The devil dusted off the scale,

placed it so gently in front of me.

He motioned at my bumps and rolls

and every stretch mark he could see.

He let me, wide-eyed, calculate

how my body had betrayed me.

With every bite of food I'd ate,

it'd packed on pounds so evilly.

The devil had to cover his mouth

to keep himself from snickering

as my tears rolled down and down.

"She hates her body for me."

Jesus dusted off the scale,

placed it so gently in front of me.

He motioned at my bumps and rolls

and every stretch mark He could see.

He caught my chin and held my gaze,

"Each mark on your body has meaning."

Lifting His hand, He let me trace

the scars that proved His love for me.

I looked my body up and down,

still not finding any beauty.

"Daughter, your body is a gown-

A map of your faithfulness to Me."

Friends, I may not look the part

But I'm free from my e.d.*

Though blamed by the devil for my weight gain,

It's an anthem of God-trust for me.

[*eating disorder]

This is scary. My mind is a scary place. I lay next to my husband right now, I'm 18 years old, and I met him 7 months ago. I got married 4 months ago- I've been married to Evan longer than we knew each other before we got married. I wrote a song but am a little afraid of showing it to people because what if I just want attention? It's called "Your Closeness" by me of course. It's about the Holy Spirit. Yes, I'm religious, as other people call it, but I know it as a relationship between me and my Abba in heaven. And Jesus. And the Spirit inside of me. The bracelet on my wrist says "Trust in His love". I've been wearing it for over a year, since my second round of eating disorder treatment at a residential center in Texas. Cypress, TX- Center for Discovery. It was a 15,000 sq foot house! My life isn't tragic, but it has been crazy for me being on this earth for just 18 years. Well I'm turning 19 on the 19th of next month. I wonder why there's a bird with cherry blossoms on the bottom of my laptop screen. Anyway... where was I? I used to struggle with anxiety as a little girl, then depression for my teenage years until now. Hey I just realized this birthday is my "golden" one! Did you know I can touch my tongue to my nose? Uh huh! Impressive, right? So, again, anyways- let me be clear- I'm not crazy. I don't think so at least. I mean it is 11:19 at night so maybe I'm a bit sleepy. Yeah, I am. That pretty much empties out my brain for now, see you again in 10 seconds.

arms wrapped around jean-clad legs

body burrowed in corner of the plushy couch

i sat up straight.

it was dbt group

"living in your body"

on a monday afternoon

in an eating disorder treatment center.

others were strewn about the room

all eyes intent on the "twilight zone" episode

unfolding on the tv screen.

then there was this-

a second that the woman's face was revealed

and she screamed about how ugly she was

and the people around her turned away in horror

that's when i saw a flash of my own self

reflected in her beauty.

the beauty she could not see

nor the people around her

but

was there.

hope rushed into my heart in that moment.

Half-heartedly, and weighed down with a sinking sense of hopelessness, my mind searches desperately for a place in this world I might find a purpose to hold onto and a safe comfort to curl up in, longing that such a discovery would somehow serve to convince me that my life is worth preserving and that dying is not where my only hope lies.

I'm a tree planted by living waters

but I am not evergreen.

My ideas and thoughts and beliefs

grow like leaves in the spring.

Often I marvel at how well

they weather the summer heat!

But autumn brings the frost and cold

and change they do my leaves.

Sunshine yellow, burnt orange, scarlet

are born from what used to be green.

Then one by one as I must

each of my leaves I release.

I watch my hopes, stances, dreams

yes die in

faith

that though the winter is deep,

My roots held by Your firm soil

Jesus You will always keep.

Define me, please, by what you see

when you look into my eyes.

Chocolate irises, dark pupils

gazing your way, midsize.

Can you curl up in them

find comfort when your pain's too much?

Ever seen them empty

Vacant, cold to the touch?

What about the Holy Spirit

have you seen Him shining through?

Ever glimpsed your own reflection in my eyes

looking back at you?

As I sit to write, I'm reminded of a song I re-listened to earlier today: "The Silence of God" by Andrew Peterson. It starts:

It's enough to drive a man crazy; it'll break a man's faith

It's enough to make him wonder if he's ever been sane

When he's bleating for comfort from Thy staff and Thy rod

And the heaven's only answer is the silence of God

Have you ever felt that? Had such a strong longing to hear from God, but heard nothing? It's like being heartbroken by God, or that's how it feels to me. The pain, the loneliness, the desperation to just hear Him and know He's there feels like it could tear you apart. Tears fall. You cry out into the night. And there's no response.

I was experiencing this so intensely a few weeks ago. All I wanted to do was know God at least heard me as I was pleading with Him. I wanted Him to confirm that to me, and I asked Him over and over again, please, let me know You hear me.

I've always felt I've struggled hearing God's voice, especially after miss-hearing Him when, at 14, I thought He told me who I was going to marry one day, and it ended up clearly being all wrong. I couldn't understand how -why- He would let me mishear Him like that when all I wanted was to hear what He was truly saying. Now, I believe He allowed me to misunderstand Him like that to show me He wanted me to seek and trust in the Guide above the guidance. Still, mishearing Him was part of what led to my crisis of faith last year. All my doubts, along with my struggles with depression, loneliness, and an eating disorder, piled up so high that I began questioning how I really knew He was real at all. It was the darkest and most hopeless time of my life.

Fast forward through a decision that I simply needed to choose whether I believed in God or not, and choosing to believe, then, soon after, meeting a friend who would become my first boyfriend, going through residential treatment for my eating disorder, finding relief from a lot of my depression in the process, coming back home, going on dates and eventually a breakup for the first time, then relapsing into my eating disorder and depression again, I attended a discipleship training school for two and a half weeks. It's topic for week 1 was "Discerning God's Voice".

During the week, I heard a speaker say that one way God spoke to us was through conviction. So, because I was so desparete to hear from Him, and He didn't seem to want to speak to me through any other way, I began praying, earnestly, that He would at least convict me of something- anything! I felt no conviction, I heard no answer.

Silence.

One day, though, a thought popped into my brain. It's true, I knew I believed He did care, but it also didn't feel like it. Nevertheless, with the head knowledge that Jesus did love me- deep enough to conquer death for me by dying in my place- I pictured Him up in heaven in that moment, admist, yes, even the silence of God, longing for me to know that He still loves me. To trust in His love. On that day, I wrote this:

I'm asking Him to give me the faith to keep believing He loves me even though there is so much I don't understand. I don't understand how to KNOW He's real, don't understand why He's not answering me... But He is God, and I am not. So, I want to trust in Him, even though I can't see or feel Him right now. Because, once I'm through, I want to see the beautiful smile on my Lord’s face when He tells me that my faith- in the fact that He still loves me and always has- brought joy to His heart as He desperately longed for me to know of His deep and immeasurable love for me.

That realization was truly a gift to me. And though I didn't see it then, the Bible says that "Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow of turning," (James 1:17). I believe that thought, which entered my head so randomly but had such an impact, was given to me by the Holy Spirit- God Himself. And in that way, God spoke to me without me even realizing it!

A few days later, still not comprehending my prayer had already been answered, the Lord gave me another confirmation- that, indeed, He does hear me and want to speak to me. It was through a friend who I hadn't heard from in months, when, out of the blue, she decided to send me two Bible verses over text. The first was this: "I sought the Lord and He heard me, and delivered me from all my fears," (Psalm 34:4). My jaw dropped. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that this was God's answer to my prayer. He heard me! He really did!

After that, I was, finally- as I had asked- convicted of something. And guess what? I rejoiced! It was another answer to my prayer.

It's been a few weeks since then now, and I've really been struggling since then. I came home from my discipleship training school, leaving behind all the people I had grown to love in the short time I was there, and now have been waiting to go back to residential eating disorder treatment. Thinking back today, I don't really see any way I've heard from God since I got back home, but I also realized that I haven't been seeking Him. "Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you," (Matthew 7:7). If I'm not intentionally listening, how can I expect to hear?

When you don't hear from God, though, the advice I've been given is going back to the last thing you remember Him saying to you. If you feel like you've never heard Him speak to your soul, think back to when you were first saved. Whether you realized it then or not, the Holy Spirit led you to make that decision to place your faith in Jesus as the Son of God, your Lord and Savior. God spoke to you: He called you. So remember that, hold onto that when the silence is dreadfully loud, and find comfort in knowing God DOES want to speak to you again. Listen, and in His time, He will.

There's nothing you can do that will make God "change His mind" and decide to talk to you. Everything He gives us is because of His grace, not any part we play ourselves. But if we don't desire to hear from Him, will we even recognize it when He does speak to us?

"Behold, I will do a new thing,

Now it shall spring forth;

Shall you not know it?

I will even make a road in the wilderness

And rivers in the desert." (Isaiah 43:19)

Verity's eyes were pinned on the granola bar in front of her. She picked it up, turned it over in her hand, pressed it against her lips, then put it back down.

"Eat that before 11." Her father's voice commanded her attention, but instead of turning toward it, she glanced up at the clock. A quarter till.

The 17-year-old nodded her head slightly, long, wet hair bobbing, then listened as her father's footsteps receded into his office room. Verity waited a few seconds before taking a big bite of the granola bar. And she chewed.

Plastic baggie in hand, Verity padded into the pantry on bare feet. Her mouth was still full, and she had no intention of swallowing. If her dad wanted her to eat, she would "eat". It would make him feel better.

Brown liquid plopped from her mouth into the bag. She spit again, and again. Then, placing the warm zip-lock in her pocket, she tip-toed back out to the kitchen counter, where the rest of her granola bar waited for her to begin the process all over again.

Later, down in her room, Verity googled the definition of "eat" on her computer. To "put (food) into the mouth and chew and swallow it." Oops... so she hadn't really eaten. Well, her father had never come back out of his office to find and ask her whether she had, truly and actually, fully consumed that granola bar, so she let her conscience remain numb.

Toddlers need to be told to eat, not girls in their late teens. Verity put a fist to her forehead. And anyway, toddlers will usually come find you to tell you they're hungry. Well, I don't feel hungry, Verity reasoned. That was mostly true.

But now she had to figure out what she would do about lunch. And life... no, she couldn't think about that now. She sighed. The way she was looking at things right now reminded her of the song "Do the Next Right Thing"- from a children's movie- except, for her, "Do the Next Wrong Thing" would be a more accurate title.

Verity couldn't look that far ahead, not now. This was her surviving. She knew she'd pay the consequences later, but somehow, she just did not feel like she cared.

THIS IS MY TRUE STORY, though my name is Rylie, which means "courageous" instead of "truth". I'VE NOT BEEN COURAGEOUS, I'VE NOT BEEN TRUTHFUL, AND THOSE ARE JUST THE FACTS. But I find comfort in a song I've heard recently, called "Lean" by Nichole Nordeman. Here is a chorus, the words sung to God... which I want to make my cry, as well:

"I COULD STAND,

I COULD FALL,

YOU WANT ALL OF ME.

I COULD RUN,

I COULD CRAWL,

YOU WILL ALWAYS BE.

YOU'RE NOT IMPRESSED WITH ALL OF MY BEST,

NOT DISAPPOINTED WHEN I DON'T LAND ON MY FEET.

EVERYTHING YOU ARE ASKING ME...

To lean."

I'M HOLDING ONTO THAT, for: grace and truth came through Jesus Christ (John 1:17)- who is: the way, and THE TRUTH, and the life (John 14:6).

I stood in a field much like the one I had pictured, the golden straws and green wisps mixing together into rippling waves of grass - little buds poking up here and there, some opening up to the sunshine. Licking cracked lips, I squinted into the wind.

I'd wistfully visualized this place as a young girl, but I never imagined I'd find it 60 years later. I thought it'd always live in my head. But now, as this warm breeze pawed at my silvery hair and the extra fabric of my dress fluttered around my bony frame, I could scarcely take it all in.

Closing my eyes, I thought of all the dream-come-trues I'd experience thus far in my life- dreams that I'd never known my heart possessed in the first place.

I never got married. My boy-crazed teenage years had faded into a life of living among friends and family, never to stumble upon "true love" as they called it. But, unlike my young mind had portrayed a single life to look, I was not perpetually lovesick or always longing for a man. I'd been lonely at times, yes, but the joy I could find in untethered devotion to the Lord was planted in my tear-soaked youth, sprouted in the younger years of my womanhood, and bloomed as time stretched on.

Placing my hands on jagged hips, I looked down at myself for the first time since arriving at this meadow. Slowly, and through the floral material that made up the front of my dress, I traced the dips and wrinkles of my skin pooling around my stomach. A light smile settled on my face. This was the same body that, as a young girl, had revolted me so strongly. As an eight-year-old sitting cross-legged in her second-grade classroom, I'd decided my belly was too rolly. The list of dislikes had grown until I could barely stand living in myself, and then, at 16, the disordered eating of my young teenage years had taken a sharp turn into an eating disorder.

I remembered, I remembered. It racked my family and my faith in God. My first round of treatment went well until I broke up with my boyfriend, after which I faltered and plunged back into the eating disorder. Nevertheless, my trust and knowledge of this Man who died in my place, Jesus Christ Himself, grew throughout this time, and my second round of treatment was different. I knew He loved me. I'd always known that, but this time, I held onto it. And finally, softly -and over the days, months, and years- His love seeped deep enough into my soul that it penetrated the part of me that hated my appearance so badly. The part that needed to control the food I ate to be okay.

That's when I began to walk in freedom, my weight and shape growing and changing with time, but Jesus' love for me AND my body giving me a reason to nourish myself even when I did not want to. That's not to say I never looked back, but here I was, 75 years old, and able to gaze behind me and see a life lived, by God's mercy, NOT centered on a need to look a certain way, but freed. I was free to walk in His good purpose for me, no matter what a mirror revealed to me or numbers blinked back at me on a scale. I'd found joy again.

Sighing, and back in the present moment, I began taking high steps through the grass. My ankle gave way, and I tumbled down, but through the pain of my aching bones hitting the dirt, I laughed. It would not be this way forever. Each birthday it became more apparent that my greatest dream would really come true someday. Seeing this field today, I could perceive only one thing missing. It was Jesus- in physical form, walking beside me. And that, my friend, is when my happily-ever-after will truly begin.