Grace

Imagine waking up one morning without burdens, without a heavy heart, without weight on your shoulders, or devious thoughts racing through your head.

Imagine going a day without feeling guilt or resentment; your past not haunting you, the grey cloud above you vanished. No more fighting to suppress your fears and anxieties, no more failed attempts to quiet the sick voice in your head feeding negative thoughts into a vulnerable and damaged mind. No more shape shifting into someone you're not, no more giving up, no more hopelessness. You're not trapped in paralytic conviction.

Imagine waking up and everything feels different. Good different. Feels new, almost, except everything is how you left it. You feel refreshed and clean, like when you wake up from a much needed sleep to crisp air and the sun shining, not like you just woke up from an accidental nap in a state of panic and confusion.

Like finally you're free; the shackles are broken, the weight has been lifted. Your armor can be put down. You don't feel alone and you feel like you can actually, finally handle things. All of a sudden you realize all of the innate capabilities you were born with. They're not new, but it feels like it. You've had them all along.

Imagine waking up everyday like this. Refreshed and ready to conquer. Your slate is clean. It's a new day.

That's what grace does.

Christ showed us grace by dying on the cross, His blood used to wash away our sins day after day after day for all of eternity. It's like each day we, mere humans, dirty our canvas with sin and burden and regret and shame and worry and all sorts of stains we think are too rich to get out, and Christ stands ready to scrub and scrub until all is gone and our canvas is restored. He knows how hard struggles may be and how severely things hurt and how truly we ache, but He showed us His unfaltering determination and perseverance through His faultless life enduring strife and pain.

What defeats us, He already defeated. What holds reign over us could never hold reign over Him.

Imagine waking up and realizing you're not alone, there is a meticulous and sovereign God ready and eager to take on your biggest burdens and overcome your fears, anxieties, and guilt. Your battle's already been won by the undefeated King.

Not to say you'll wake up fully refreshed with birds delicately landing on your shoulder singing sweet songs to wake you up. Things will still be how you left them. Conflicts may still need to be resolved, things might need to be fixed. It might take time. You'll hurt and you'll hurt often. But you won't ever be alone. You'll have a constant reminder that you are well equipped with the tools to combat all troubles of this world because He is in you and that's all you could ever need. Nothing can hold power to you because nothing can hold power to the right hand of God. Nothing can defeat you because it's not you fighting anymore. The one who created all into being from breath, who created man from dust, who diminished the sting from death, who rose again; He is fighting in your honor.

It doesn't mean that everything will be perfect, it just means that everything will be okay. For today, for tomorrow, and for the rest of eternity.

Things not to say in front of/to someone who has/has had an Eating Disorder

"I'm just going to go anorexic"
"I'm anorexic for this week/day/etc"
"I'll just make myself puke"
"I could never go anorexic, I like food too much"

There's a difference in having anorexic tendencies and being anorexic, between making yourself puke once and being bulimic, between not eating to fit into a dress and not eating. Don't get me wrong, all of those are harmful, but claiming you have an ED because all you've eaten in 48 hours has been an apple is like complaining about how OCD you are when realistically you just like all your pens facing the same way in a drawer or tend to put your keys consistently in the same place. It's up there with claiming you're depressed because you had bad day, or even worse, telling someone with depression that it'll get better or, that "tomorrow's a new day."
Odds are you don't know what it's like to feel like a failure when you take one bite, to feel awful when you throw it up, to feel even worse if you don't throw it up. There's no winning in this game, but you won't know that until you're certain you're losing and your mind is lying to you saying you're in last place but actually you're the only one playing.
You don't know what it's like to become dependent on the 10 diet pills and supplements you take daily until you forget to take some or decide to stop and get better and you're physiologically not who you were; you are unhappy and mundane, so you have no choice but to revert back to your pills. You don't understand what it really means to suffer until you find out you have permanent health issues, like weak, yellow teeth, and acid reflux that requires long term medication.
The real kick is when you try to stop, try to get better, try to stop taking the pills one by one, eating slightly more, going a day before you stick your fingers down your throat, but you miss something. You're not whole anymore. The scale you hid behind the shelf peaks out and you find yourself standing on it shaking and sobbing. There's really nothing like realizing you've found comfort kneeling in front of the toilet and saving up to buy more pills and feeling empty. At this point, you may even be okay with how your body looks but you can't escape this lifestyle, it's who you are now. When you're lonely and stressed, angry or bored, your eating disorder will always be there to comfort you and there to celebrate with you when you're happy, rejoice with you when you're in love; a reliable acquaintance.
So just be cautious what you say, because it may be the reminder to someone that opens the door to their un-welcomed guest.

"If you don't love yourself, how in the hell you gonna love somebody else?"

I'm really pissed at you (me) for (letting you) (control)ing my happiness, both of you. I've worked hard for years to be in control of my happiness and here you go usurping my reign. I'm pretty certain I've actually become more negative, complaining just to get your sympathy and attention and just as something to say. But I don't want that and I certainly don't need to be dumping my shit on either of you, so I guess I'm sorry. I bet I'm just coming off dramatic and weak. I am not weak. Or at least I wasn't before now.


To my ex-boyfriend, how dare you enter so casually back into my life? I was just trying to sleep and there you are invading my dreams, leaving me to wake up and miss you. Do you know how much it hurts to wake up missing someone? Suddenly the bed is so much bigger and you realize your head doesn't fit on the pillow just as right as it fit on your chest. Don't you know how much you hurt me? Don't you dare think it's okay to make me forget how lowly you made me feel. And then you have the audacity to tell me you "miss" me? (I'm not yours to miss anymore.) I was doing just fine, sometimes a little down and missing our familiarity, but I could rally. Until I knew you missed me. You had me feeling sorry for you and falling for how my name sounded coming out of your mouth all over again and reminiscing through memories like a RomCom montage. The nostalgia you brought on acted as blinders for me. (Luckily I took them off before I fell into a bottomless pit or started running in circles.)

Now to you, the first boy I had actual feelings for since the end of my relationship. I'll start by apologizing. I'm sorry I came to you with open wounds and unsorted baggage, and I'm sorry for expecting you to heal me. That's not your job nor is it what I want; it was just convenient. I'm not usually the type of person to hold such heavy expectations. I probably scared you away and came on too strong, but you've got to understand where I'm coming from. You see, I was just with someone who knew my ins and outs and cared about minute details of my life. I can't expect you to fulfill the familiarity I just lost. However, it wasn't very nice of you to play into my vulnerability. Odds are you had no idea you were even doing it, but you were. It was very rude of you to compliment me and text me all the time. I thought you cared. (I told myself you cared.) Now I'm painstakingly awaiting your name on my phone and looking for a connection that just isn't there. I keep fishing for compliments and shapeshifting into something that I hope will grab your attention. I'm sorry for trying to get out of you what you just weren't willing to give me.

I've looked for happiness in the two of you in fleeting and artificial ways and I'm done. I'm tired of not being who I want to be, who I've worked so hard to be, and I'm tired of not being happy. You guys are welcome to stay in my life if you so choose, but there's going to be some changes.

My Lord is Sweet

By means of Timehop and Facebook Memories, we are able to view our past posts and pictures. Some parts we may not want to relive or even remember, but some are sweet and bring nostalgia. For me, this week has brought up the greatest week of my year, every year for the past four years.

Four years ago, I went on a mission trip to Jamaica for the first time. I had heard of the power this trip carried but I was nowhere near prepared for the immense joy and wonder I experienced. Four years ago, I met the most amazing man I think I'll ever have the pleasure of meeting. Mr. David was 94 at the time and both of his legs were amputated. His family had dropped him off at the infirmary seven months prior to our meeting, and then gone to the US. Talking with Mr. David, he told me stories from when he was in a gang, when he was too poor to afford shoes, but that he didn't have to worry about that anymore because he didn't have feet, and showed me a picture of his young granddaughter tucked in the book of Psalms in his weathered Bible. Although he had clearly been through great turmoil, Mr. David never showed any resentment, and served as the most raw example of God's love I'd experienced, even to this day. The infirmary was only down the street from the beautiful waters of St. Ann's Bay, but Mr. David had never seen the ocean. Until the third day I knew him. Myself and a couple of friends rolled his wheelchair down the dirt path straight to the water. I think because I've grown up near the beach, that maybe it's lost some of its wonder, because I was surprised at how Mr. David reacted. As we grew closer and closer to the water he became nervous and anxious, and when we arrived at the water, he was silent and cried. For an hour we just sat there watching the icy blue waves crash up onto the concrete, occasionally splashing us. I had never seen such joy. For awhile, Mr. David stayed silent. Until finally, he started singing Amazing Grace. What a true heart of God, in the midst of pain and strife, would praise Him. I sat in awe of Mr. David and his faith as he sat in awe of the masterpiece of God. Mr. David loved singing, so he continued singing "my Lord is sweet, my Lord is sweet, my Lord is sweet, my Lord is sweet." I have a recording of him singing on my phone that is one of my favorite treasures. That same trip, I was baptized. It was because of my time with Mr. David that I became sure of my faith and I knew that I wanted the contagious joy that Mr. David had. I was baptized in the same icy blue water that splashed upon Mr. David and I, which to me felt like Mr. David was right there with me. I was nervous waiting to be baptized; I actually backed out right before, but then I thought of all that Mr. David had gone through, and that if he could be so authentic and public in his faith, so could I, and then I found myself walking down the slippery steps into the water. My Lord is sweet.

Three years ago, we ventured into a new mission field north of where we'd been before. Because we were further away, I was only able to see Mr. David once. I walked into the infirmary nervous thinking maybe he wouldn't remember me, but as I rounded the corner to his bed, his eyes lit up and I was greeted with a big smile and a loud "Kimberly!" Although it had been a year since I had last seen him, it felt as though it was yesterday. Immediately I burst into tears. My Lord is sweet. Mr. David asked about my family, and remembered minute details I'd even forgotten I'd told him. I brought him the first of a few pictures, a picture of us taken the year before, as well as a watch and a red baseball cap. We sang some of his favorite hymns, he read to me his favorite parts of the Bible, and he told me he prayed for me everyday. Just those few hours I spent with Mr. David gave me the encouragement I didn't know I needed at the time to carry through what God had planned for me in the following week.

The next day, we did Vacation Bible School for the first time at Parry Town Primary School. The school is located in a very poor part of Jamaica, and the first day, we had no kids. We had to go around the neighborhood, walking up to houses to find children to invite. The community thought what we were doing cost money, but we reassured them it was free, and then more kids showed up the next day. At the end of the first day, I overheard someone talking about an autistic girl who couldn't come. In our recruiting children to come to VBS, someone had stumbled across a family with three kids, an eleven year old boy, a younger boy, and a six year old, highly autistic girl. The mother didn't let the autistic girl come to VBS because she didn't think she was allowed, so the next day, I went to the house and promised that I'd take special care of her, and that we were more than happy to have her. Her mom was very hesitant but let us take Regina after I vowed to never leave her side. Day one with Regina was, needless to say, difficult. A child with natural high energy, as well as autism, I had my work cut out for me. As I was chasing after her, an older lady from the school pulled me aside and told me Regina was not welcome at the school. This lady told me Regina was "broken" and should not return, and that her disability was too much to handle. I felt like this was my fault. I felt discouraged, until Regina's older brother found me at the end of the day and started crying thanking me for caring for his sister, because no one had been so kind in showing her attention before. My Lord is sweet. For the rest of the week of VBS, Regina and I walked proudly past the old lady who said Regina shouldn't return, making sure to always wave.

Two years ago, I went back to Parry Town Primary School and immediately ran up the hill to Regina's house. I was overwhelmed when the family came out and recognized me, and I will never forget when Regina ran out and hugged her "best friend." I loved more than anything getting to know that family, becoming an honorary member, and someone they trusted with their precious daughter/sister. Regina's behavior got better and better with every day, she no longer needed to be in her own space, and could energetically participate with the other kids for longer periods of time. Everyday, Regina and her two brothers and myself would walk up the hill to their house and Jamaery, her older brother, would pick a hibiscus flower for me. My Lord is sweet. Saying goodbye at the end of that week was by far one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.

I visited Mr. David again that year, and brought him another picture and talked about life. He shared some of the most insightful and genuine wisdom I've ever heard and I am so grateful for our conversations. When I left that year, it felt like a goodbye for a long time.

Last year, I didn't go back to Jamaica. It broke my heart not to return to the Douglass family, or to Mr. David. I sent gifts for Regina and her brothers with a friend going to Jamaica, and stuff for Mr. David as well. My heart hurt when I got the news of Mr. David. At 97 years old, he passed away. It brought me peace knowing that he was eager to meet his loving Father, but it stung knowing he wasn't on this earth anymore.

I thank my God every time I remember you. Philippians 1:3

My Lord is sweet.

This year, in looking through the pictures and reliving the memories of the past years, I am more than grateful to have met such incredible people. I get updates on Regina and her brothers from friends on the trip, and Regina's behavior has improved immensely. This week will always hold a special place in my heart. It hurts not to be with Regina and her family; and although I am envious of the people who get to go experience Regina's playful love and hear her contagious laugh, I look forward to the time of year when my Timehop and Facebook remind me of the greatest week of my life. My God is so good to have lead me to Jamaica, into the paths of a 94 year old man and a 6 year old girl. No arrangement of words can allow me to say how much Mr. David and Regina and her family mean to me, and the influence they've had, and continue to have, on who I am. My Lord is sweet.

"Write hard and clear about what hurts." - Ernest Hemingway

In nineteen years, I can say with full confidence that the scariest thing I've ever done was in my Public Address class, second semester of my freshman year of college. I was handed the assignment of "Personal Narrative" and immediately began an internal battle.

I had been working diligently on myself and becoming truly and authentically happy, but I had yet to conquer my past. I knew upon receiving the assignment that it was my chance, but I fought hard. I'm not the kind of person to seek pity or sympathy, and I certainly didn't want to dump my baggage on a class full of strangers.

As if I had no control over my words, when I sat down to write my speech, my past came pouring out. I had written about things I hadn't told anyone and stuff I hadn't even processed fully myself. Quickly my speech turned into a celebration of all I'd overcome, and come Monday morning, I opened up for the first time. With tears in my eyes and my knees shaking, here's what I said:

Everyday is a clean, new, fresh slate – except mine looks more like an overly used whiteboard where, yes the marker is technically erased, but you can clearly see everything that’s ever been written, drawn, scribbled, and sketched on it. 
It’s kind of yellowing and altogether generally off. 

The beautiful images created and designed by my father left my slate, my whiteboard, my canvas, stunning and radiant. But those images were washed away, staining my slate with the desperate tears and heartbroken cries of a five year old who watched as her dad, her hero, withered away, turning into a jaundice yellow mass of skin and bones; as cancer took over her dad’s body as he lost his person and morphed into an unfamiliar sick creature captive to an unruly, unfair, merciless disease. 

The acid forced to come up after every meal for six years and counting burnt holes in my canvas; 

Six years and counting; six years of counting 
Counting calories over and over again to ensure that I wouldn’t go over 250 a day, 
Counting how many pounds went away since I last stepped on the scale, 
Counting how many cavities over the years because, in case you didn’t know, stomach acid erodes teeth, no matter how many times you brush and floss 
Counting how many ribs stuck out in the morning versus the evening, 
Counting to three as I took deep breathes in and out because I was lightheaded when I stood up 

Each acid-eroded hole in my canvas was a sign of success. 

Empty holes for an empty girl. 

Dripping red marks stained my slate from attempts to scratch the dirt from my board, my body, my wrists and my ankles 
My body is a temple 
A temple colored red 
I chisled away at my temple with the sharpest object I could find 
The opacity of blunt red covered my grief, anxiety, hunger until the next time, when the old had dried and the new flooded – a sort of distorted cleansing.

Tainted with drinks of forgettable nights and the blues and greens and whites and yellows of miscellaneous prescriptions – I’d thought I’d finally clean my dirtied slate with alcohol and drugs 

”Here’s to alcohol, the rose colored glasses of life.” 

“Do you want a drink?” Transformed into “Do you want to forget what it feels like to suffer?” then quickly into “Do you want to die?” 
It was “lame” to not drink, you’d be considered “boring.” 
Boring. What’s boring is sitting on a couch in an office telling a trained listener all of the things that really make me “boring,” such as: 
That time I thought that dumping buckets of sand into my car was a good idea. Clearly I was right. 
Those times I slept in places other than a bed: front yards, my minivan, the shower, a dog bed 
The time I came home after a party, went to talk to my mom, and ran smack into her door 
Or when I slapped my own sister so hard she had a handprint on her face for days, a reminder of my actions when I couldn’t remember them at all. 
That time I was so wasted I thought downing bottles of who-knows-what pills was a good idea, accepting the fact that I’d be dead within the hour… bottoms up, right? 
Believe me, I was not boring. 

But what really cleaned the slate, what wiped it all away, was the hot salty tears and aching cries of a girl sitting on the cold tiles of her bathroom floor asking for forgiveness, grace, redemption, and freedom, realizing the biggest mistake of her life; what nearly took her life away 

So I made different use of my slates – what had portrayed all my faults, baggage, and damage now was used to create a world entirely of my own. “Had I not created my whole world, I would certainly have died in other people’s.” – Anais Nin 

A world of creation and life, 
Joy and peace, 
Adventure and curiosity, 
Fearlessness and honesty. 
A life centered around forgiveness and grace, redemption and freedom; a world where I can be unapologetically and dangerously human and it’s okay not to be okay; a world that is boundless and infinite. As John Steinbeck *put it, “And now that you don’t have to be perfect, you can be good.” 

I’d like to end with a quote from one of my favorite authors, F. Scott Fitzgerald: “For what it’s worth: it’s never too late, or … too early, to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit. Start whenever you want. You can change or stay the same. There are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you 
make the best of it. I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people who have a different point of view. – I hope you live a life you’re proud of, and if you’re not, I hope you have the courage to start all over again.”

 I had to write "breathe" periodically throughout my speech as a reminder, but it didn't work. I didn't breathe more than twice, I barely looked up from the paper, and I felt numb for the rest of the day.

Part of me wanted it to be a nightmare, or nobody have listened, but it was real and people heard it.

Like drawing a picture of the monsters under your bed and tearing it up and throwing it away as a kid, sharing such personal aspects of my life put the power in my hands. I felt vulnerable and raw; refreshed and alive. What power did my past have over me now? I had defeated the reign my past had over me, and I had witnesses ready to testify.

Intro

Once upon a time, on a sunny (maybe) Thursday (I think) morning in good ole Hotlanta, a lovely lady, Christy, was cut open and became a mom to her second daughter, yours truly. I was a very tiny baby and came out screaming and causing all sorts of trouble and worry due to an ulcer in my stomach. Nineteen years later, not much has changed; I'm still tiny, causing trouble and worry, but no more ulcer.