Grace Upon Grace

There's always that one question every lesson that leaves me with my thoughts for days, and Lesson 1 for this BSF year was no different - "Can you share with your group a way you have experienced Jesus' grace in your life?"

Sometimes these "heart" questions cause me to walk away for a little bit and really think, but this one came easy.  I LOOK at my grace in the face every day.  I pick her up in the mornings from her bed.  I take care of her needs throughout the day, and I absolutely melt when she reaches out for me to give me a "huggie" and a "kissie."  It's my daughter.  (And now I can add FEELING my grace every single day with every turn, hiccup, and karate chop to the ribs that Will does.)

You see, being someone that starved their self day in and day out for the better part of three years, I did major damage to my body - but God's grace covered me that entire time.  I suffered my share of health related issues during that time, but in no way did I ever suffer as I deserved based on the amount of nutrients I restricted from my body.  God's grace also covered me on the day I finally saw the words "Pregnant" on that "Clear Blue Test."  My body isn't one that should have ever made a baby - because of how I was created AND because of how I treated what God created...yet THREE times, my body has made a baby.  That's God's grace.

John 1:16 says, "Out of His fullness we have all received GRACE in place of GRACE already given."  He was nailed on the cross to wipe every sin in my life completely clean.  He is the spotless lamb that was sacrificed because I would never be able to atone for my sins personally.  Wow, what grace!

As I drove home from taking Bryleigh to school, song after song played on the radio that continued to speak to my heart and where we are in life right now, as well as all that God has done in our lives to get us to this point.  But none spoke so loudly this morning as "You Never Let Go."  It was weird to hear at first because it was that song, sung by Matt Redman (on repeat) that carried me through days... (weeks...months...years) of infertility, and again through the heartbreak of miscarriage.  Needless to say, every time I hear him sing it (or we sing it at church), I can not help but praise Him for Bryleigh Renee, and now William Bradley.

But today, it was even different - Jeremy Camp was the one singing it.  To hear his voice singing any song takes me back to a very specific time in my life - my days at Baylor University.  I had a VERY basic (but super cute) mp3 player that held ABOUT 12 songs on it (that we had downloaded from Napster, of course).  It was during that time that I first heard Jeremy Camp, and I would walk MILES all over that campus and study HOURS in those libraries listening to his songs on repeat.

Baylor was some of my greatest times in my life, but it was always some of my very lowest, where the depression I lived with was so severe, yet SO unknown.  As I listened to Jeremey Camp sing "You Never Let Go," this morning, I couldn't help but think about the countless times God's grace covered me on that campus.  I made countless mistakes and bad decisions, but through God's grace, He protected me daily and carried me through each day, until He sat me down perfectly on my parents 2-seater sofa on Austin Acre Road and I told them, "I just can't go back."  (And then He carried me every step of the way after, but that's a whole other blog!)

"Oh no, you never let go, through the calm and through the storm.  Oh no, you never let go, in every high and every low.  Oh no, you never let go, Lord you never let go of me."  

Thank you Lord, for never letting go of me!

Transformation Tuesday: My Herbalife Results

I've had friends and family asking all kinds of questions about why I started this commitment, if I even needed to do anything at all, why I chose Herbalife, my results, and when am I going to "stop," so I thought I'd share a little bit about my commitment over the past year, and then I'll follow up with what worked for me.

Why I made the commitment...
I have struggled with my weight and eating healthy for {what feels like} my whole life.
MY WEIGHT:  I've been WAY up on more than one occasion, and unfortunately, I've been WAY down.  I don't shy away from admitting that I have struggled with an eating disorder, and I do everything I can to make sure I don't go back down that path.  I have to be sure I'm following plans that encourage eating and fueling my body with what it needs rather than restricting myself from certain foods or low calorie goals.

EATING HEALTHY:  I also don't shy away from the fact that I am not a good eater.  I'm extremely picky and have had some bad experiences trying new foods.  Being picky has held me back, made me fearful, and most of all, made being truly healthy extremely difficult.

Thankfully, God has had me on this journey long enough that I had confidence in myself and found my self-worth in Him.  Many of you are to thank for that as well.  I'm so thankful to have such encouraging and supportive friends and family, some of whom would comment from time to time that I "didn't even really need to lose weight."  I had plenty of days that I felt beautiful, even at my heaviest (and my heaviest had NOTHING to do with "baby weight" as you'll read below).

But when you looked at the actual numbers, and where I was headed, it was scary and NOT at all healthy.  I'll be real honest here and give you the facts - When I found out I was pregnant, I weighed 160 pounds.  After battling hyperemesis during pregnancy, I lost 15 pounds during my first trimester and was down to 145.  I left the hospital (with my nine-and-a-half pound beautiful baby girl) at 155...5 pounds lower than the day I found out I was pregnant. (I felt on-top-of-the-world, great, awesome,  etc...I was going to be in great shape in NO time!)  At some point, and the details don't really matter, I began to pack ON the pounds while I slipped into my role as a mommy.  The day I went in for my first Herbalife consultation, I weighed 170 pounds.  I had gained 15 pounds in about 3 or 4 months, and if I didn't make a change, it was only going to get worse.

A few more numbers - I wore a size 14 (after leaving the hospital in my pre-baby jeans that were a size 10), and my BMI was a very unhealthy 31.

I made the commitment because I WAS unhealthy (even if other people didn't see it).  I was tired all the time with no energy to do the basic things I needed to in order to care for Bryleigh.  I can't teach my daughter how to eat well and respect her body when I am not doing either of those things at all.  And most importantly, I made the commitment for myself, because I want to raise the baby I already have (being active and involved), and I want to be healthy enough to have more babies (plural Brad Hammons...PLURAL ;))!!  {But really, that last part is all up to God, and we are okay with His plans for our family.}

Some of my progress pics along the way!

Why I chose Herbalife...
Over the past few years, I watched as my family transformed their health, with weight loss, increased athletic ability, and overall health.  Not only did they achieve their goals, but their results were long term.  What started as a way for my {now freshman in high school} cousin to get healthy turned in to a transformation for so many in our family, and I wanted to be a part of it!  I respected the results that each of them had, and I knew that I could have my own results if I committed to it.

I also chose Herbalife because of their nutrition plan.  As I mentioned, I am a VERY picky eater.  I get overwhelmed trying to plan healthy meals and snacks every day, so having TWO whole meals and half of a snack already planned for me each day made it extremely easy for me to start eating healthier. {And just to note, I am by no means perfect.  I still slip up all the time, and I'm still learning all kinds of things about nutrition. But I have come so far!}

My results and why I'm not stopping here...
Day 1 I was 170 pounds...Day 365 I was 135.  I've lost a total of 32 inches and dropped from a size 14 to a 4!  I will say the cliche that numbers don't matter...and they definitely don't.  Being a size 4 doesn't define me.  The fact that I weigh 35 pounds less than I did on this day 1 year ago doesn't magically make me a better person, but these numbers represent the progress I made over 12 months. The numbers show that my commitment to a plan paid off and it did work for me, and I'm certainly proud of that.

I'd consider myself still a "Work In Progress," and some people have had a problem with that, mostly because they know my past and are a little fearful I will take things too far.  To that I would say that I have people in my life (ie. my mom and my husband) that hold me accountable and will call me out.  My desire for the next year (and beyond) is to continue to learn what fuels my body best and adding exercise to my normal routine.  So that's why I'm not stopping here.  This journey for me is about getting healthy, NOT getting skinny (or having abs...but if they come, that will just be an added bonus).

Be sure to check back for "What worked for me..." - you can find the blog HERE.

My new worst nightmare

If you've been following my journey, you know that I recently had my first PCOS consultation with Dr. Howard.  I am already on some medication for endometriosis, and this consultation added 3 new medications to the mix, along with a new diet - the South Beach diet where I would strictly limit the carbs in my diet.  I started taking half of a pill of metformin (I had only taken 1 complete pill - 1 on Saturday and one on Monday) at dinner and 2 pills a day of Spironolactone (one at breakfast and one at dinner).  Dr. Howard had also encouraged me to start this new part of my treatment with an appetite suppressant each day at lunch time.

For the past two weeks, I had been really struggling with my appetite.  I'm honestly not sure how much of it was me feeling in control of what was going on and how much of it was me actually not being hungry, but I was eating even less than normal.

I had worked over the weekend to look into all of the prescriptions and research the South Beach diet (I'd be starting on Phase 1 which was pretty strict), and I felt ready on Monday to give it my best shot - eggs for breakfast, grilled chicken breast for lunch, and (thanks to my no-appetite) peanut butter for dinner.  I knew that going forward I'd need to eat more in order to stay healthy, so I was researching recipes and foods that would meet the requirements of South Beach but that I would be able to enjoy as well.

On Monday evening, right before bed, I took all 5 of the pills...I nearly choked on one and gagged on another to the point I thought I was going to throw up.  This process was just starting and I was already dreading it!  I HATE taking pills.  I hate depending on medicine. And I hate that my body starts to develop a dependency on those pills.  On Monday night, 4 months seemed like it was going to be a LIFETIME.

Our Nightmare Begins

Tuesday morning, around 1:30 am, I woke up and felt extremely sick to my stomach.  I barely made it into the bathroom before I started vomiting.  I had never felt so sick or so weak in my life.  I would get cold sweats throughout my whole body, to the point that the back of my hair was literally dripping.  I also felt like there were thousands of needles trying to poke from the inside out of my arms.  The worst part was my heart racing.  I kept telling Brad that I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest.

I finally got settled back down around 3:30 and was able to sleep until about 7:00.  The rest of the morning I was in and out of it, feeling extremely weak and praying I wouldn't get sick again.  Each time I would get up to go back to the bath room or anywhere else, I felt like I was going to black out.

I was also still trying to stick to my SB diet, so I decided I'd make some sugar free jello to start off with.  I fell asleep waiting for it to get ready, and woke back up around 1:00.  When I ago up at that time, I was already feeling pretty sick, but made it into the bathroom before dry heaving for what seemed like an eternity.  The entire time, I began to have the same cold sweats and needle-sensation I had the night before and the racing heart rate had yet to slow down.  I was sitting indian-style in front of our toilet with my arms crossed on the seat and my forehead resting on my arms.  I had NO strength to do anything but sit there until another round of dry heaves would start.

Around 1:30, still sitting in the same position and now throwing up what "acid" stuff was in my stomach, Brad began to question if we needed to go somewhere.  I really wasn't sure how I was going to make it ANY WHERE, but I knew I wasn't going to get any better at home, so we loaded up and headed to the ER.

Our time in the ER

We live next door (literally) to Baylor Carrollton Hospital.  We don't even have to get on a street to get in the parking lot of the ER.  We were there in a matter of about 5 minutes.  We registered, got my blood pressure and vitals taken, and then sat with the initial contact to let her know what all was going on.  I cried as I sat with a barf bag in my hands and no energy left to even dry heave.  I began to have more cold sweats and the pain of the "needles" came over me again.  I told her a little about my story and that I was beginning to question if it was really worth all this.

She walked us right back to Room 3 where Brad and I would spend the next 10 hours of our day.

The doctor came in to the room and immediately noted that I was severely dehydrated based on my lips alone.  She walked through everything that was going on and I told her what I could about all the medicines I was on.  She ordered 2L of fluid and multiple tests.

We started with a few blood tests along with a blood pressure/heart rate test where they would measure my BP and HR while I was laying down, then sitting up, then standing up.  With each test, my blood pressure would go down further and my heart rate would increase.  This can determine how dehydrated a patient is.  Apparently, I failed this test miserably.

What seemed like an afternoon trip to the ER for fluids quickly turned into a scary experience with more questions than answers.  My doctor began to get the blood work back, some of which looked fine and other pieces that looked off.  We knew my blood pressure was extremely low, my heart rate was very rapid, my glucose levels were too low, and we were starting to learn that there were some red flags in other areas as well.

While I was in the restroom (thanks to IV bag 1), Brad overheard my doctor outside our room telling Mattie, my nurse, that "Room 3 is very sick."  I think this might have been the first time we really started to worry about what was going on.

Shortly after that, a technician from a different area came in and explained that the doctor had ordered an ABG - arterial blood gas - which is taken from an artery as opposed to the normal veins.  This goes through muscle and nerve, and mine is located directly under my vein.  I'd have to say this was the WORST part of the whole experience.  The initial technician tried twice in my right wrist, followed by a 2nd technician trying twice in my left wrist, and finally my friend David got it in one shot back on my right wrist.

You can see the nice little knot that was
left behind after the ABG was done.

 Once my doctor got the results back from the ABG, she knew that something was wrong and went ahead with starting the admitting process.  She couldn't tell us much.  She didn't know why my levels were so off, but she knew that it was dangerous for my body and that we needed to get it figured out.

She could tell us that at this time the ph balance in my blood was too low.  When this is out of balance, it causes the various systems in my body to not work properly.  It can also cause kidney and liver damage and introduce issues with the brain.  Needless to say, we were scared and wanted to get things taken care of quickly.

I had already been stuck once for the IV and five times for the ABG, and the doctor had ordered more blood work.  My IV had stopped working - it wasn't letting anything in or out, and then it started really hurting.  So the nurse had to pull my original IV out and started trying to draw blood from other areas.  I was so dehydrated that they were having trouble finding a vein, and when they did, nothing would come out.

The first time we put anything on Facebook or told anyone besides our parents what was going on was around 7:50 on Tuesday night.  The doctor had informed me that if they weren't able to get any blood out or get a new IV in, they'd have to put the IV in directly to my jugular.  Another wave of panic set in and I knew we needed people praying for us.

A phlebotomist came in (after 2 others tried 4 other times) and got the blood drawn.  A second technician came in and was able to get the IV in with a smaller needle.  I'd been stuck 12 times by 8 different people since coming in to the ER, but they had all the blood they needed and I had an IV back in.

This isn't even HALF of the trash from trying
to get my blood drawn and IV in.

Once we had all the blood work completed that my doctor ordered, we were able to FINALLY head up to my hospital room.  We got settled in around 11:30 or 12:00 after what was the LONGEST day of my life and the nurse put my third liter of fluid in.  We knew the nurses would be in pretty often to check my vitals - I think the only thing that happened more than "the sticks" was getting my blood pressure taken - so we went right to sleep to try and get as much rest as possible.

Day 2 - Admitted

Day 2 seemed to get started way too earlier with very little sleep the night before.  The first nurse came in around 5:00 am to draw some more blood (Lucky number 13 and the 9th person) and she was pretty quickly followed by an assistant that came in to take my blood pressure.  I was also taken down to radiology around 9:00 for chest and abdomen X-Rays.

We didn't have much news about what was going on, but we knew we were waiting to see Dr. Kim.  He came in around 10:30 and walked through the past few days and talked about all of the medicines I was taking.  He gave us a little insight as to what was going on, deciding it was "the perfect storm" inside my body, but told us he wanted us to talk with a Kidney specialist before moving forward.

My parents got in around 11:30 and that helped tremendously.  Just talking to them and NOT focusing on all that was going on was a nice break.  I definitely underestimated the lack of energy I had when I got so tired from taking a shower.  My sweet mom helped me blow dry my hair...this was something she hadn't done in a very long time! :)

My sweet mom blow drying my hair :)

Still waiting for the kidney specialist 

We waited most of the day for the kidney specialist, Dr. Perri, but she talked with us for quite a while and worked through what was going on.  She confirmed what the 2 other doctors had suspected, stating that my body was in starvation mode when I came in the ER and that something called "Acidosis" was taking place in my body.  There was too much acid in my body fluids.  From my lessened appetite and eating, to the amount that I vomited, added to the medicines I was taking and the lack of carbs I ate on Monday, my body wasn't able to keep up.

Dr. Perri explained that the fluids should help to get everything regulated again, and she hoped I'd be able to go home the following day!  I had my fourth and fifth bag of IV fluids - these contained more "nutrients" than the normal sodium chloride bags.

Day 3 - Going HOME!

Day 3 was pretty much the same.  My 5th bag of IV fluids finished up around 3:30 in the morning and they unplugged my from everything (IV and heart monitor), so I was able to sleep the rest of the night more comfortably than the two before.

They came in around 5:00 for another round of blood (stick 15) that barely worked at all.  He said he'd turn it in and hope for the best, but about an hour later, another lab technician walked in (stick 16) to try and get some more.  Thankfully she was a little more successful!  There was another blood pressure test (laying, sitting, standing) and a shot of meds around 9:30, but after that - we were finally just waiting for word from the doctors that we'd be able to go home!

B working from the hospital room.

A second kidney specialist came in around 1:45.  He had taken a look at my kidney functions, ph levels, and all of the tests that the nurses had been running.  He said my kidney output had gone back up, my levels were evening out, and he felt I was ready to go home!  Then we just had to wait on word from Dr. Kim.

My favorite "meal" while I was in the ER
and hospital room.

Our Answers. Our Plan.

Dr. Kim came in a little before 2:30 and spent some more time talking with us about all that had gone on over the past few days and weeks.  He gave us his obvious recommendation of stopping the latest medicines I had added and to hold off on the South Beach diet for now.  This was something Brad and I had already talked about doing, so we were glad to hear him say the same thing.

He did let us know that this is something that can happen again, so we'll have to watch for the warning signs from now on and I'll have to make sure that I'm getting an appropriate amount of nutrition - even when I don't "feel" like eating.

This definitely puts a pretty big kink in our plans with Dr. Howard, but I am starting to see God tell me not to rush this (repeatedly...in more than one way).  So we are going to slow down and focus on the endometriosis first, and then work towards getting the PCOS taken care of.

I'll meet with Dr. Howard this Friday to see what all he has to say about the latest developments in his plan for my health and fertility.

Emmers was SO glad I was home and able
to snuggle with him on the couch!

Some tough bruises from after the hospital stay.

I'm thankful to have been in a hospital where I felt prayed
for and loved the entire time.

See Ya Later "Angry Annie" and "Nelly Negative"

I tend to do a lot of “searching” in my life.  This searching has included dark times where I have had no idea what’s going on, and even sometimes, I have had no feelings at all.  Other times, the searching is in the middle of my greatest moments where it seems I am on a mountaintop.  In either situation, I spend countless hours studying different topics, writing out my emotions and prayers, and trying to grasp a deeper understanding of my Heavenly Father as I build my relationship with him.

Over the past few months, I have felt a tugging on my heart to “give up” something for God.  The only reason I put those two words in quotes is because for the entire time of feeling this, I had NO idea what I was being called to remove from my life.  I wasn’t sure how to describe what it was going to look like (following the lent season, fasting, etc) and I had no idea what it was going to be for (preparing my heart for something, praying for someone else, etc).

Giving something up for God can be done for so many reasons: learning scripture, praying for a person or an event, learning a spiritual discipline, etc.  It can teach you a lot about God, and it can teach you a lot about yourself.

I think my past has encouraged me to keep searching for what it was that God was calling me to give up.  Because I have made a promise to myself (and a few others) that I would not follow a normal fasting plan where you limit your food intake, I knew that God was leading me to another option. 

Being someone that has suffered from anorexia, I don’t allow myself to participate in practices that keep me from eating when I am hungry.  For a while, the idea of fasting scared me because I knew how easy it would be to fall back into my old habits.  One week of fasting, to me, would be like an alcoholic walking into a bar, sitting at the bar, and having the bartender place the alcoholics choice drink right under their nose.  It would be almost impossible to not give the drink one taste, and once you have that taste, it’s almost impossible to walk away.  I know I couldn’t walk away from the feeling of accomplishment after one week of control, after one week of results, and after one week of feeling the way I did for so long.  Not at this point in my life, at least. (I DO know that God can give me the power to do that, but that’s for another post and another time.)

Knowing that I couldn’t fast based on normal practices, I kept praying and searching for something that would be meaningful to me, challenge me, and allow me to grow in my relationship with Christ. 

The answer to WHY I would be fasting came to me before the answer of what I would be fasting from.  On Feb 28, I felt God calling me to participate in a mission trip to Moldova.  Although fasting will strengthen my faith in Christ and allow me to rely on Him, it will most importantly prepare my heart to serve Him in something I KNOW I can’t do on my own.

I HEARD God telling me to go on this trip, and I immediately knew that was why I had also felt God calling me to give up something.  But over the past month, I have been searching and praying for what God would have me to fast from, and I just couldn’t seem to grasp what He was trying to tell me (**Even though what I eventually realized He was asking me to let go of is in my EVERYDAY life**)

My little sister-in-law and her best friend (both going on the trip as well) will be fasting from sweets until we leave for the trip.  And that would have definitely been a great option for me as well.  Each time I craved a sweet snack, I would focus my attention on praying for our upcoming mission trip and spending some time with my Father.  But it just didn’t seem like the thing God was calling me to give up.

Tonight, on my way home from our Uptown studio, a clunker of a car pulled out in front of me.  I had a clear, green light and was heading straight through, and they were (supposed to be) waiting to turn right at a red light.  Rather than pulling into the right lane, or even waiting for me to go through the light, they pulled out anyways…in my lane…going no more than FIFTEEN miles an hour.

I angrily tapped my horn twice before whipping past them and screeching back in to the left lane, all the while grumbling under my breath.

As soon as I came to a stop at the next intersection’s red light, I was overcome with guilt and remorse for my sinful attitude that I so easily allow to take over my actions.  And honestly, this was not the first time this has happened over the past few months.  God has been using my road rage to convict me of a serious need for an attitude adjustment.  Over those months, I have found myself turning my grumbles during a temper-tooting tantrum into repetitive prayers asking the Lord to forgive me and to calm my anger down.

It was like a light went off tonight.  “GIVE IT UP, CARRIE.  JUST GIVE IT UP AND LET GO.” 

God was simply asking me to give up being so angry.  Give up flying off the handle when I get frustrated because someone is walking to slowly in front of me at the grocery store.  Give up fuming over decisions and actions in someone else’s life.  Give up nagging at my husband over things I could do myself.  I no longer want to be a Nelly Negative, not for a day, a moment, or even a second.

So this season of fasting (over the next 70 days, until we leave for Moldova on June 9^th) might not leave me 10 pounds lighter, as it would have had I given up sweets or fasted from food.  But I’m thinking I might FEEL 10 pounds lighter as the weight of being an angry person leaves my shoulders.  I’m also thinking after 70 days, it might just be a new lifestyle!

My "After" Story - Part 2

I can remember vividly the first time anyone EVER mentioned that I had passed the point of “skinny” and just looked unhealthy. It was my 10th grade year (second semester because I had driven my own car) and I was at my best friend’s house, sitting in her computer room, talking with her mom. This was a scenario that happened almost every weekend beginning in 5th grade, but this night, there was an honesty and sense of concern in their voice TOWARDS me that had never been there before. I remember them saying that for a time it seemed as if my skeleton was just walking around. I was shocked, BAFFLED at their comments. I looked the same to myself. I could still point out at least 4 or 5 areas on my body that “needed some work.” I couldn’t even FATHOM what they were saying. But the looks on their faces and the tones in their voices challenged me to take a step back and really look at what I was doing to myself. I know it wasn’t an instant thing, but I began to see the difference in the happy, lively, healthy me and the addicted, controlling, exhausted me.

I think about this period in my life DAILY. Sometimes, I struggle with it. Sometimes, I hear the voice in my head that Satan has PERFECTED (How does he sound JUST like me?!), allowing me to believe I’m not good enough and that I’d be SO much happier if I gained control again. Other times, it challenges me in an area of faith, or allows me to use my story to challenge someone I'm speaking to (whether I use it directly or indirectly).

But NEVER in the past 7 years has it challenged me in the way it has over the past week. Coming off an entire weekend of challenging 8 amazing 7th grade young ladies to dig into the Word DAILY, I was challenged myself.

One of the sessions was talking about the importance of the Word and how we are to cling to it and learn it and cherish it. The Word is our source of spiritual survival. It is our direct link with God. It is a love letter written to guide, direct, and challenge us to live our lives in a way that pleases Him.

Isaiah 55:8-11 (NLT) says – “My thoughts are not your thoughts,” says the Lord. “And My ways are far beyond anything you could imagine. For just as the heavens are higher than the earth, so My ways are higher than your ways and My thoughts higher than your thoughts. The rain and snow come down from the heavens and stay on the ground to water the earth. They cause the grain to grow, producing seed for the farmer and bread for the hungry. It is the same with My Word. I send it out, and it always produces fruit. It WILL accomplish all I want it to, and it WILL prosper everywhere I send it.”

I learned a very powerful truth from verse 11 as I walked through the session with those girls.

We don’t go 6 days without eating a meal, and then on the 7th day head up to the Cracker Barrel or IHop, eat a big breakfast, and expect to be FULFILLED for the next 6 days.

Verse 11 says that His WORD is the same as the grain that is grown to feed the hungry. His Word is our spiritual nourishment. So why if we wouldn’t go 6 days without eating, would we go 6 days without reading his Word. And why, after going those 6 days without reading His Word, do we expect to be fulfilled from a Sunday school lesson and a sermon from the pulpit?

There are no crash diets with Jesus. No V8 juice drinks to down on your way to work. We are to sit down daily and spend time in His Word, allowing Him to feed us.

We simply CAN’T survive without feeding our bodies. And our SPIRITUAL lives can’t survive if we don’t feed those.

So what does our spiritual life look like? Are we "full"? If that’s where you fall, that’s awesome, keep enjoying those wonderful “meals” you’re having with Jesus. But what about the rest of us? Does your spiritual life resemble that of an anorexic? Just as someone that doesn’t give their body the nutrients they need is guaranteed to crash at some point, so are those of us that are starving ourselves from the nourishment of God’s Word.

And as I mentioned in the note leading into this one, think about your “after” picture. You might be building a GREAT testimony (or so you tell yourself) that some 8th grade girl or 11th grade boy will connect with someday. You may be having all the fun in the world right now. You might look in the mirror and see something that “pleases” you. Not because it’s right, but because you have become so good at lying to yourself and allowing yourself to believe that “you’re okay!”

Look to your future and think about what will be waiting for you there. Is the body you are starving now going to be filled with physical and emotional pain and scars because of the damage you are doing now?

I would challenge you to just TASTE the Word, sometimes that’s all someone suffering from anorexia needs to get out of the addiction. Maybe you’re farther in than you thought; maybe you’ve been starving yourself for way too long. Sometimes someone suffering from anorexia has to seek out help, and this might be where you are. But wherever you are, DIG IN!

My "After" Story - Part 1

Last Thursday before Brad left work he sent me a text message letting me he wanted to run by Barnes and Noble after he got off and that he would be by to pick me up in a few minutes. As I got in the car with him to head to one of my most favorite places ever, he began telling me about his current reason for going (I say current because he must have a list a mile long of books he’d like to read at some point, and others he’s seen while we’ve been in the store he’s wanted to buy). He had been online during one of his breaks at work and came across the new release list for Barnes and Noble. On that list was “Columbine,” the 417 page book by Dave Cullen that tackles the tough question of why the tragedy occurred by giving, basically, a “play-by-play” of the events leading up to the day as well as the horrific day itself.

You may be wondering why anyone would want to read such a book, but it certainly isn’t the first book of this type that Brad has purchased, I know it won’t be the last, and I know he isn’t the only one that is intrigued by something he couldn’t, in his own mind, conceive. I believe lots of guys follow books like these, as well as their shoot-‘em-up war movies and others where you leave the movie feeling that half the movie’s budget MUST have been spent on the fake blood that is being poured all over the ground.

We follow these stories because they are so different than any real world experience we’ll ever have. And I say “we” because it’s not just a trait that affects men, but women as well. Flip through the tv guide and you’re guaranteed to find a 90210-Sex in the City-Gossip Girl style being shown at any given time. They portray a lifestyle that is extravagant and far out of reach for most of us. But what’s a girl to do but dream about owning every shoe of the season and PRE-own every shoe of next season as Carrie Bradshaw does. And then there’s Serena who partied her way through her first 16 years of life, and when it comes time to buckle down, she has good enough grades (and money) to get her into Yale. None of these shows portray a lifestyle (including drugs, alcohol, and sex all before being old enough to even drive a car) that I would desire to have, but the fancy mansions, gorgeous hair, ahead-of-the-seasons clothing styles, and fabulous hand bags and shoes would not be turned away if you offered them to me. (Like I mentioned earlier…a girl’s allowed to dream)

However, I wasn’t strong enough when I was younger to read stories and NOT let them affect me in a way that didn’t lead me to change my behavior. I remember clinging to books, gluing myself to the tv during Lifetime movies, and focusing on every word during discussions or lectures when the topic was on anorexia. I don’t remember the first time I ever heard the word, but I guarantee you it was the last thing on my mind. Self-esteem wasn’t something I had ANY issues with until I was in at least the 5th grade. And even then, I didn’t have the desire to hurt myself in any way to achieve a new and more “acceptable” look for myself.

I must have read every “Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul” entry on anorexia at least three times. And those lifetime movies were the first thing I looked for when I turned on the tv. I was INTRIGUED by their stories. It wasn’t something I wanted to learn HOW to do, it was just something I wanted to learn about. And this note isn’t to say that those things are what made me battle the disease for years, and they’re not to say that Brad (or any other guy for that matter) will turn into someone that has to shoot a gun to get pleasure out of life…it’s to say that we are so intrigued with the story BEFORE the “tragedy,” but what about what’s left behind.

As I sat with three of the girls in my Disciple Now group last weekend, (I had BREIFLY shared with them that I had struggled for a period in my life with anorexia and that I would probably battle with depression for the rest of my life – mainly just to let them in on who I was, but it did go along with some point I was trying to make as well) I saw myself in that group. Not that I believe she is the next statistic of American culture to starve herself meal after meal to obtain the “perfect” figure, but I saw the younger me, the one that was so intrigued with the books and the movies. She even admitted to me that she had always wondered what it was like, and she didn’t hold back with the questions.

The entire time I sat there with her during that conversation, and for the past week that has followed the conversation, I can’t help but go to my life AFTER being anorexic. I could feed her desire to learn more and more about the addiction, disease, and sin that had a hold on my life for years, that’s the easy thing to do. Answer her questions. Tell her the stories of what a day was like for me. Tell her how good it felt to be in CONTROL of something in my life. I’ve prayed my whole life that God would give me a story to tell, a way to connect with people and to show His glory to them. I believe He has given me MANY stories to tell, and yes, in some instances, my story of how I struggled is perfectly fitting. But sometimes, we need to look at what happened AFTER the event, tragedy, sickness, or addiction took place.

I came home tonight to a stomach ache I have had all too often, one I barely even mention to anyone around me anymoe because I'm so used to them. The fear of not being able to have children won’t start after Brad and I have tried for a couple of years and see no results, it started when I was in the 11th grade and read my first story of what can happen BECAUSE of anorexia and not what happens DURING anorexia. That fear started before I even knew Brad. What if my selfish desires to have a body that was pleasing to what I saw in the mirror damaged my body to the extent that it will cause me an emotional pain much deeper than any physical pains I have felt from the addiction itself?

No “before” picture needed, the after is enough for me.

I began to eat “regularly” again the middle of my sophomore year in high school; however, shortly after (Spring Break of the same year) I began having pains in my stomach that would literally wipe out all my energy. I remember the first night it ever happened. I was with my two best friends and we had just gotten to Blockbuster to pick up the movies we’d be watching during our millionth slumber party together. By the time we got to the checkout line, I couldn’t even stand up on my own. My two friends carried me (literally) out to the car, and the drive from there to the gas station was a complete blur to me. This would definitely not be the last of these “episodes” and by far not the scariest. I can remember lying on the couch in my living room after one of the worst ones and crying because I couldn’t move my arms or legs.  I didn't know WHAT was wrong with me.

How could I have been so selfish to harm my body in such a way that food would become the ENEMY? Not that it hadn’t been my emotional enemy for the last several years, but now, it was my enemy in a new way.

Seven years ago, my life changed because of decisions I made to starve myself daily. Not a day goes by that I am not affected by those decisions in one way or another. Whether it’s gagging at the thought of food, not being able to finish a kids meal at Chilis because I “eat like a bird” (as some of my friends tell me ), or pains in my stomach that with each pulse of pain remind me that I did this to myself. I believe I might have been one of the youngest patients in Sulphur Springs to go to the GI doctor for a colonoscopy, and I didn’t have one nurse or doctor at the hospital in Tyler NOT make a joke about the fact that I was having an upper GI “well before my prime.” At the time, I laughed. Now, it makes me sick to my stomach. I’ve been to enough doctors in the last 7 years, had enough tests run on my body, and been sick enough times that I can diagnose myself and tell you which part of my digestive system is NOT acting properly at the moment.

The “after” story isn’t nearly as intriguing as the “during” story. But it’s the honest part. It’s the part that sticks, it’s the life I will live with and continue to adjust to and struggle with for years to come. It’s a pit I pray daily I never fall into again.