the stache

In my attempt to be responsible I decided to go to bed early tonight in order to get up early tomorrow morning (at 4:30 am) for work. I now realize I tried a little too hard because by going to bed at only 7:30pm, I slept for a few hours and find myself here, at 9:30pm, wide awake.

oops.

So here I go... being honest again.

This is what happens when you don't sleep... the truth comes out.

I met this guy this weekend. Not the one I wrote about last weekend... a different one. The one I now find myself thinking about instead of the one I mentioned last week. Bare with me, I'm only 24, I'm a girl, and I'm single... a lot can happen in a week.

He really struck a chord with me. I realize you may not be surprised seeing as this is the girl who "'falls in love' with everyone." But this was different.

First of all... if I had been in control of the situation we would not have met in the circumstances in which we did. I had a horrible day on Friday. I just did. I don't even know if I know why, it was just one of those days combined with lack of sleep and it wasn't pretty. I felt like Alexander, who had the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day and wanted to move to Australia. Then he realized that there are terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days even in Australia.

I was invited to go eat dinner at a close friend's house with some of her family and closest of friends. I got off of work at 5pm and was supposed to be there at 6pm. I decided not to go. I was too tired, didn't feel good, and wasn't feeling up to mingling... plus I was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. I was going to pack my bags for Australia, but since I was too tired I just decided to take a nap instead. Hoping my nap would help, I decided to call my friend and tell her I would be late (due to my rough day) and then I would play it by ear and see how I felt when I woke up.

Turns out, much like a cranky toddler, I feel better after naps.

I decided I would go, not only because I felt better, but because I really wanted to see my friend. I wanted to be able to tell her about my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day and get it off my chest... but I knew I probably wasn't going to be able to that night since I wasn't planning on unloading my issues for all of her family and closest of friends. That would have made for a great story though.

Anyway, I arrive at the house and am greeted by someone I don't recognize. Crap. Wrong house.

Actually, no, it was just an in-law... a very nice in-law. She greeted me and was nice enough to let me in where I finally saw my friend's familiar face. There's something about seeing a familiar face on a bad day that just calms my spirit. She hugged me and pulled me into the kitchen to meet the rest of the crew. I wondered if they could tell I had such a bad day. My energy was low, I had just been crying, and I had on no make up what-so-ever. I didn't mind not having on makeup, but it would have been nice seeing as how everyone else looked so nice, and didn't look like they had all just been crying.

Anyway... My friend sits me down next to one of her friends, across from the nice in-law, and we all chat in the kitchen while waiting for supper. As we are talking I'm starting to get the vibe that the woman I am talking to, the friend of my friend, has a son, round about my age, that my friend has wanted me to meet before.

I hear the bells on the front door ring, and sure enough, in walks the son of the friend of my friend. "Oh God, " I thought, "please no. I'm too tired." As a girl, your thoughts automatically think "relationship." I had already decided in my mind that I wasn't going to be interested... A) because I was in a bad mood, B) because I had a crush on someone else, and 3) because he had a mustache.

Don't get me wrong, pretty much every male in my family has a mustache, and I even like facial hair (especially during winter), but it seemed like a legitimate excuse at the time.

He introduced himself from across the table as we all sat down to eat. Nice guy. I tell myself to leave it at that. But then the night went on, and I found myself unable to stop laughing. It was like hanging out with myself, but not because there was another person there. I say this because I get my humor, laugh at myself quiet often, and love the way God made me, which in turn makes it easy to make other people laugh. But this was different... I wasn't the one making myself or the other people laugh... it was him. As I watched him (in a non-weird way) I felt like I was watching the guy version of me... with a mustache.

I'd look good with a mustache.

I hear him talk about similar interests that I have, and I try not to be the girl that blurts out "oh me too, me too!" That's not obvious. He continues to enjoy the spotlight that I usually enjoy, and I realize... I don't mind sharing it. For the first time I don't mind sharing the spotlight.

What? What the crap is that all about?

I tell myself it's because I had a bad day and didn't feel up to competing for it, but honestly, I enjoyed sitting back and watching him... in a non-weird way. I love to laugh. I love to really laugh. And Friday night, I really laughed.

He ended up leaving early, and to be honest I was kind of bummed.

I haven't stopped laughing since. Whether it be because I'm a total girl, or he was just that funny, or both, I randomly think about things he said and just start laughing. Out loud. Sometimes in situations that aren't appropriate for laughing.

Today at work a woman ordered some coffee and I laughed at her. Well, not at her, at this guy, that I met Friday night, who really makes me laugh... but she didn't know that, nor did she care. I could tell by the smile on her face and the big tip she left, or lack there of.

I've spent a good portion of my weekend laughing and praying. Praying about why I was laughing. This guy really struck a chord with me, and I don't know what it's about, but all I know to do is to say "Here God... I'm thinking and feeling this way right now, and I can't stop laughing. Either take it away, or laugh with me so I don't feel stupid." So far, we're still laughing.



As we all know, Tuesday was Christmas morning. I had to work at Starbucks at 10:30am, which I thought would be fun, but ended up being painfully busy, and just totally not fun. I was regretting working the whole day, until something made it totally worth it.

This guy, that I met Friday night, who really makes me laugh, came in to buy some coffee... without his mustache.

I didn't have an excuse not to be interested... A) because I was in a good mood, B) because I completely forgot who I even had a crush on before, and 3) because He didn't have a mustache.

I smiled. And laughed to myself.

Maybe not, but I like to think he came in because he knew I was working and made it a point to come to that Starbucks to get a pound of coffee, on Christmas day. Or maybe it's just because his mom needed some coffee and that was the closest Starbucks that was actually open.

Either way, it made my day.

coffee?

I've had a real writer's block the last few weeks. I've started to write many different entries, but can never seem to finish. Either that or I can't seem to make a point, or even understand my point for that matter.

I've been distracted, and I've tried to write in the midst of that distraction, but it doesn't work, it only distracts me from writing. So if I want to write, I have to write about what it is that is distracting me.

Ugh.

I realize I don't have to share this with the public, I could just as easily journal about it and no one would need to know. But there's something really freeing about being real with people. It's like "hey, here I am, this is me!" And it's freeing because you realize people like you for you, even in all your mess, and not for who you pretend to be.

Even now, I can feel myself wanting to stop writing because I don't want to be vulnerable, but I'm tired of not being vulnerable. I'm tired of not taking risks. I realize this is just a blog and not the New York Times, and even though I think the world of myself, the world doesn't think much of me. However... it's still a risk to post how you really feel.

I could just as easily post what I did yesterday or this past weekend, but it wouldn't match up with what was really going on yesterday or this past weekend... because even though I was physically present in certain places, my mind was else where.

So in an attempt to clear my head, this is where I was this weekend... even though I took part in some amazing stuff... volunteering at Bardwell with friends, dinner at the Jon Fergusons with my best friend, a concert with an old family friend... this is where I was this weekend...

I thought about this guy.

This guy that technically I don't even know, but he intersts me... and I want the chance to get to know him. Don't get me wrong, I know him enough to be interested in him, but not enough to actually know him. To know if it's him that I like, or the idea of him. The idea I have of him is great. But I wonder if that's really him.

We've said hey a few times and enjoyed small talk... atleast I have... but as far as I know, it's me with the interest and not him.

People ask how I know he's not interested, and it's not that I know, but as a girl it's like you have this understanding that if a guy is interested in you, he shows you, shy or not. He asks you to coffee, he shows up where you work, he makes an effort to show that he's making an effort to get to know you.

In all pathetic honesty, I sometimes wonder if he'll show up where I work, whether it be Ground Level Cafe or Starbucks, and ask me to coffee. Yes, coffee... eventhough I work in a coffee shop. And it doesn't even have to be Starbucks coffee, or any certain kind for that matter. You know why? Cause it's not about the coffee. I'm not interested in being taken out to a fancy dinner or a romantic movie. I'm not interested in being impressed. I'm not even interested in the coffee for that matter. I'm interested in who he is. I'm interested in getting to know him. Great conversation makes for good coffee no matter where you are. The opportunity to just sit and form a friendship. Who forms a frienship staring at a big screen for an hour and a half?

.........

uhhh.....

.........

Writer's block...

it's back.




which means I'll be back...

but that's as far as my honesty extends for now.

Waiting

Waiting.



Waiting.



Waiting.



Waiting.



Tired of Waiting.



Take Action.



Action fails.



Go back to waiting.



Waiting.



Waiting.



Waiting.



Waiting.



Tired of waiting.



Take action.



Action fails.



Go back to waiting.



Waiting.



Waiting.



Waiting.



Waiting.



Waiting.



Tired of waiting.



Take action.



Action fails.



Go back to waiting.



Waiting.



Waiting.



Waiting.



Waiting.



Waiting.



Waiting.



Tired of waiting.



Keep waiting.



Waiting.



Waiting.



Waiting



Waiting.



Waiting.



Waiting.



Waiting.



God shows up.



Takes Action.



Action does not fail.



But I'm still waiting.

fire in the mountains

Does it really matter that I'm not following my meal plan?

I realize this has nothing to do with the picture, but this is how my random mind works... I start one thing and think of another. As I was posting this picture I took at Thanksgiving I was wondering if I felt hungry or tired... or both?

In all honesty, I didn't want to feel hungry... so I decided I must just be tired. Isn't it funny how we think we can tell ourselves how to feel?

Oh God... I'm so tired and so hungry for so much more than just a life of recovery and a meal plan. I want more out of life. I know the purpose of my life is not to just follow a meal plan... but it feels that way. Most people think it seems easy enough... but it is soo hard.

Um...

WHAT is that white stuff on the ground?

it's BEAUTIFUL!!!!!!!!

I woke up a few times really early this morning before actually getting out of bed. It felt like someone was waking me up because I would be in a real deep sleep and then wake up suddenly as if someone was shaking me, but also very calmly as if they were whispering my name.

Once I actually got out of bed, I knew who it was. Believe me, I realize the cheesiness of what I'm about to say, but I also whole heartedly believe it was God. He was like an excited little kid who couldn't wait for me to wake up and see the snow. I knew it was him because as soon as I walked upstairs and looked out the window it was like my breath was taken away and God said "See, see what I wanted to show you? Isn't it beautiful?"

He was just as excited as I was... except I don't think he was as excited about the snow as he was just seeing my reaction to it. It's like when you get someone the perfect gift and the only thing you want in return is to see how much they love it.

Well, I can sure say one thing about this morning... He delivered!!!

And it was perfect!

This is a side of God I have never really seen. I mean, I've maybe seen glimpse of it back in South Carolina... a few snow flurries here, a few there... but the glimpses just don't do the reality of how beautiful it is justice. And by "it," I mean this side of God.

Wow... God is even showing me just how big and beautiful He is in Warrenville, Illinois.

I have expereinced God in Spanish in Guatemala, Afrikkans in South Africa, English in England (hah.. kidding... but not really... he has a cool british accent too). I've seen him in the waves of the ocean and the sand on the beaches. I have been blessed to see sides of God in some amazing places, and today I have discovered another side of God that has truley taken my breath away.

I miss the beach. I've always said I feel alive when I'm in the ocean. But the snow awakens something in me that I didn't know was there... until today.

Thank you, Lord. Thank you for the ordinary days... because they make days like this absolutely amazing!

the itch

So here I am, freezing cold, in a basement that has been totally redone and become my bedroom... in Warrenville, Illinois. I'm so blessed to have family members that love me enough to take me in, take care of me, provide for me, and support my recovery... But I can't help but wonder... What the hell am I doing here?

I love where I am, but now that I've been settled here for a while, I'm startingto get the itch. The itch to leave. The itch to run. The itch I feel when I realize I've been somewhere long enough for people to start to really get to know me. I know I'm good with first impressions, and even seconds or thirds. But when it comes to letting someone into my world and really knowing me... I know nothing about it.

I did once. And the result... I've decided to never do it again.

So here I am, taking control again, refusing to let anybody hurt me.

Refusing to take a chance of letting anyone in... because what if, just what if, they leave? And not just leave, but take every emotion I've ever had or known and completely strip me of it? What if it happens all over again?

I guess that's not totally a fair statement. He didn't take all of my emotions, in many ways I gave them to him. But I guess I didn't know any better. Or maybe I did, and I completely just put all of my hope and trust in a false reality.

I realize this is going to be a bold statement, but... emotionally raped. That's what it feels like. And now I even make my friends pay for "what he did" by not letting them in.

Even me writing this is an attempt to want someone to love me, or feel sorry for me, or take care of me, or be my "rescuer" or whatever... but I don't plan on disclosing anymore. I have become strategic in that way... disclose enough for people to care, but not enough to let them in.

I realize God is supposed to be my rescuer, and He is in some ways, but that's just it... I've let Him become my rescuer in some ways, but not in all or even many ways. Not in ways that I'm willing to surrender control... like my feelings. By not letting people in, I have control of my feelings. I control if I get hurt or not, I control how I feel. I decide not to date... I have control. I decide not to eat... I have control. I decide not to open up to my best friend... I have control. I decide to leave when I feel the itch... I have control.

My best friend can't hurt me, the guy can't break my heart, the food can't overwhelm me, and the itch can't bother me. I control how I feel and in the process I have learned how to not feel pain. Or anything for that matter. And you know what the ironic thing is?
It hurts.

In my attempt to avoid being hurt, I find myself broken hearted and very much alone.

I know I have a lot of people who love me, but when I don't allow them to love me for who I am, does it really mean anything? And so as one of my favorite songs says... I have found myself in a crowded room and terribly lonely. Terribly lonely because I have covered up the girl I want people to love, but am to afraid to show. Afraid because what if, just what if, they leave? And what if it happens all over again? I've told God that I refuse to go through that again, but I'm starting to wonder who I think I am to tell God what I will and will not go through.

So all I can say is...

Here, God, I have this thing that I am holding in my hand and I want to control it, I want it to be mine. The very thought of giving it up makes me angry. And in all honesty, I don't trust you with it, cause if I did, I would have already given it to you. I'm willing to hold my hand out, but I still have a tight grip on what I want. All I'm asking is for you to meet me there. Meet me with my hand out and loosen my grip. I can't do it. Please hear my heart and soul cry out to you for help... even when my flesh wants to run in the opossite direction. Even when my flesh actually does run in the opposite direction and takes my heart, soul, mind, spirit, and everything with it. Here me in this moment, always... I want you.

To my family

Dear Mom, Dad, Bonnie, Bobby, Betsy, and Mommom,

I wanted to share a brief moment of my thoughts while with you this past weekend. I so enjoyed your company more than I ever have, and I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for waiting on me to get to that point.
Thank you for waiting with me.
Thank you for waiting.
Thank you.


Journaled Thanksgiving Day 11/22/07


This morning has been awesome. We've all been hanging out in the kitchen, 1st over breakfast, and now everyone is getting together their contribution for Thanksgiving dinner. We're eating at 1pm and Uncle Bill and Aunt Teri and the kids are coming over. I have so much enjoyed being with my family, and I just keep trying so hard to live in each moment. Maybe too hard. but it's like everything is going by so fast, and I can't take it all in.
I'm in the living room right now, by the fire, and everyone is scurrying around in the kitchen. I can hear Bonnie repeating herself... "Here's the brown sugar, mom. Here's the brown sugar!" Mom keeps trying to show Bobby how to do something. The dogs are locked in the other room because Min (foreign exchange student) is deathly afraid of dogs. It must be so hard to live in such fear. But in all honesty, I think we are all deathly afraid of something... some things are just more outwardly expressed than others.
There's candles lit all over the house and it smells like the holidays. The music has been playing throughout the house, but it seems to have stopped at this moment.
I think I'll go fix it.
Or maybe I'll just sit here in silence with the noise of my family in the background... which reminds me of how thankful I am this Thanksgiving, and everyday for that matter. I have so much to be thankful for. Above all, my family.
I have an incredible family, and I'm starting to wonder why I'm sitting in here journaling when I could be hanging out with them. I guess I just never want to forget this.

---------------------------------------------------

That was just one moment out of many.
I know y'all know that over the years isolation has become quite a comfort zone for me. I naturally tend to isolate, if not intentionally. This weekend, being with y'all, my family, not only made isolation uncomfortable, but unwanted. Thank you.

I love y'all!
Love, JJ

You

You are imperfectly known,
but I am perfectly loved.

You are the rock that I trust like quicksand.

You are the future that I fear and the mystery that I hope for.

I pray You are the right that shows me I am wrong.

You believe in my unbelief,
and You love what can't be exposed.

You are the music too beautiful to be heard.

You are the love too strong to understand.

You have forgiven me too simply for me to accept.

You hold my hand that has not been washed.

Your voice is so loud that it comes in silence.

You broke what I thought had been whole,
You made whole what had really been broken.

I gave You reason to walk away,
You came closer.

I pushed You away,
You pulled me with you.

I try to earn what You have already given me.

It's hard to love you because you love me so easily.

I boast that I know You, but don't act like I care.
I act like I care, but don't boast that I know You.

You let me rest when I try too hard.
You let me rest when I don't try at all.

My life is Your workmanship,
Your life is my performance.

My life is Your work,
Your life is my job...

And again, I try to earn what I have already been given.

You scare me.
You suprise me.

You take what I want and You give what I need.

I hate what I need and I love what I want.

I love to disagree with You,
and I agree I don't know better.

I think that I know,
You know what I think.

You know what I think...
and You love me.

Your love is always consistent,
I can never decide.

You love commitment,
I like my options.

You offer life,
I offer nothing.
You accept.

And despite who I am to myself and to others,

You love, love, love me.

silence

My heart is broken and I don't know why.



I feel an emptiness. An emptiness that I assume "Christians" are not supposed to feel because God is supposed to fill them. None the less, here I find myself... a "Christian," deeply in love with God, yet still alone and still broken hearted.



I know, I know... God promises to fill me. It's not that I don't think He doesn't, it's that I don't feel it, which unfortunately God never promised I would.



It seems like almost everytime I blog I'm feeling down, but I guess that's just when I feel inspired to write. I do have good days, and one of these days I'm hoping to feel that inspiration on a good day, but for now this is all I can do to medicate my loneliness.



My mind is blank, but I guess I'm hoping that if I keep typing, something that makes sense will pop out.







I got nothing.







I'm going to face my fear and sit in silence.

whatever

I made a commitment back in October to not date for a year. I know. I, myself, used to make fun of such an idea.

But the question isn't whether or not it's a good idea, but what is the motivation behind it?

For me, I was proud to announce that my motivation to make such a commitment was to get to know God more, and develop our relationship, and myself, and discover what God has for me... actually, that's if a Christian or someone from church asked, then I was proud to give such an answer. To be honest, I think I was so proud that I didn't even wait to be asked, I just slipped it into casual conversation as an FYI.

I don't even think people outside of church knew I made such a commitment. It's easy for me to boast of Christ behind the church doors. I've done it all my life. The hard part is when it's time to boast outside of those doors. Living "outside of the box" (literally) has taken on a whole new meaning to me.

So in all honesty... motivation #1... I want people to think I'm great. And in my mind I must have to do something in order for people to feel that way about me. Why do I keep trying to do all these things to make me a better person? And why do I care so much? I feel like that frustrates me more than anything... how much I care about what other people think.

And motivation #2... it's a defense mechanism. Most people who know me know that I don't really date in the first place... but not really on purpose... kinda by default. I know that I am at a place in my life where I don't need to be involved in a relationship or anything, but there comes a time in a girl's life where regardless of what she needs, she atleast wants to feel desirable. Which is where I find myself.

While in my eating disorder I lost all intrest in the idea of relationships... especially romantic ones. I could not comprehend what intimacy meant, emotionally or physically. I was in such a different mental state that the idea of of even being touched literally discusted me. I lost contact with a lot of friends, and I lost any type of feeling that invovled anyone other than myself.

The more I work my way into recovery, the more I find myself getting those feelings back, those desires back. My inital reaction is that it is wrong to feel that way, but it's not. It's normal. It's life. It's human... something I try so hard not to be sometimes (because I try so hard to be perfect).

So, since I have those desires, but they don't seem to be returned, I protect myself. Instead of facing my fear that I may not be desirable, I put up a guard. A wall. A barrier, with a spiritual disquise so that not only can I protect myself, I can be thought of as great in the process... maybe even desirable.

I don't have to face any form of rejection because I have already placed the restriction "well, I'm not dating anyway." It no longer matters if someone likes me or not because I beat them to it. I made the decision not to be available. I took control.

I took control... away from God.

Again.

So how do I give it back? How do I, once again, let it go?

What do I need to do?

I think once again God's answer is... "nothing."

He's asking me to live. He's asking me to be.


Yes... Again.

So it's not that I'm making a commitment or taking back a commitment or trying to figure out what I need to do in order to please God (and others)... I'm just going to live and see where God takes me. I'm just going to be and see what happens in the process. The Beatles once sang that "life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." Every time I make plans, life happens. Every time I make plans, God butts in... in a polite way, but none the less he interupts my way of doing things.

Thank God.



So basically what I'm trying to say is... "whatever!"

Which is exactly what I say when I throw my hands up and let it go.



-------------------------------------------------------------

(if you're wondering what I decided to do about that commitment... I didn't decide to do anything. I decided to live my life.)

Love?

I fall in love with everyone...

With the guy who plays drums at church... the guy I hand his coffee to at work... the guy I stand next to in line... and even the guy driving in the lane next to me.

I know it's not actually love...

It's a feeling... something that I hear love is not.

It's the idea of falling in love I fall in love with.

I fall in love with love when I see these guys in real life, or in the movies. When they smile at me, or say "thank you." When they laugh real hard, or hug their mom. I fall in love with the way they wear that hat, or play with their hair. I fall in love with the way they play an instrument with such passion that it awakens something in all those that listen.

It doesn't take much for me to fall in love with love... sometimes it's an accent, or a 5 o'clock shadow. Sometimes it's a fragrance, or a close clean shave. And sometimes it's just a colorful pair of shoes. Sometimes it's even as simple as seeing a left hand with no promise attached to it.

I fall in love with the guy who reads his bible every day, and I fall in love with the guy who's never even picked it up.

I fall in love with the country boy, the city slicker, the beach bum, and the shy guy. The people person, the class clown, the home-body, and the world traveler. I fall in love with whoever will fall in love with me.

My standards... Love me!

And this is where I ask myself... is that really love? Loving someone based on the way they love me? If they love me? How they love me? Why they love me?

My answer... I do not know what love is.

I know the feelings I get, I know the emptiness I feel, and I know the neediness I have. But I do not know love as a selfless act or a daily choice regardless of the feeling involved in that moment.

Is love real?

I believe so. If God is love, love has to be real. To not believe in love is to not believe in God. Love is who God is.

So if God is love, what does it mean to be in love?

To be in love is to be in Christ.

Love cannot work, cannot exist without Christ at the core.

We can not be in love without first being in Christ.

So am I in love with these guys? No. I am in love with a feeling. I am in love with escaping reality, even if just for a moment. I am in love with a dream that God promises to make a reality when I fall in love with Him. When I live my life in Christ, and not in love.

In other words, accept that fact that to live in love is not to live in Christ, but to live in Christ is to live in love.

Brandi Carlile

I think it's funny when I get phone calls from people and they ask if I still like church. It's usually people that know me real well, like family, because they know I go through phases, and maybe are wondering how long this church one is going to last. I've gone through the church phase before, so the fact that I am in church may not be such a suprise, but the fact that I keep going even suprises myself.


Let me rephrase that...


The fact that I keep going because I really want to go suprises me.


Growing up as a preacher's kid, you learn to go to church whether you really want to or not. Rebelling as a preacher's kid, you learn you have your own choices and will one day face a decision... do I really believe this, and despite what my parents want for my life, do I want to live my life this way?


Honestly, it's been hard for me to break away from my parent's faith. Probably because we share the same faith... but I'm trying to learn how to make that faith my own and not just something I was raised to believe.


It's hard.


It's hard because I have something engrained into who I am that I've tried to break away from yet tried to find at the same time.


I wonder if God is actually asking me to do either, or if this is just another expectation I have put on myself.


It's like I have this unwritten list of things I need to accomplish...

#1 Recover
#2 Know God
#3 Make God #1


I expect myself to do these things and to do so in a timely manner... as if it's a certain point I'm trying to get to. A point of accomplishment, a point of perfection, a point of complete obedience to God.


A point that is non existant. So if it doesn't exist, why am I trying so hard?


I'm trying to get past the hard stuff to the place where I look back and say "oh yea, remember those days, they were tough, but I made it!"


I realize in my attempt to try and get past the hard stuff, I'm attempting to get past life itself. I'm not living it, I'm trying to get through it.


The "point" that I wrote about is a place I believe I will get to, but not here. Not while I'm alive. Not while I'm human. And certainly not while I'm JJ (or Jennie Joy or just Jennie, or whatever name anyone knows me by).


By trying to get through this life, I am trying to hurry up get to the next one. And believe me, I want to go to Heaven, but in all honesty I don't necessarily want to go right now. SO much of my recovery is about wanting to live, and not just one day in heaven, but here and now. Not just getting through this life, but living it!


I was sitting by the river yesterday listening to my favorite singer. I love nature, but the silence is so loud. I had a revelation from the words of her music...

"I'm going to live until I die!"

let her be

Normally when I blog I am listening to some type of music. Normally when I read my bible I am listening to some type of music. Normally when I drive in my car... I am listening to some type of music.

I am obessed with music.

But now I'm sitting here in silence, and it feels awkward. I don't even know if I know what to say since I don't have the music to move me. I just feel blah.

I've got so many thoughts going through my head that I don't even know where to start.

I barely ate today... I think that's why I feel so down, and so speechless. I have nothing profound or encouraging to say because... I don't care. Why am I taking care of myself again?

I know... "this too shall pass..." but it still sucks in the moment. No wonder we always want quick fixes.

This is so hard. It's so hard to just be! I don't even have to do anything, just being is hard!

I'm having a hard time being me right now. I'm having a hard time being alone. I'm having a hard time being in silence. I'm having a hard time just being.

What does that mean... "Be still and know that I am God."


It doesn't say stay still, or act still, or look still... scripture says be still. So this is who I am supposed to be... I'm supposed to be still and know that He is God. (not me.)

Nike says "just do it!"... a motto I used to live by.

God says "just be!"

To whom it may concern...

"For you I'd wait, till kingdom come.
Until my days, my days are done.
And say you'll come and set me free.
Just say you'll wait, you'll wait for me!"


-coldplay

perfect

Written 10/7/07

I don't want to die.


I really don't want to die.


I don't want my friends to die.


I really don't want my friends to die.


We don't want to die, yet we find it hard wanting to live.


So what are we supposed to do?

While in my eating disorder I was dead while I was living.

I wanted neither... neither life nor death, so my only solution was to have both... suffer "death" while living.

I'm lost for words. I don't even know where to begin. There's so much I want to say right now. I feel the need to continue to help people understand the severity of this disease, YES, DISEASE, ILLNESS!!!!

in an attempt to exlpain...

those of you who know me know how full of life I am. I love to laugh, sing, joke, dance, goof off. I believe that God had given me passion for himself and for life. I believe that I am fully alive.

8 months ago.... you would have met a completely different person.

You would have met a hollow shell.

I couldn't laugh. I couldn't joke. I was afraid of people. I was afraid to talk to people. I was so overwhelmed with anxiety and depression. I didn't want friends because they got in the way of my "diet." I was too depressed to cry. I never smiled. My favorite part of the day was going to sleep... the worst part... waking up. And that's if I could sleep... my obession controlled my every thought and so I would wake up in a panic almost every hour to see if it was time for me to run yet. I was tired all the time. I had no energy. I was always freezing cold, even during the end of the summer (in the south). The only thing that encouraged me was hearing people say I looked sick, I was too skinny, and I needed to eat. In my sick mind, these were compliments. But at the same time, they made me angry, because I couldn't understand why people were "lying" to me.



fast forward...
11/1/07

I think I wanted to end this piece with my "success" story and where I am now. But I never finished this writing. I have a lot of unfinished entries like this. I figure my writings are a lot like my recovery... just when I think I'm done, I realize there's more to do. I also realize that I, myself, will never actually be quite finished... at least not on this side of heaven. Sometimes I get frustrated at the thought, especially since I invest so much time and energy into being perfect. But God reminded me of something the other day... when I try so hard to be perfect, I'm not allowing God to be God. If I was perfect, I wouldn't need God.

Here I am trying to impress Him, but I'm starting to wonder if what He really hears me say is "see, I don't need you!"

So back to that girl... the one I wrote about with all the issues... I realize... she is so not beneath me. I am still her and I am still capable of living the life she lived... the difference?

It's not her life anymore.

It's been surrendered...

but it hasn't been perfected.

I still need God just has much as I did as when I was deep in my illness.

And I've decided... If being perfect means living a life that doesn't need God... I don't want to be perfect. Ever.


(atleast not on this side of heaven)

Cracker Barrel Revelations

I had coffee with God this morning.

We've been hanging out for a while now, and even though he's always with me, we decided to meet up at Cracker Barrel.

We stayed there quite a while and enjoyed fresh coffee and even biscuits and gravy. We talked for a while. We sat in silence. He watched me while I journaled. It was nice.

For a while I just watched the people around me. I noticed I was the youngest person there by almost 40 years. No joke.

It made me start thinking... about how I always rush to grow up. And it made me wonder... why?

after observing those wise in their years, it hit me...

I have the rest of my life to be old... why am I trying to grow up now?


I also observed the couples there. Some looked like life long friends, others looked tired of each other. One younger couple walked in and I noticed that the man and I were dressed almost exactly alike... brown sweater, dark jeans, black shoes, all topped off with a hat. I don't know if that means I dress like a boy or he dresses like a girl.

Anyway, you could tell his wife was hip and trendy. She definitely dressed like a girl. To me they kinda looked like opposites, but I began to wonder if that's what attracted them to each other. I guess it makes sense when I think about it, most guys don't go for girls that dress like them. My point has nothing to do with her husband and I having the same taste, but everything to do with her and him having different taste (but to be honest... yes... it crossed my mind if he and I would make a good couple). I have always questioned if opposites really do attract. My philosophy has always been "opposites attract... then they attack!"

But then I got to thinking about a support group I went to last week. We talked about how it was a good thing that none of us were God. Infact, that's what makes God and I's relationship so good... the fact that He is God and I am not. The fact that He forgives and I sin.

God and I are pretty different... think about it... I'm a mere human... He's the creator of the universe!

but the two of us together... WOW!!

I've heard if before, and I'll have to agree... God and I's relationship is proof that opposites do attract!

The Glory of God

through my eyes

Hypocrite

I almost started crying today at work.


A mother and her daughter came up to order some drinks. The girl was maybe 12, if even. The mom ordered her skim latte, and the young girl opted for her favorite drink... a tall (which is a small) vanilla bean frappe. After the young girl ordered, her mom looked at me and asked if that came in a low fat option or low-calorie. I told we did have a "light" cream base we can make it with, which always erks me when people order it, but propbably because I myself order them, and I know why. To be honest, I thought she was asking for herself, but then she looked at her daughter, her 12 year old beatuiful, healthy daughter and said "maybe you should start thinking about getting those from now on. Just think about it, as an option, you know? So you won't have all those calories." My heart dropped, and so did the young girls eyes... she just looked down at the floor as if she had something to be ashamed of. I honestly was kind of in shock. I didn't know what to say. I still don't. I looked at the mom and tried to smile and gave her my signature line... "everything is fine in moderation." She didn't say anything. She smiled, looked at her daughter, and said "well, just think about it."

The last thing that slim little 12 year old girl needed to worry about was her weight, and especially at her age, but the message had already been sent, and I felt so helpless that I couldn't do anything.


I went over to make the young girl's drink and when I finished I went up to the counter to call it out. The girl came walking up and as she started to say thank you, I pulled the drink back toward me and I said "now... you can only have this if you promise to enjoy every bit of it you want and always order it the way you like it." She looked at me and smiled... "ok... thank you!" I watched her walk back over to her mom's table and smile the whole way.



I honestly don't know if I was more worried about the little girl, or myself. Both of us were affected by that comment. I realize the mother had good intentions, and I'm certainly not calling her a bad mother, or even a bad person. I know she's "doing the best she can with what she has," as my mother would say, but seriously, that's an explanation for why we do and say the things we do, but not an excuse!




I made myself a vanilla bean frappe with whip cream. I drank it with the girl in sight and I could see her catching glimpses of me enjoying mine. We bonded as we enjoyed our frappes from across the room, and for a split second I started to feel like maybe I really made a difference, and who knows, maybe I did, maybe I didn't...




But... the girl and her mom got up to leave, and that's when I realized I was once again making an attempt to help someone else without helping myself.


I have been sent my own messages somewhere along the line, and these messages are so hard to break away from. Whether they be food related or not, I took control of how I responded to the messages by using food, or lack there of.




As soon as they walked out the door I threw my frappe away, without finishing it. Why? Because I'm a hypocrite. This is where I usually start to be really hard on myself and beat myself up, but honestly, looking back, the neagative action of throwing it away isn't as big of a deal as the positive action of drinking it in the first place. Yes, I am a hypocrite, but one with good intentions... aren't we all?

People who make good hypocrites are ones with good intentions.




I didn't want that girl to start absorbing messages that so many women are sent these days about the importance of weight, looks, calories, yada, yada, yada.... I just wanted her to be a kid. And even though I am trying to break free of believing them myself, I still find myself throwing away the things I enjoy, like vanilla bean frappes.




My goal today... I will enjoy a frappe... anyone of my choice... maybe chocolate, maybe vanilla... not because anyone is looking, not in an attempt to "save" a little girl from having a fear of food, and not because my therapist assigned me to... I'm going to enjoy one simply because I like them, and I deserve to enjoy the things that I like...

in moderation!




but more than that... I deserve to believe my own messages that I want to send out to others... and to myself!

letters in prision

What has happened to me is what will deliver me.

I'm stuck in these chains and I'm tied to the ground, and I lay here in doubt that I will ever be free.

I lay in my own prison.
And I wait.
I wait on you to get me out.

But you want me to stay.

You want me to stay so I can serve my time, so I can learn my lesson, so I can conquer my doubt.

But my doubt is what prolongs my stay. If only I could let it go... and be still... still enough to know who you are.

Each time I move I lose sight of you, till I can no longer see a way out... not even you, you who offers a way, the only way.

I want to be with you. I don't want to be left here.
But you tell me to trust you.

Listening to your voice I begin to calm down. I stay right where I am and I lay in my mess. I lay in my chains and I lay tied to the ground.

I lay in my chains and I sleep there every day and every night. It is in the stillness that I begin to see everyone else around me. All of them are trying so hard to get out... something I tried, but I couldn't do...
Didn't they notice?

If only they could be still. Still enough to know who you are.

At each move they make they lose sight of you. At each move they make they lose sight of the way.

This was when I realized why I was here, and the purpose of my chains.

Eventhough my chains held me back, they made me scream your name. They made me scream loud enough for everyone to hear.

And everyone was silent.
And everyone was still.

Everyone was still. And they knew who you were because they were still. They knew who you were because my chains screamed your name. They knew who you were because my chains held me down.


.....................................................................................................


Inspired by the letters of Paul to the Phillipians

A glimpse...

Journal entry prior to treatment...

1/22/07 10:58 AM

I had a breakdown yesterday. A real melt down. Last night after I left my sister’s I couldn’t go home, so I just kept driving. I drove all the way to Charleston (hour and half away). I just sat in an empty parking lot once I got there. I felt like a real nut case. I listened to sad music. I sat in silence. I cried. I yelled. I “prayed” in a very loud tone. I did all the things nut cases do when they drive to an empty parking lot an hour and a half away from their home and just sit there. In the moment I really felt like I was going crazy. Today I feel kinda stupid, especially cause I skipped work, and didn’t call, and they called here looking for me, to which I didn’t answer. I did the mature thing and called my mom and asked her to call my work to tell them I was sick, which I was, but it was more of an emotional sickness.
So now I’m sitting here, staring at my computer screen… thinking about all the things that went through my head last night… feeling like an idiot.
When I finally got home last night at 3:00am, my mom was just waking up. I walked in the door the same time she walked out of her bedroom door. Perfect timing huh? A real spiritual person would say that was so God, but I don’t really feel real spiritual right now, so I don’t know what it was. Anyway, when I walked in at 3am of course she was worried, which I knew was going to help me feel even more sane. I told her I was fine and that I had been over at Bonnie’s. She walked into the kitchen and I followed her. I guess she was getting up to work on some papers or something for work because she had her briefcase and all these books and notes in her hands. I sat down at the kitchen table with a blank stare on my face. She asked me what was wrong. I knew I had to tell her, but I didn’t want to because it’s so hard for me to talk to her. She always gets that worried, excited tone of voice when she asks “what’s wrong, what’s wrong?” When I said it was hard for me to talk to her she said she was sorry and that she was only human. I got so mad when she said that. No duh she’s human. I felt like here I am having a crisis and my mother is playing the victim. A role that I’ve felt that she’s played for a very long time, and I’m sick of it. I was about to storm off, but I sat down at the table and she sat in silence waiting for me to respond. I started to cry and said it was hard for me to say. Finally I blurted it out, “I have an eating disorder.”
Maybe it was because I was expecting this dramatic response from my mother, or some sympathy or I don’t know what, but after I said it she just sat there and said “I know.” I was furious. I couldn’t believe that was all she had to say. Then she went on “is that what was so hard for you to say?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Here is this thing that I felt was controlling my life and my mother was asking if that was what was so hard to say. It made me feel like an idiot. It made me feel stupid for even trying to make an effort to help her understand. And for me, it justified why it was so hard for me to talk to her. She just doesn’t understand.


Journal Entry while in treatment....

6/27/07

Wow… so that was a while back, and I’ve come a long way since then, not only with my eating disorder, but with my mom. I’ve been in treatment since the beginning of February, and to this day remain in a group home for girls on the road to recovery from their eating disorders. I’ve been doing so well for so long that I sometimes convince myself that I never had an eating disorder… until I come across a journal entry like this. I have found many like this, and its entries like this that remind me where I was and where I am going. These journal entries keep me in check and remind me of my struggle within when I start to think I’m perfect, or that I’m “cured.” I sometimes wonder if this disease is even curable; manageable maybe, but not curable.

Weeping Guitar

I'm crying, but there's no tears.

A dry spell.

An emptiness. Too empty to even cry.

My guitar is sitting in the corner, waiting to be played.

It once had meaning and purpose, pouring out my emotions in the form of music. But now it sits.

Empty. Hollow.

As do I.



I can relate to my guitar...

full of potential, full of passion, full of soul.

But instead, it sits. I allow it to sit in a corner. Untouched, unused, unloved.

My guitar looks back at me, feeling the same way I do, and softly sings... "she's so full of potential, full of passion, full of soul. Why does she sit alone in that corner, allowing herself to be untouched, unused, unloved?"

Together we would be full of life.

But instead, we sit in our corners and give each other an occasional glance, an occasional thought, and sometimes an occasional strum.

I've forgotten the chords I used to play, the strings I used to pick, the songs I used to write.

If I sit long enough, I forget the sound it makes and the tune of its voice.

Much like my guitar, I feel I have lost my voice.

Much like my guitar, I am waiting.

...To be touched, to be used, to be loved...

and to live the life I was meant to live.

.......................

I'm in desperate need of a coping mechanism right now, so I'm going to write. I don't know what I'm going to write about, or why, but I'm going to write and I'm going to keep writing until I feel like I have accomplished something, or until I feel like this feeling has passed... this feeling of hopelessness, this feeling of worthlessness, and this extreme feeling of either wanting to go to sleep and not wake up, or to do something completely destructive to distract my attention and remind me how to feel.

Why? Why does God feel so far away? Why do the warm fuzzies and the holy hugs fade after a certain period of time? Is there a time limit; like a 3 month love fest with Jesus and then one day you get tired of it and look for something else? Is this another addiction I have gotten myself into... addicted to Jesus? People say it's a healthy addiction, but is any addiction healthy when it consumes your life?

Do I really want Jesus to consume my life?

I'm sick of things consuming my life. I'm sick of popularity, greed, food, lust, anger, weight, depression, control and all of the above consuming my life. I'm sick of wanting my eating disorder back, I'm sick of wanting my ex-boyfriend back, I'm sick of wanting my party life style back... I'm sick! Aren't we all?

All of us are sick in some way and yet we refuse to talk about it. We refuse to talk about our insecurities and our weaknesses, we refuse to talk about our failures and our shame, our guilt, and our lying... maybe we refuse to talk about it because we refuse to acknowledge it... or maybe because even though we're told time and time again that it doesn't matter what other people think (only what God thinks) deep down we don't think that's true.

I don't. I'll be the first to shamefully admit it. I don't want to admit it, but it's true. All of us, to some degree, care what other people think of us. It's human and it's been ingrained in us since the fall. Isn't that how it all started?... Adam and Eve walking around in all their glory and then BAM! "Oh my God, Adam don't look... pretend like you didn't see!"

Too late. He saw, and so did you Eve, and you can hide all you want but it won't take back what you did and it won't erase the past.

(and when I say "you," I don't just mean Eve, I mean you and me, and him and her and they and them and all of us... whether we like it or not, we're all in this together)

So then why? WHY? Why do we continue to hide and pretend like just because we're Christians everything is fine?

It should be the opposite! Jesus said if we followed him the world would hate us! HATE US! How can we be fine, as Christians, with the rest of the world HATING us? We don't have to pretend. EVERYTHING IS NOT FINE! It's hard to follow Jesus, it's hard to surrender, it's hard to not do what I want when I want in the moment I want it. It's hard!

Here all this time I've been trying to get all these people to like me, and yet Jesus said that if we followed him, even families would be divided... some will remain followers, while others will not. And when the time comes to please one or the other, Jesus says "follow me."

I don't know if I have the energy to keep following Jesus, but I know I don't have the energy to continue my journey alone. And just like one of the disciples, I ask, to whom else should I go?

I can walk away. I know that. But I've got no where else to walk to and no one else to walk with.

You're not good enough. I'm not good enough. Bill Hybels is not good enough. Beth Moore is not good enough. Not even Billy Graham is good enough. None of us are good enough.

And Jesus is the only one, that I know of, who ever promised to be enough!



And that's all I want right now Lord. I want just enough. I don't need a miraculous sign, a chance of a lifetime, or all I could ever want in life...

I just want to get through this moment. Right here. Right now.

I need just enough for now... and then maybe we can talk again later... when later comes.

I...

I cry myself to sleep every night.

Sometimes I know why, and sometimes I don't.

Crying has become a comfort zone, and not just because I'm female.

There are many different reasons why I cry, and I'll cry for those different reasons on different nights.

I cry for the homeless children in Africa.

I cry for the 100s of thousands of people who were killed in genocides all over. I cry for their families, and their traumatizing experiences.

I cry for my family and their own struggles.

I cry for my ex-boyfriend who continues to let alcohol govern his life.

I cry because I know so many people love me, but I feel so alone.

I cry for the girls I met in treatment.

I cry because they are such amazing, beautiful people, and yet they have no idea.

I cry for girls I don't even know, who I know are struggling with eating disorders.

I cry for my friend who was doing so well in recovery, and now because of one slip, can't get back on track.

I cry because I am scared for her. What if she is the 1 out of 5 girls who dies from an eating disorder?

I cry for middle and high school girls who have no idea what life is really all about.

I cry for young girls with boyfriends, short skirts, and high heels.

I cry for my 14 yr-old self and wanting so badly to go back and help her. I cry for 14 yr-old girls now and pray they don't make a go at life the way I did.

I often cry for other people. I cry because I want to help them and I don't know how or where to start.

I cry because I want to help people so badly, yet I can't even help myself.

Which is why I cried last night. Hard.

I cried because I'm tried of recovery. I'm tired of having to try hard every day. I'm tired of the world in which we live and feeling like I can do nothing to change it. I cried because I feel like I am useless and just no good. I cried because I am tired of messing up and breaking God's heart. Last night was the most intense I have felt in my sorrows. I told God I was too tired and just asked him to please take me home. Just to rest. I can't keep up.

I honestly think that right now the only thing that keeps me motivated are the people I am surrounded by and the attention they give me.

Recovery is hard, but I love the attention. Though my motives are selfish, the more people that know, the less I can hide. Which is why I love the attention and I hate it at the same time. I love how it makes me feel, but I hate that it holds me accountable.

Last night the attention wasn't enough to convince me my recovery was worth it. I cried so hard and I felt like it was never going to end. I felt stuck. I felt worthless.

Fortunately I fell into a deep sleep. A little too deep because I had a hard time getting up early for work.

I went in to the cafe to work this morning and around 8am Pam came in. I don't even know Pam's last name. I know she goes to the church, has a women's group on Tuesday mornings, and likes cream in her coffee (I think). We usually make small talk, but nothing too deep.

Pam came right up to the counter and said "JJ, I have just been praying for you all morning. God has really put you on my heart this morning and I just had to pray for you. I even had to write you a note, so here..."

I read the note...

"JJ- I'm praying for you! Sometimes when we share our testimony Satan tries to beat us down with the distractions of life! Keep fixing your eyes on Jesus- His arms are open! In His Love, Pam"

What can I even say after that? Even that makes me want to cry just thinking about it.

How? How can God love me so much?

At the end of Pam's note she said for me to check out a video on Godtube. God must really want me to get the message this video is sending, because it's the 3rd time someone has shared it with me. And each time is just as powerful as before.

Which is why I want to share it with you...


http://www.godtube.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ee73e63418003b47d7d5


I am genuinely usually doing pretty well during the day. I like to laugh and have fun and make people smile... that's real. But night time is also very real too. The pain is real. The tears are real. And the feelings are intense. But I don't think that's always a bad thing. I feel like God gives me a taste of what it's like to just hurt for the people He loves. People like me, who know that God loves them, but don't believe they are really good enough to be loved.

This is For Real!

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/10219756/site/newsweek/page/0/


And can happen to anyone... not just "vain girls" who want to be "skinny."

It's bigger than that.



Eating disorders (i.e. anorexia) have the highest imortality rate of any mental illness!

Help!

I'm better with my words when writing them out, so this is me asking for help. I'm having a hard time staying on track with my meal plan, and as long as no one knows, it doesn't matter. I'm working two jobs now, one of which is incrediably busy and conviently during prime hours for snack, lunch, and snack again.

I didn't have lunch today. It was easy. I worked all day. No one was at home when I got done with work, so I didn't have to answer to anybody, except myself.

Well, not true... God was there, but I didn't notice. I had already gone the whole day without eating, so why start now? Infact, I was afraid to start. If I start, I won't stop. My solution? Just don't start. All or nothing.

I decided instead of eating, it would be a good idea to go for a bike ride. Hmm... let's think about this.

No food... bike ride... once upon a time, this would have been a great idea, and always the appropiate answer to any of life problems. This time around, I definietly felt the desire, but something just didn't feel right. I tried to think it through...

I laid on my bed and I battled back and forth in my mind "what do I do? Do I eat? Do I not eat? Do I go for a bike ride? What if I start to feel faint? Then I should eat. But what if I can't stop? You will. No you won't. I'm starving. I love this feeling. But I'm scared of it. How long will it last? Just don't eat! Just eat! You might as well just binge! You'll have to throw up later. It's ok. Just this once. Yea right. No. I don't want to throw up. But I don't want to gain anymore weight. And I don't want to eat. I want to live. But I want to be in control. I want to do it my way. I can't do this on my own. Yes I can. This isn't fair. God what do I do?"

I picked up the phone and I called my nutritionist. I told her I was scared and I told her the truth about not eating most of the day. To be honest, I felt good. I felt good about not eating, and it was like flirting with my past. We talked through how I could make up my exchanges. "Eat at 5pm and then again at 8:30pm," which by the way breaks old school rules of never eating past 8 (and for those of you who live by this "rule," your body doesn't know what time it is, and it doesn't matter what you eat after 8pm, it's how much).

I didn't want to eat. But recovery is not about what I want, it's about recovery (which is why recovery sucks). Ultimately, I know recovery is quite the opposite, but in the moment, it's so hard to think otherwise.

I mostly did what I was supposed to do. I ate both of my meals, but I skipped my "fats" and I decided to hop on the treadmill afterward. Old habits die hard.

Do I know better? Yea. Most of us (who are no longer living in denial) do.

But knowing the right thing to do is different from doing the right thing to do. I know what I need to do, but I can't do it on my own. So I'm asking for help. When you see me, ask me how my meal plan is going. Ask me if I'm getting in my exchanges. Ask me how I'm doing, but don't expect your typical generic response "I'm fine, how are you?" Only ask if you have time to listen. I can promise I'll listen to you too, but I can't handle the surface anymore.

Deep is calling unto deep.

The Power of Words

Words are powerful.

This is not a profound statement, but I think it's one that many people underestimate. I realize their power when someone says something hurtful to me, but I'm not to quick to recognize the power when I'm addressing someone else. Maybe it's because I'm aware of my intention in what I'm saying, and my intentions, for the most part, are good. So I expect other people to know that... which is why I'm usually shocked when someone says I hurt them... "well I never meant to you." Profound. That doesn't mean I didn't do it. Regardless of what I intended, someone got hurt. It'd be easy to say "don't feel that way, I didn't mean to," but I can't tell somone how to feel, no more than you can tell a short person how to grow. You can give them heels, but that doesn't fix their height. I can say "don't cry," but that doesn't heal their pain.

When I was in high school I wanted to be a lawyer. I was, and still am, very passionate about justice... and I could argue about anything... ask my mother. My junior year when I actually voiced my desire to be a lawyer to my english teacher, he said something that has stuck with me ever since...

"You can't be a lawyer because you can't write. If you want to learn how to write, read (your younger sister's) paper... she can write."

I never questioned what he said, because it never occured to me that a teacher could be wrong.

That one statement changed a lot about my life... the way I saw myself, the way I saw my sister, the way I thought other people saw me, which prior to that statement I don't think was ever that important... the way people saw me.

As a kid I was always independent and carefree. All of a sudden I needed to prove something... I needed to prove to my teacher that I could write. He needed to know I could write so that I could be a lawyer, as if it depended on his judgment. But I never got that affirmation. So I stopped writing.

The power of words.

A few years back my family recieved a letter from this teacher. He wanted to apologize to all his students and their families for the way he taught and the things he said back when he was still teaching. He explained that at that point in his life he was going through a severe depression and he seemed to take it out on his students. He went on to say that this wasn't an excuse for his actions, but an explanation. Then came the shocker... "I have since then accepted Jesus Christ into my life," and he was asking for our forgiveness. Whoa!

Looking back, I forgave him, but I never actually told him he was forgiven. I just dismissed the letter and thought "good for him." To this day, he still doesn't know that I have forgiven him.

There is power in the lack of words.

My silence toward him is just as powerful as his words toward me.

It wasn't until treatment of this year that I really started writing again... or at least started letting people read what I write. Still in the back of my mind I tell myself I can't write, and people tell me I can, but I don't hear them. I hear that voice. That voice that tells me I can't. That voice that tells me never. That voice that says "she's better." It's a voice from the past that I've allowed to stay in the present for far too long now.

So I have a choice... I can keep listening to that voice, or I can use my own.

The power of his words are no longer going to tell me who I am... and the power of my silence is no longer going to tell him who I think he is.

Whether in a letter, in an email, or on the phone, it's my turn to use powerful words... "I forgive you."

It's Not Me!

Whatever good you see, whatever smile, whatever laugh, whatever help I give or hand I offer... please know, it's not me!

I am not amazing... God is amazing!

The good is God, the rest is me.

God is using me for something, and I don't know what it is, but I do know what will stand in the way... myself. Giving myself the glory instead of God. Giving myself the praise for what I have done, instead of thanking God for what He has done in me.

I want people to praise me, I want people to think I'm great, and I don't want to share that greatness with anyone else.

Feeling this way has left me tired and worn out. I was recently told that no one in the New Testament goes it alone, which is exactly what I try to do. If I go it alone, no one else can share the credit... my credit, my glory, my fame... although none of it belongs to me in the first place.

I say I want to give God the glory, yet I am constantly stealing it from him. And I'm tired. It takes a lot of energy to steal from God, and I just don't think I can keep up anymore.

So please know, whatever good words may come from my mouth, or good works from my hands, it is God, and not I.

God is good.

I am human...

Just like you.

I used to know this girl

I used to know this girl once,
This 4 year old girl.
She was sweet and innocent.
She loved to laugh and play with her daddy.
She loved life, because she never thought about life.
She never questioned it, just lived it,
But then again how could she?
She was only 4 years old.

I used to know this girl once,
This 8 year old girl.
She was rambunctious and full of energy.
She would get angry easily, but her daddy would calm her down.
She loved life, when she wasn't in trouble.
She never questioned it, just lived it,
But then again how could she?
She was only 8 years old.

I used to know this girl once,
This 12 year old girl.
She was cute, but slightly awkward.
She thought she was pretty, because her daddy thought she was.
She loved life, but it often made her wonder.
She questioned it, but still lived it,
But what else could she do?
She was only 12 years old.

I used to know this girl once,
This 14 year old girl.
She was shy and self-conscious.
She loved to draw and hold her boyfriend's hand (not her daddy's)
She loved life, as long as she felt loved back.
She never questioned who she was, because her boyfriend always told her,
But she didn't know any better,
She was only 14 years old.

I used to know this girl once,
This 18 year old girl.
She was funny and outgoing.
She loved to make people laugh, and impress them even more.
She loved life, when everyone was looking.
She never questioned who she was, because her friends always told her,
But what do you expect?
She was only 18 years old.

I used to know this girl once,
This 20 year old girl.
She was hopeful and curious.
She loved God and wanted to know more about Him.
She loved life, because she thought she was supposed to.
She never questioned who she was, because the church always told her,
But I don't blame her,
She was only 20 years old.

I used to know this girl once,
This 22 year old girl.
She was active and in good shape, but never good enough.
She loved to measure her food, but pretended that she didn't.
She hated life, but acted like she loved it.
She questioned who she was, but her eating disorder always told her,
So she stopped asking.
She was only 22 years old.

I hope to meet this girl one day,
This 20, 30, 40, 50-something year old girl.
She will be confident and healthy.
She will live in freedom and pursue her passions.
She will love her life, simply because it is good, and a gift from God.
She will be proud of who she is, look back on who she was, and continue to look forward to who she will become.
She will have a voice,
And her age will not matter.

Letter to my former self

This was a writing assignment while in treatment at Timberline knolls (Feb-April 2007)


Dear Jennie Joy (14 years old),

Hey girl! I wanted to write to you to give you some words of wisdom to carry with you throughout the years. I know you don't listen much to your parents, but I'm asking you to listen to me because I know where you've been and I know where you're going.

You're young- stay that way! Don't rush to grow up only to wish to be a kid again. Take your time! Know that it's ok to make mistakes- learn from them, but don't run from them.

Don't worry so much about what other people think of you- it's really not that big a deal. If you don't agree with someone, just say it, don't pretend you do just to impress someone- it's not worth losing your voice over. Express yourself, don't hide behind a smile, be true to how you feel. If you keep it locked up, it will find a way out one day, and it won't be very pretty.

You'll come across some nice guys, one in particular. Hold on to your innocence, don't be so quick to give it up; and remind yourself that you're really not as old as you think you are. With the whole guy thing, take a little time to get to know yourself first before you try to get to know someone else. I know it may seem like the most important thing in the world to have a boyfriend at 14, but let's be honest, you don't know what you want at 14. If you really want to be loved, love yourself first. Only then will you be ready to love someone else.

Explore all the options life has to offer. Ask what life is about. Don't feel confined to any one church, one religion, one school, one home, one job, one name, one friend. See what's out there and find out for yourself. Don't be afraid to question, doubt, seek, look, wander. If you are truely looking for ultimate truth you will find it, and it won't matter where you looked, but know that you don't need facts or even answers to have faith. Remember that everyone is different, and different doesn't mean bad or good, it just means different. You may find truth long before any of your friends do, and it's ok. They may or may not find it, but don't let that take away from who you are. Offer help, but not at the expense of losing yourself.

Always remember that you do matter, no matter what anyone says. You are worth it. You are known, and loved anyway, no more pretending. Don't be afraid to ask for help, no one is strong enough to do it all on their own. Don't let your pride get in the way, which it will, often; in which case, just lay it down and surrender as best as you know how.

The world will tell you you need to be a certain way in order to be accepted. The truth is that you are loved just the way you are, yes, just the way you are! If you start comparing yourself to others you will soon find out just how unhappy it will make you, don't let it steal your joy. Share your joy, but guard it.

Be honest. In all things. Even the little ones. The truth hurts in the moment, but it heals in the long run. Don't let a little white lie turn into a life of lies. Stop, think, and tell the truth.

As for the superficial stuff, I want you to believe me when I say that no matter how much you think you need that name brand coat, or shirt, or whatever, you don't. It's ok that you want them, but learn to know the difference. If you realize you already have everything you need, you may realize you don't want much else.

I can't tell you about all the things you will go through, but I can say don't ever give up! Life is too short to give up. We've only got so much time, and it's just enough to be patient, but not enough to give up. So hang in there.

And finally, I'm not gonna lie, life is messy, kid. But it's worth it. Change is gonna come. Don't dwell on the past or focus on the future, but live life for today. Live with passion. Share your voice. Give your heart. And don't be afraid to give, but more so recieve, love... from yourself, from others, and from your Heavenly Father. May your journey dead end at His feet.


I love you girl... don't ever forget that!

Much love,
Jennie Joy (23 years old)

Girls, Girls, Girls

"Many of the girls who wrote about dark problems were, on the surface, “perfect” girls—smart, pretty, and popular. Why do you think teenagers fall prey to such problems when they appear so outwardly happy?"


I found this question online... it's referencing a book by Sara Shandler called Ophelia Speaks. The themes of which include adolesence, body image, sexuality, friendship, self-identity, family relationships, etc...

The book shares the "harsh realities of being young and female," and is done so by actual girls writing in and sharing their stories with the author... girls we thought were perfect, girls we thought had it all together, girls who looked happy. But behind the scenes was a whole nother story. This trend continues today... with girls of all ages, all sizes, all looks, all colors. Insecurity doesn't come in one shape, insecurity comes with being human, and it's a characteristic that some openly express and one that others have learned to mask too well, myself included.

I haven't had the opportunity to read the book yet, so I won't go into it until I have done so, but this question really caught my attention.

So many of us look to society, which is literally just a big group of people, as the standard for how we should live our lives, from what we eat to what we wear, and everything in between.


Why???


Why do we need other people to tell us how to live? A vast majority of girls today are living their lives based upon what's cool or what's popular or what someone else says they should do. They're learning to do what is necessary to fit in despite what they want. They don't even know what they want. They think they want to fit in, but they have no idea that that really doesn't even matter, and if they knew it didn't matter, they wouldn't want it.


Girls today are trying to "grow up" younger and younger in an attempt (maybe even an unknown attempt) to skip their childhood. And it's sad. It's sad to see 6th grade girls wearing mid-drift tank tops and heavy make up. It's sad to see girls starting to diet as young as fourth grade. It's sad to see girls I used to babysit for post pictures of themselves on Myspace in their bathing suits. It's sad to hear about middle schoolers having sex. It's sad that society is telling them that this is ok, and even more sad they they think it's cool and that they need the attention they get from it to validate them.


I wish girls could see the value in themselves without feeling like they need to give up a part of themselves in order to do so.


And when I say girls, I include myself. I include myself as a girl who thinks her value lies in what the world thinks of her. I include myself as a girl with distorted body image who trys to reach an unattainable goal of perfection. I include myself as a girl who wants to believe so badly that looks don't matter, but does everything she can to try and make the mirror happy... a mirror with unrealistic standards and a voice that says "you'll never be good enough."


But... I also include myself as a girl who is willing to fight for herself and for girls everywhere who believe the lies of a mixed up world. Who, though she is weak and is easily swayed by those around her, will not give up. I refuse.


I'll fall down, a lot, but God will pull me up, time and time again. And each time he does, I'm pulling two girls up with me.

"Hate is so close to love, you have to love someone to hate them."

Otherwise, why such passion?


I used to hate someone. But I hated him because I loved him. Sometimes I still catch myself getting angry at him, not that I see him or anything, but when I think about what I went through emotionally, I can feel the hatred. I understand as a Christ follower I am to forgive him and let it go, but let's face it, I am a Christ follower, not Christ. So I can't perfectly forgive him the way he deserves to be forgiven... and yes, he does deserve to be forgiven, but only Christ can forgive him in the way he needs to be. I've done the best I can with what I have, but it's not perfect forgiveness.


From my understanding, the beautiful thing is that Christ doesn't ask for perfection, which is great considering the fact that I'm pretty close but not there yet (kidding). So I still get angry. I still feel hurt. I still wonder why. But that's not the driving force of my life. The thoughts creep in, I may dwell on them for a while, maybe even longer than I should, but then as best as I know how, I give it to God... only to grab hold of it again, but I give it up again, and the cycle repeats itself.


It may be a different story if I were to actually see him (the guy). My stomach would turn, and truth be told, I would feel sick. I realize that sounds dramatic, but I'm a girl, and that's how I'm wired. That's just how it is, no apologies. I don't know if I would get mad at him or at God. I tend to take things out on God when someone else hurts me. I'm still exploring what that's all about.


I don't know why I thought about it this morning. I guess I saw that quote and it reminded me how the first time I saw it I knew I had to let go of my hatred. I thought I was over him because I hated him, but I wasn't over him at all, I just channeled my feelings a different way.

Eventually it caught up with me, and I realized hating him was not a sign of being over him, it was a sign of not forgiving him, which meant I was still giving him power over my emotions.

I'm sure you can gather by the way I talk about him it was obviously someone I was in a relationship with... and it's the kinda thing where I kinda was and kinda wasn't... so if it were on facebook it would say "it's complicated!" Which it was... at least from my perspective.

Again, I don't know why I'm writing about this. Maybe I guess because I know a lot of girls feel this way and I don't want them to feel alone, but more so because I don't want them to allow a guy to have such power over their emotions, as I did. I'll be the first to say I've been hurt badly, but what I've realized is that it hurts even more to hold it against the person who hurt me. It kept me in bondage longer, it kept me angry longer, and it kept me from pursuing my own life. It's hard to really go after what you want in life when you are dwelling on all the crap from the past. Hoping that it will get better will not make it better, but letting it go will.

Like I said, there are no "cure alls," but that doesn't mean we can't try. It's hard, it sucks, and it's the last thing I want to do, forgive someone who hurt me, but...

I forgive you Louie.

8/15/07

I'm tired, but I'm wide awake.



Today was hard. I had a rough lunch.


Pizza. And I actually had dressing on my salad. That's like breaking the 5th commandment of eating disorders.


In my recovery I'm trying to learn that there is no such thing as bad food... everything in moderation. While in my disorder I was completely and utterly convinced that certain foods were pure evil, and if I ate I had to eat healthy 100% of the time. I could never slip up, and every bite had to be perfect, even when it came to healthy food. I couldn't waste a single bite on imperfection.


I thought I was controlling what I ate, but really, it was controlling me. The more I deprived myself the bigger deal I would make about foods I didn't eat. "Junk food" became like the forbidden fruit to me... even though (in my mind) I wasn't supposed to eat it, I terrribly wanted it. Why? Because it was forbidden... everybody wants what they can't have.


All the deprivation caught up with me one day. I snapped. I had tried as hard as I could for as long as I could to control what I ate, and in a weak moment, I snapped. Because I am an extremist, of course I couldn't just start eating balanced meals... after all, I had to make up for lost time. I would binge until it physically hurt, only to perge right after due to all the guilt and "evil" food I had just put in my body.


Binging was a way for me to numb my feelings, and perging was a way for me to express my feelings.


My body had phsically lost all sense of hunger and satiety cues, and was functioning based on emotions.


When I say I am in recovery, it does not mean I am recovered. It means I am making an effort not to actively engage in my eating diorder. The difference would be now I realize I have a choice. I still have the eating disorder thoughts, but that doesn't mean I have to act on them. A thought does not equal an action. A thought equals a choice, and I can choose not to do it.

So why was lunch hard? I was pretty ok about the pizza and dressing, I mean, in all honesty it tasted good... but it was the topic of conversation discussed at the table where I was sitting. It was all women, and no matter where you go, what do most women talk about these days? Unfortunatley, food and weight. It's an obession, even for those without eating disorders. The world in which we live says we must look a certain way to be accepted, so much so that even the church believes it. I'm in recovery and I still believe it, I'm no different, but it still sucks that this is what we have placed as a top priority in our lives.

According to the table at which I was sitting, the pizza (which was provided for everyone) was considered "bad" food... or "unhealthy." My therapist would totally disagree... which is why I'm glad I'm in therapy. But yesterday I wasn't hearing the voice of my therapist, or my nutritionist, or even my Savior... I only heard the voices around me that, though not intentionally, were sending me messages that what I was eating was bad.

I completely shut down. I started looking at some of the homemade "healthy" lunches around me, and all of a sudden my pizza didn't taste so good. What should I do? Should I eat it? Should I move to another table? Should I leave and go get something "healthy?" Should I ask to change the topic of conversation? Should I explain to them that everything is ok in moderation, to which most people respond "yea, right!" Should I just binge since it's bad anyways and perge later? My extremist mindset took over and told me since I already started eating the "unhealthy" food I must continue to do so, as much as I can, for the rest of the day, and then never do it again, maybe not even eat at all the next day to make up for it. I don't know. I couldn't think, I couldn't focus, I couldn't smile, and I couldn't speak up for myself.

I have a meal plan which I am supposed to abide by 100%. I have to get in a certain amount of exchanges each day. No cutting corners; that's where it always starts... the corners. So I ate the pizza. I ate it, but the amount of guilt I felt overwhelmed me, and my anxiety about the rest of the day shot through the roof. I knew I was going to feel this way until I talked to someone about it, but along with the guilt and anxiety came my pride. Perfect timing. I started "shoulding" all over myself. I'm 23 years old, I should be able to handle eating lunch without getting upset. I should just eat when I'm hungry and stop when I'm full. I should stop worrying about what other people eat. I should be able to do this on my own.

But I can't. Trying to do it on my own is what got me into treatment, yet somehow my pride still convinces me that if I just try harder, I can do it all by myself, and that way I won't have to embaress myself along the way. After all, who really wants to walk up to someone and say "hey, I really want to binge my brains out right now... I know I shouldn't, but I'll make myself sick later, oh and by the way, I need help!"

So what do I do? I say nothing, and the longer I say nothing the more my addiction becomes an option.

I know it will be an option until I ask for help. But asking for help sucks. It's revealing a lot about yourself, and even though I talk openly about my eating disorder and my recovery, I very rarely talk about the struggle I still have with it. Everyday is a battle, but most people wouldn't know that. I often think that no one will understand, but in reality, I don't even give them the chance to understand.

I saw someone who I hadn't reached out to before, but something just told me I could.

So I finally did, atleast as much as I knew how to in that moment.

I asked for enough help to not use behaviors, but not enough to be convinced that I hadn't messed up my entire day by what I ate, and that I should continue to stick to my meal plan. Which is ironic, because not sticking to your meal plan is a passive way of using behaviors.


8/16/07

So today is a new day, and while I can't make any promises, I can say I'm going to try to do the best I can, and maybe actually ask God for a little help this time. I hear He's in the transformation business.

God Speaks Italian

I asked God for help one day...
and He answered me in Italian.

"Arbella," He said.
"I don't understand"
"you will" He responded.

"How will I know?"
He smiled, "because I'll show you"

I was curious, "what does Arabella look like?"
"It looks different for each person."

I asked what mine looked like and He said one day I would find out.

Time went by...

and I did.

My Arabella looks like an old yamaha guitar proped in a corner waiting to be played.
It looks like painted ceilings and colorful yarn for knitting.

My Arabella looks like a house on the river with broken fishing poles in the garage and worms above the fridge.
It looks like a home cooked country breakfast made of biscuits and gravy shared with someone close.

My Arabella looks like a big cup of coffee and unlimited flavors of cream.
It looks like too many groceries, not enough bathrooms, and just the right amount of love.

My Arabella looks like leftovers for lunch, but never for dinner.
It looks like a crowded driveway, a jar of peanut butter, and an occasional visit from a Queen and her Bo.

My Arabella looks like a baptism in a basement surrounded by friends from close by and family from far away.
It looks like a life saved, a passion found, and an enemy lost.

My Arabella looks like a vegetarian who eats meat and a house mom who knew all along.
It looks like it's crowded on Friday nights, empty on Saturday mornings, and perfectly attended come Sunday afternoon.

My Arabella looks like a voice that learned how to sing out loud, a hand that learned how to reach out for help, and a life that learned how to live in abundance.

As God listened, He smiled.

He saw a change in me and asked where it came from.

He knew I couldn't speak Italian, but I made my best attempt...

"Arabella" I said.


********************************************************************************

"Arabella" is Italian for "answered prayer." It is also the name of the group home I lived in while undergoing treatment for my eating disorder.

Got Hooked?

I did. This weekend. To an old habit I thought I had said goodbye to. It's no secret that I'm working towards recovery from an eating disorder, and I haven't relapsed since Feburary 5th of 2007. This past Saturday, I came close, but I decided to switch addictions instead.

I had a rough dinner. And for those of you that don't have or understand eating disorders, having a rough dinner translates into eating my entire meal. Exciting huh? I realize the solution for most people is "just eat," but I wish I could explain to someone what it feels like to fear food, yet be addicted to it at the same time. To have your addiction be the very thing you need in order to live. Most alcoholics and drug addicts just abstain from their drug/drink of choice. Unfortunately, those of us with eating disorders aren't allowed to abstain from food. Infact the solution to our illness is to do the very thing those with other addictions are advised not to do... enjoy it in moderation. Try telling an aloholic to just have one beer. Or how about a heroin addict... "yea, it's ok for you to shoot up, as long as you only shoot up half... everything in moderation." Those with eating disorders have to face their demons everyday, and usually six times a day... breakfast, snack, lunch, snack, dinner, snack. Wake up and repeat. All day. Everyday. And I'm tired. I'm tired of trying. All day. Everyday.

Moderation. A word I did not understand until treatment. I am an extremist in the truest sense of the word. Which isn't always bad... look at Martin Luther King Jr. He was an extremist for equality, and even he said the world is in need of more extremists... and guess who he referenced? Jesus, who was an extremist in love. The world is in need of more extremists. But extremists are not needed in the field of addiction. What does it look like to be an extremist with an addiction? For me it looks like one cookie is too much, or the whole box is not enough. It's either or. It's black or white. Hot or cold. All or nothing. I think it's safe to assume that alcoholics would agree... one drink is too much, the rest of the bottle is not enough. So what's the solution?Moderation. All Day. Everyday. Yea. Right.

All this to say... recovery is hard. And fortunatley on Saturday, I fell off my high horse.

So after my rough dinner and feeling guilty about what I had eaten, I went to church and remained cool and collected on the outside, but inside I was already scheming up how to get away with using behaviors... which translates into "getting rid of my dinner." I thought about doing so after church but why wait, how about during. No one's ever in the bathroom during the service. Uncomfortably, I sat through worship. I sat through announcments. I sat and watched the guy move rocks from one side of the stage to the other, wondering what the hell he was doing. If I was in my "good christian mood" I probably would have wondered what the heck he was doing, but given the fact that I wanted to engage in negative behaviors I guess I figured I might as well swear too. All or nothing.

Moderation. Saturday night, moderation looked like sitting through church while swearing and scheming up how to use my addiction. Church... swearing. Church... addiction. Most people don't combine the two, or atleast they don't teach their kids to. But Saturday night, I needed to swear and I needed my addiction, so I needed to be in church.

Jon Ferguson spoke about Egypt as being a place of bondage, of being ensalved to the very thing that is harming you. "What is my Egypt," I was asked. To be honest, I got mad at the question... what isn't my Egypt? I was mad because I couldn't sum up my answer in one short little word. I couldn't make it look nice and neat and simple. Fortunately God understands scratchy handwriting, severe stuttering, funny accents, and talking jibberish, so as I stumbled over my words in prayer, I asked God to just save me from myself.

Not only did God understand me, he answered me. God always speaks to me through different people. And that night He spoke through Jon Ferguson.

I ate up every word Jon said, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that I was supposed to be exactly where I was sitting. "Most people never change until the pain of change becomes less than the pain of staying the same," he said. Ouch! No wonder this hurts. "Confess," he said, "means to say the same thing as God. To agree with God." This all of a sudden made total sense to me, because by living in denial I'm essentialy calling God a liar. And I know He's not, and I know I am, so I might as well agree with Him. "Ok God, I agree with you. I am a sinner. Not only am I sinner, but I want to be a sinner. I want to do what it takes to live up to the worlds standards of what it means to be happy and successful. I want the world to like me. I want to be the center of attention. I want to please man. I want to have control. I want a quick fix. I want my eating disorder. I want my ex-boyfriend. I want to have my cake and eat it too. I want to enjoy what the world and what you have to offer. I want you both. I want to settle. I want what I want and I want it now. But God, I don't want to want these things."

I couldn't get it into those exact words in that moment, but God understood my mumbling, because He knows my heart. And the cry of my heart screams out "God, I want to want you!"

As Jon closed in prayer, I cried. I cried because I cause God so much pain. I cried because I continually ask Him to rescue me, but refuse to leave when He asks me to move. I cried because my Egypt is comfortable. I cried because it hurts to leave. I cried because the place I want to stay is the very place that's causing me pain. And I cried because I knew I couldn't go through with using those behaviors.

So I didn't.



This is supposed to be the end of the story where I'm supposed to feel good about myself and everyone tells me how proud they are of me. But unfortuantely, my story doesn't end here.

I was proud of myself while I was at church, and I really did feel better. But instead of using eating disorder behaviors, I just replaced them, not even aware until after the fact. I was invited to go have a few drinks with a friend. A few turned into not able to drive. Was it fun? Yes. If it wasn't fun it wouldn't have been tempting. But when I woke up the next morning, the emotional pain was so much worse than the physical. I didn't even plan to do that, it just happened. And right after an amazing church service where I felt like I had a major break through.

But this is where my heart really broke... Before leaving church on Saturday night I had the pleasure of meeting Edward, an older, but not old, gentleman who works at the resources table before and after services. He approached me and said he had heard my testimony about being in recovery from my past... alcohol, drugs, guys, eating disorders. He was very encouraging and said that recovery is the best place to be. I agreed. But he knows a bit more about it than I do, He's been sober for 23 years!

Sunday morning when I walked into church to work in the cafe, Edward was the first person I saw. "Hi Edward! How are You?" His response... "Oh I'm good, I got my miracle for the day, I woke up sober!" OUCH! Oh it hurt so bad. I was so happy for Edward, but man did that knock the wind right out of me. I was so disappointed with myself. I felt like a failure. I thought I should be proud just because I didn't use behaviors, but I realized I did, just in a different form.

I wish this story had a profound ending. Something to the effect of "and after I heard the message, I left and sinned no more!" I'm sure we all wish that. But nope, it ends with me messing up... Which has reminded me that I am in desperate need of a Savior.