaps it takes the greatest strength to break the mold.

STRONG ENOUGH TO BREAK THE MOLD: MOTHERHOOD

When my little sister and her husband moved to Dallas, Texas, she had no difficulty getting a job. Young, energetic and educated she quickly climbed to a supervisor role in the office. A window swallowed nearly one entire wall, spilling morning sunshine and vibrant sunsets across the floor. Peering down, she could see the sprawling city, a spectacular view.

Kelsey has always been good with money. Drawing two full-time salaries, they bought a new car, padded their savings account and enjoyed frequent dinners out with friends. But when she got pregnant with their first child, she hesitated.

How would they feed an extra mouth and pay for diapers if she quit her job? How could she just walk away from a good job and a dependable paycheck? But how could she place her precious daughter in the arms of a stranger? How could this tiny life flourish under the agreement of a contract instead within the non-negotiable love of her mother? So in a giant leap of faith, she quit her job.

Now, Kelsey’s eyes sparkle with pride when she tells me that she has seen Kylie every single day of her first year of life. For Kelsey, it would not have taken exceptional strength to step back into her high-heels and go back to work. With two incomes, she and her husband could confidently provide Kylie with everything she could ever desire.

Kelsey could have continued climbing the prescribed ladder to success. With each step, she would appear more powerful, a strong career woman to be admired. Likely, many people will question her decision to employ her college degree as a stay-at-home mom. They might even call her weak. But I think it took greater strength to break the mold.

STRONG ENOUGH TO BREAK THE MOLD: MARRIAGE

Several years ago, my marriage was on the rocks. Once, I had packed my bags, reserved a U-haul and given notice at work. I was leaving my husband, going home. Many things led us to this crisis. Many people advised me to leave. Even a Christian counselor told me, “Biblically, you have permission to leave. You don’t need to put up with this hurt anymore.”

My mother flew in to help me load my things and begin the tedious 24 hour drive from Washington to Kansas. But when the Holy Spirit checked my spirit, I hesitated. How could I leave my husband when I still believed there was hope? But how could I stay when everyone who loved me was saying I should go? Would I not appear weak? Would not a strong woman stand up for herself, announce that she had had enough and leave? But in a giant leap of faith, I met my mom at the airport and told that I had changed my mind. I was staying with my husband.

It hasn’t been easy. That very evening, it remained hard and unfair. I cried myself to sleep. But last December, three years later, my husband and I proudly celebrated a decade of marriage.

It took greater strength to shut my ears to the well intentioned advice of friends and family and to listen to the voice of my Heavenly Father. I dug deep into hope in order to remain in my difficult marriage. I discovered my own strength to break the mold.

STRONG ENOUGH TO BREAK THE MOLD: BODY

Fitness is a popular pursuit. These days it seems like everyone is training for a half marathon, hiring a personal trainer, focusing on their diet and cinching up their belt. A brief scan of any poplar magazine’s headlines proves that physical strength and beauty are a cultural priority.

I rose to the challenge and proved that I can be an exceptional athlete. Shorter and shorter times at local races and longer and longer training runs boosted my ego. I basked in the admiration of my physical discipline.

But suddenly, I found myself sliding into old eating habits, losing weight rapidly and out of control of my health. Dangerously close to being hospitalized for low weight, I hesitated.

How could I stop exercising madly and eat to gain weight in a world that idolizes thinness? How could I stop running when everyone applauded my self-discipline and praised my race times? How could I abandon anorexia, when many people ignorantly commented that they wished they could be anorexic for a day? To stop running, to eat more, wouldn’t I appear to be growing weaker and less driven?

But in a giant leap of faith, I surrendered myself to the advice of a dietician and rational thought of a Christian counselor. Today, I am healthy, strong and running freely.

It required of me much greater strength to stop long distance running, swallow fist-fulls of almonds and learn to rest, than it ever did to run a marathon. Learning to care for and love my body strained every fiber of my mind.

I closed fashion and health magazines. I left my running club. I backed out of several races which were already registered and paid for. But I found a greater strength to break the mold.

Tenacity, endurance, resolve, strength are forged in the flames of adversity. Going against cultural norms, the opinions of others and personal compulsions not only requires, but also develops great strength.

“…God has chosen the foolish things of the world to shame the wise, and God has chosen the weak things of the world to shame the things which are strong…so that no man may boast before God…LET HIM WHO BOASTS, BOAST IN THE LORD.” 
-1 Corinthians 1:27-31

First published at Haven Journal, Jan, 30, 2013