body image

Sometimes I think about what this blog should be.  But I just want it to be everywhere that my passions intersect with glorifying God, you know?  So here is today's soapbox.

I know this isn't tumblr, but trigger warning: bulimia.

I thought I was always fat.  Looking back, I didn't even start to get somewhat chubby until 6th or 7th grade.  But I don't remember a time in my whole life that I didn't think of myself as fat.  You see, my parents were obese, and they didn't want me to be.  They had good intentions, but they didn't know how to eat right either.  Instead, they made me feel guilty whenever I ate bad food.  Which was hard because bad food was what was always around.  From a very early age, I associated food with guilt.  But I was already addicted to junk food and fast food.  So I would eat in secret, disguise my guilt.  But I also dieted.  I spent a lot of time outside, trying to be the skinny kid I thought my parents wanted.  I remember spending hours running up and down the stairs outside our house.

And thankfully, that's all it was at that time.  I felt a lot of guilt about eating, but it only occasionally affected my life.  (No need to get into the specifics of those!)

When I was 13, a lot of really hard things started happening in my life.  I gained 25 lbs a year 8th grade, 9th grade, 10th grade, and 11th grade.

When I was in 8th grade, I was bullied a lot at school.  My California attitude just did not fit in Kentucky.  I lost all my good outlets - volleyball, girl scouts, friends to play outside with.  I ate a lot because it was the only comfort I knew.  But the guilt followed me.  I don't think anyone at school even ever said much about my weight, but I had always been told I was fat by my parents.  In my head, there was no way that the mistreatment at school was unrelated to my fatness.  I skipped breakfast and avoided eating at school.  (In fact, I had a friend at the time who insisted I was anorexic.  I managed to joke about it enough to persuade him not to ever tell an adult.  He brought it up daily, and somewhere deep down, I wished he would tell someone so that I could stop.)  Because after school, I would come home, ravenous, to a usually empty house, and eat everything in sight.

After binging, there were only two options.

Binge - Guilt - Purge - Relief
or
Binge - Guilt - Resist purging - More guilt - Lots of crying

So while I fought it, it was also the only relief that I had available to me.  I couldn't understand why I couldn't be a normal person, normal-sized, eating food in normal ways.  I was smart enough to know that eating disorders - especially bulimia - don't even really help you lose weight.  But the guilt was unavoidable, so why not give in to the relief?

I tried harder to eat less.  I sometimes went 3 days without food.  I remember one time that my headache was so bad from not eating for a couple days, that I begged my mom to stop for McDonalds.  She bought me a happy meal, even though I was 13 or 14.  She also told me I wasn't allowed to eat anything else that night (though I probably did anyway, in secret).  I just remember it reinforced this idea in my head - people as fat as me don't even deserve to eat anymore.

And maybe someone out there is reading this, who has felt these feelings before or is feeling them now.
And I'm sorry because the only way I can really actually help is through a one-on-one conversation.  Please feel free to message me sometime, anytime.  It would be a great honor to me to help you on this.

But I know that my experience is not normal.  Most people heal very, very slowly.

When I was 15, I was ready to die.  (I've talked about this on the blog before, so I'm not going to go into it now.)  In desperation, I cried out to Jesus, knowing that if He didn't answer, there was nothing worth having in this world.  But He did answer.  And after that night, I knew that I should never have to feel that guilt and shame again.

Though I did, it was never as strong.  Only one time after that night, did I relapse.  I was at a party, and I had been dieting well.  But at the party, I ate a cupcake.  I was frustrated with myself, and I went to her bathroom, and I just had to erase my mistake.  So I flushed my mistake down the toilet.  And I knew that that was worse.  That what I was doing to my body was worse than eating a cupcake.  That what I was doing to my mind was worse.

And since then, I still have the occasional urge to purge.  My last one was about 6 months ago.  But I thank God that this urge amounts to nothing more than "I can't believe I ate that.  I wish I didn't.  What if?  No.  Never again.  No matter what.  I love myself the way I am.  My love for myself cannot be negated by one thousand cupcakes."

So, that was a long story, but not necessarily all I wanted to say about this.

Like I hinted at, I've been "on a diet" pretty much all of my life.

Only twice have I ever actually lost more than 10 lbs.

The first time was when I was a senior in high school.  I lost 36 lbs.  I bought a senior prom dress that was much smaller than my junior one.  When I tried the dress on to show it off, someone told me, "that would look so good if you lost 10 more lbs/"  That was the exact moment that my diet died.  Because I realized that no one, especially not myself, would ever be satisfied.  I could never be skinny enough, be pretty enough, no matter how many days I got up at 4 am and worked my butt off.

In fact, it wasn't until a year and a half ago, that I discovered a blogger named Laci Green.  She talks a lot about how our society shames fat people and expects, even wants, them to hate themselves.  "If I'm insecure, you should be at least as insecure as I am with that body!"  It might sounds silly, but it's really true.  I had experienced this my whole life.  It was then that I realized that I could love my body, skinny or fat, ugly or pretty, pimply or clear-skinned.

And the truth is that you will never have a healthy body without a good body image.  You might be skinny, at least for a time, but your mind is not healthy if you only love your body when it looks a certain way.

And that's why I know that this is the time I will lose weight, whether it takes a year or 10.  Because I will never give up on my lovely body.  I care too much about it.  I will always try to eat healthy, but sometimes I will eat a cupcake.  And I LOVE that cupcake.  I do not feel the slightest bit of guilt about it, just excitement that I get to eat something delicious!  And the power in the thought that tomorrow I can eat something healthier.  Or maybe I won't.  Maybe I'll slip up or maybe I'll make a conscious decision to indulge.  Either way is okay.  And if I hate myself for it, that's just a silly reason to hate myself!  And it doesn't help anyone.  And it's not worth it.

Since September, I have lost 36 lbs.  (I know, again.)  And it's like some sort of test because I have been wavering around that number for about 4 months now.  Maybe I will work out and eat decently my whole life and never get to that minus 37.  God knows I have much farther than that to go.  But if it's a test to see how much I really love my body, I will pass.  Because there is no guilt in the cupcake, but there is pride in every workout, every healthy decision, and every time I decide to spend energy instead of sitting around.

Just remember, loving your body when it is a certain way, is not loving your body at all.

christian sluts

This is my soapbox.  So listen up.  Because this is the blog I've been dying to write for a year.

Let us start with the title.  Does it piss you off?  Are you indignant?  If I use strong words today, it's because I feel very strongly about this.

In honor of "Shine a Light on Slavery Day," I'm going to do my part to shine a light on the role that you are playing.  In fact, I know very few (if any) Christian women who have not played a role in the culture of slavery that is prevalent in the world today.

Christian women dehumanize women they view as "sluts" or "skanks,"

It breaks my heart that Christian women, who should be using a community of love to bring all lost and lonely women into the fold, dehumanize other women.  I know this is true because I did it myself.  We Christian women oftentimes pride ourselves on modesty.  We made all these rules for ourselves - rules about leggings and dress length and camis.  We work hard to follow them, and then we are disgusted when we see women who do not conform to the dress code that we have created.  And something happens in that moment, we feel morally superior.  This feeling inside of our hearts is bad enough, but sometimes we even vocalize or express these by calling her immodest, ostracizing her, or giving her a look of disgust.

Do you know why you are offended when you see a phrase like "christian sluts"?  Because "slut," as well as "skank, whore, etc." are degrading.  If you wouldn't want someone to describe you that way, how dare you use it (if only in your mind) to describe any other girl out there?

Dehumanizing leads to objectification.

Starting to view women this way, as if they are less because they dress or act a certain way, leads to objectification.  This is why we ask what a woman was wearing or how she was behaving before she got raped.  Because, in our culture, "not being raped" is not an inherent human right.  It has to be earned by  your conformity to society's standards of modesty and how a "respectable" woman should act.  The woman becomes an object, and "I'm sorry, but how could you not expect a man to play with such a shiny toy once you put it out there?"

For more about this, see educator Laci Green -

Objectification is the excuse for slavery.

If a person is an object, I can sell it, no problem.  These women are bought and sold like cattle, with absolutely no regard to them aside from how much money they can make the men around them.  Remember the 3/5ths compromise?  That's when America decided that African Americans would count as a little more than half a person.  The population of slaves in our world today are invisible to us, with no rights.  They get offered a job in another country, and then they disappear forever.  And when we see them on the streets, propisitioning men, we despise them and look at them like they're less than human.

And so it goes full circle.

They're enslaved because of how we think of them, and we judge them because they're enslaved.

The process starts with you.  Change the way you think about women, think about people.  Respect all human beings and their right to freedom.  Or will you look the other way, because you were fortunate to be born in a part of the world where this is a rare problem for you?  Though the U.S. may not have a high rate of human trafficking (though trust me, it happens), our attitudes still increase trafficking around the world.  The first step in ending rape culture is respecting all humans' right to freedom (and to not be raped).  And to do so, we must abolish words like "slut."

So next time you see a woman who doesn't fit your idea of how a women should dress and act, try being her friend, instead of signing away her humanity in your own mind.

Next time you think, "those shorts are too short," or "oh my gosh, she is showing way too much boob," maybe you can take a minute to pray for her.  Don't pray that she changes her clothes.  And don't assume that she doesn't have Jesus either.  Don't even pray that she will respect herself more; you have no idea how she feels about herself.  Pray for her right not to be objectified or dehumanized by anyone.

www.enditmovement.com

maya maya

Being here, being anywhere, you get used to the things you see.  Heartbreak and tragedy just don't hit you the same way.  How could it?  If you see something every day, it starts to seem normal.  I suppose that's how we, as a world, can let horrible things happen, if we are eased into them slowly.

But one little girl has woken my heart back up and broken it all over again.

Her name is Maya.  What can I tell you about her?  She's more musically-oriented than any other child I've ever known.  If she's fussy, you can turn some music on or start singing; she'll forget why she's mad and start dancing.  She sings along with every song I have, even the first time she hears it.  She loves Quincy, when most of the other little ones are afraid of my harmless kitty cat.  She's content to watch me work out, as long as I blow her a kiss as I walk on by.  She's beautiful, absolutely beautiful, with the best smile you could ever see.  She's the happiest little girl I've ever known.

What else could I tell you?  Just a couple months ago, she was severely malnourished - about 6 lbs at age 2.  She was abandoned at the hospital, and my friend Ashley found her and started to take care of her.  Today, she is doing well and has gained lots of weight!  I look at her, and I'm suddenly angry.

Who could do this?  What kind of a person would leave this precious, adorable baby to die, alone in a hospital?

And as quickly as my anger was inflamed, it dissipates.  What kind of a person would do this?  A desperate person, with no hope of keeping the precious baby alive.  Maybe her father thought the hospital could find her a better life.  Or maybe he just didn't want to watch her die.

Whose fault is this?  Mine.  Yours.  Every person who has a lot in this world is burdened with the responsibility for its condition.  I don't want to be a part of a world that leaves beautiful baby girls to die alone in the hospital.  I want to be a part of the world that finds a way to restore the families, to restore the children, a world that doesn't let a single child slip through its fingers unnoticed and unloved.

Just look at her.

Love.

I am Peter

"Oceans (Where Feet May Fail)"

You call me out upon the waters

The great unknown where feet may fail

And there I find You in the mystery

In oceans deep

My faith will stand

And I will call upon Your name

And keep my eyes above the waves

When oceans rise

My soul will rest in Your embrace

For I am Yours and You are mine

Your grace abounds in deepest waters

Your sovereign hand

Will be my guide

Where feet may fail and fear surrounds me

You've never failed and You won't start now

Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders

Let me walk upon the waters

Wherever You would call me

Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander

And my faith will be made stronger

In the presence of my Savior

This song.  Oh, this song.  The first time I heard it I thought it was pretty good.  Yet, the more times I sang it, the more times it became the prayer of my heart.  After all, who doesn't want to walk on the water?  To go on a grand adventure with God and experience the unexpected, wondrous beauty?  I think most of us do.  Just like Peter, we see Jesus out there, standing on the waves as if they're nothing.  And they are nothing to Him; He has overcome them already.  We see it, and it's glamorous.  It's cool.  It's exciting.  And we ask God to take us there.  At least, I asked God to take me there.

And what is it like?  Well, it's exactly what the song says.  I am in deep.  Deeper than my feet could ever wander.  My feet my fail; in fact, they have at times.  When I've tried to do any of this on my own, I've felt myself start to sink beneath the waves.  And all the while, I've been hoping I can keep my eyes above the waves.  Yet, I find myself looking down, wondering why I was crazy enough to get off of the nice, cozy, happy boat.  When you're falling into the waves, the boat looks pretty okay.

This place is deep.  I never would have gotten here without Jesus, just like Peter never would have walked on the water without Jesus.  But it's not a one time decision, or even a weekly affirmation.  When you stop trusting God, when you start to be afraid, you will start to sink.

And the beautiful part, one of the beautiful parts, is that even though Peter got scared and doubted his position walking on the water, Jesus still caught him.  He didn't let him fall and tell him it was his own darn fault.

My feet will continue to fail, but I hope and pray that I will keep my eyes above the waves.  

And if you, you beautiful person you, are still sitting in the boat - with the comfy cushions and hot chocolate - I want you to know that there's so much more to see.  If you step out of the boat, out of your comfort zone, and let the borders of your trust fall down, you will get wet.  And muddy.  And hurt.  And ridiculed.  And sometimes humiliated.  But somehow, the life you will live will be so much greater, and you will never have to wonder....

What if I went for it?  What if I gave it all?

What if I went to the place that I cannot survive on my own?