On The First Generation

"You shall not worship them or serve them; for I, the LORD your God, am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children, on the third and the fourth generations of those who hate Me, 6 but showing lovingkindness to thousands, to those who love Me and keep My commandments."

Ex. 20:5-6

Today I got to spend the day watching my sweet nephew. I sat and grinned from ear to ear, as he told me his ABCs, counted past 10, and spelled out his name while I wrote it in chalk. He is the brightest two year old I know, of course. He would fuss about going inside or taking his nap. I told him no fussing, but to use his words to tell me what was wrong. Though my words bursting past his fleshly tears probably didn’t feel nice in the moment, he obeyed. I pray that he knows a life that comes from obedience—that he doesn’t chose to challenge it the way I have, the way most of us first generationers do.

Recently, I have had to sift my way through some consequences of generational sin. Fear which enslaves. Lies which consume. Thoughts which plague my mind over and over again. Some consequences flooding my life as a result of decisions that were not even mine, others decisions that were. I am by no means saying a genertaional curse is a means to sin. Scripute is very clear that  the generational curse is practiced, not directly passed down; rather it must be willingly accepted.  

Num 14:18 'The LORD is slow to anger and abundant in lovingkindness, forgiving iniquity and transgression; but He will by no means clear {the guilty,}visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children to the third and the fourth }generations.

"The generational curse is on everyone who is guilty of their own sinful behavior. The curse comes in the form of natural consequences as a result of the modeled behavior from parents and society. When a son or daughter faces the building of their moral inventory on the backdrop of willful rebelling to God, their job proves difficult. There are natural consequences to the one that chooses a sinful life apart from God. The decisions that each and every Christian and non-Christian parent makes will influence the future decisions of our children and society. Many of the issues we face today as a Christians are a result of the decisions the generation ahead of us made. We all pay for our own sins in the curse."

Gal 6:7 Do not be deceived, God is not mocked; for whatever a man sows, this he will also reap.

Let’s just be real: being the first generation to be redeemed is just plain hard. Not impossible, but hard.

I was telling a friend how smart and obedient my nephew is. She reminded me that this is how the Lord intended for it to be when you have parents who take the time to teach you the ABCs…to ask you how to spell your name over and over and over until you know it by heart. Who sit at night and rock you to sleep, praying for your future spouse. Parents who discipline you because they love you so much—it’s not pleasant, but it is in this moment you are most sure of their for you. The attitudes, discipline, and Truth passed down from our parents can radically impact our lives and our childrens lives.

Today, seeing this precious boy’s joy and obedience made my battle as a first generationer all the more light. Today, I got a glimpse of the fruit seen in the generation to come, fruit that may not come apart from my labor. Fruit that is so worth the hard I am in right now. The fruit for which I will continue to labor, with JOY. Fruit that I pray my kids will know.

Today, I am both challenged and encouraged. Challenged in the areas of my life yet to be fully surrendered to obedience. Challenged in my desire to know Christ above my flesh. Challenged in walking in the newness which has been lavished upon me. Challenged in humility. Challenged in the wrestling. I refuse to pass death to my children. This is a high calling, one which I cannot yet fully understand. I will continue to wrestle the curse. To replace the tendencies of my flesh with the disciplines of the Spirit. To replace the lies with Truth. I will cling to the hope that one day out of these ashes new life is born, beauty for ashes.

Just like my brother has fought for the fruit which I now see in that precious two-year-old heart, I pray that you give me the same willingness to wake up everyday and chose to walk in the newness. To chose to make different decisions in my life which continue to break the chains handed to me over the years.

 Oh, glorious One—thank you that out of the ashes, you make us new!!! Thank you that my kids may never carry the weight and guilt of the generations previous. Thank you that my grandkids will know even less of it. Thank you for making me new.

Thank you for using a day with a precious two year old to encourage me in the battle, knowing that this fight is no longer just about me—it is about the generations to come. Fighting this battle is demanded, even when I don’t feel like it. Thank you for Jesus—the only way we are made new.

The nations will see your righteousness and all the kings your glory; you will be called by a new name that the mouth of the LORD will bestow.                                  
                                                                                -Isaiah 62:2

Human Sex-Trafficking Awareness Day

Today is human sex-trafficking awareness day across the country.

I want to tell you a story.

A man was visiting a brothel. He was actually an undercover cop, but no one knew it. He was walking through the building, getting the lay of the land within this prominent Red Light District. As his eyes darted from room to room, corner to corner, he took up notes in his head as to the placement of everything. He knew in a few months he would be back here; the next time, he wouldn’t be undercover.

A few weeks prior, the authorities had several reports of possible cases of trafficking. It led to the discovery of a large trafficking ring, actually over 30 brothels intertwined, in one way or another. This was one of them. He was here on a mission; one which he could not act on until it could all come down at once. He was doing justice. It took time. But the payoff, well, the payoff would result in the HUNDREDS being set free.

As he finished up touring the inside, he noticed a door leading out back. He had come in broad daylight, so many of the young girls, free from the demand of their clientele, were playing outside on this sunny day. The door banged shut behind him as he took several steps out onto the back patio. His eyes skimmed the surroundings, as he immediately envisioned the troops surrounding the tall wooden fence, which currently served to lock these girls into this hellish nightmare. His plan of action was just about complete.

As he turned to head back into the darkness of the brothel, something caught his eye. Slowly, he rotated his body back in the direction of the east end of the yard. Much of the terrain where the little girls were playing was sheeted in lifeless brown grass. Then there were certain parts of the ground encompassing the fence that were simply covered in dirt. Sitting deep in the shadow of the fence, he wonders how he even noticed her. Her skin was a light hazelnut, her tattered brown curls fell well past her shoulders. She was hunched over a bit, sitting in the dirt.

He watched her for a few long moments, as his mind struggled to accept the vision seeping through his eyes. After all, this wasn’t the kind of thing they prepared you for in the force. This wasn’t the kind of thing they prepared you for in parenthood. This was just not something you would ever think you might need to be prepared for.

She sat back a bit, her bottom gently landing in the little pile of dirt that she rested on. He watched as she took the handful of dirt she had just picked up from the ground and proceeded to dump it right onto the top of her head. He watched her pale face expressionless face as she continued reaching forward and sweeping up large handfuls of dirt into her palms, and then piled it atop her curly locks of hair. It began to sweep down over her eyes, some piling up atop her sharp shoulder blades. Her white tank top was completely dusted in the russet dirt, its red undertones disguising her lighter complexion.

After an hour or so, of just being glued to that spot, one of the girls who had been playing with a ball walked over to the man. She followed his eyes which were still glued to the little girl covering herself in dirt. She tugged on the bottom of his shirt, breaking his trance and getting his attention. He looked down at her, her big brown eyes gazing up at him. Broken from his state of denial, he hesitated before proceeding to ask the childlike teenage girl what exactly that young girl was doing over there by fence.

Having already seen the child of whom he was speaking, the girl refused to unlock her eyes from his. She solemnly replied, looking straight into his eyes. "She was taken from her maw when she was five years old.  She eight now. She new here. Last night, madam asked me to take her upstairs and get her ready for her debut. Her whole body, it was shakin’ as I applied the pink blush and dull lipstick. I tried to tell her she had to stop those tremors or they were gunna beat on her, but she couldn’t. I sat outside the whole time.  I talked to her afterwards, told her it was all gunna be okay. Her mind seemed to be somewhere else. 

Now she over there trying to bury herself in that dirt pile. She done can’t handle the pain. She tryin to go on disappearing. I guess we all try to one way or another—you have to to make it round here. She just out here makin it happen in the physical."
He stood, perfectly still, the tears pouring down his cheeks, as he realized that this one, this precious little girl, did not have enough time for him to do justice. What if this was his daughter? He could not wait a month, a year, for the go ahead to save the hundreds. This ONE would not make it til then. The ONE needed him today, right now. He was overwhelmed by mercy. As he began striding towards her dirt pile in the corner of the yard, he decided that in this moment, right now, SHE mattered more then the hundreds.

Let’s rise up and come together to make a difference for the ONE today.

Not all are called to jump on the next flight to a trafficking hub across the globe, nor are all called to commit years to the pursuit of these girls freedom. However, we ARE each called to “Learn to do good, seek justice, help the oppressed, defend the orphan, and plead for the widow.” Isaiah 1:17 We are called to share the hope to which we have been called. We are called to love our neighbor as ourselves. We are called to lavish grace and mercy and love upon those in need.

You might not ever see one of these precious girls face to face, but just imagine all the eyes she might look into—and into the brokenness she can speak of a God who met her right there, a God who made her new. She can share of HIS love and grace and redemption in her own life. Let us rise up, generation, let us fight for these beloved daughters of our Daddy.

What that looks like is different for each of us. I pray that the Spirit would lead you to rise up according to His glorious will. Here are some resources that offer lots great ways to unite in pursuit of freedom for these women and children.  

The A21 Campaign

http://www.thea21campaign.org/21-ways-to-help.php

The Not for Sale Campaign

http://www.notforsalecampaign.org/

The Polaris Project

http://www.polarisproject.org/human-trafficking/overview

International Justice Mission

http://www.ijm.org/

Mercy Ministries of America

http://www.mercyministries.org/sextrafficking/

The Home Foundation

http://abolitioninternational.org/

International Crisis Aide

http://www.crisisaid.org/

"Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born, I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations." -Jer. 1:5

For the 27 Million

Did you know that over 27 million people are living enslaved in the world right now?

27 MILLION PEOPLE.

ARE SLAVES.

IN 2012.

What do you do with that?? I honestly don't know. Here is what I do know—each of those 27 million matter. They are someone’s daughter, sister, brother, father, son, friend, aunt. Each of these individuals were created in the image of God—they matter to Him.

This year, Passion 2012 has begun to peel back the curtain and allow 40,000+ college students to see the reality of modern day slavery. In the span of just 72 hours, these broke college kids have given over THREE MILLION DOLLARS to fight the enslavement of brothers and sisters from the city of Atlanta (where the conference is being held) to the ends of the earth.

Louie Giglio, John Piper, Beth Moore, Francis Chan, and Christine Cain are coming alongside Hillsong, Chris Tomlin, David Crowder Band, and Lacrae to bring Truth from God’s word and time to worship and praise His glorious name. This is the first year I have not gotten to be at Passion in real life, but I have been blessed to watch it all via simulcast this week and the Lord seems to be breaking my heart for His enslaved children all over again.

Praise Him, that He would give me a hope and a future beyond my past—oh, I do not deserve it. And He will do the same for them.

As I have been listening to these men and women speak the Truth which has been placed upon their hearts, I consistently see a theme which is this:  who am I, that HE would CHOSE ME?? And yet, in His floods of grace and mercy, He has done exactly that. He has called each of us to proclaim with boldness the Truth that sets the captives free. And yes, that was us—that was me—apart from Him, that still is ME.

The line between us and them is getting slimmer and slimmer for me. The line between the 27 million and myself, that is.

This week the reality of slavery has resonated in my heart deeply. Lord, why not me? Why was I born in America, in the land of the free? Why was I not sold for money as a little girl? Why did you guard my life in such a manner? Why am I able to afford an education? Why do I have freedom to follow after you?

This week, my “daughter” has gotten to come home with me to St. Louis. As we have spent lots of time with my family and friends, there have been many questions she must answer over and over again. The fact that she is from South Korea has consistently brought up questions and discussion about the recent death of the dictator in North Korea. It was through these conversations I realized just how real this 27 million really is.

Sometimes, I think it is easier to ignore the world outside of my own (which has enough problems of its own) then to even attempt to rationalize the enslavement across the ocean.

In North Korea, men, women and children are starving to death. If a man or woman does not express their deepest sorrow at the loss of their dictator by shedding tears, they will be imprisoned. There is no way out—they cannot escape the borders of the land. Not by place, train, car or even by foot. From edge to edge, they are walled in. Women and children are being sold into the trafficking ring for $40 so that their families will not starve. In fact, women are selling themselves—selling their bodies for food. Over 80% of North Korean refugees are victims of human trafficking in China. There is no option to worship freely—men and women must raise their children to place all of their hope in a man on a throne, a sinner at that. All of their hope is in a man who busies himself with training up an army while his own people are being bought and sold, oppressed, and dying of hunger. My brain begins to shut off. Then it hits me—

Had my precious, beautiful “daughter” been born merely an hour north, this would be her that we are talking about. Starving. Selling her body night after night. Sold for a few dollars. Unable to escape. Hopeful in a fallen humanity. Enslaved. A matter of minutes difference, and this would have been her. All of a sudden, the oppressed people of North Korea are not so distant and no longer can I ignore their enslavement.

The 27 million people enslaved in our world today are not just a number we read about—she is someone’s daughter, of great worth in the eyes of our heavenly Daddy.

So now what...how do we even begin to combat the enslavement of 27 million??

I don't kow. I am wrestling through that myself.

However, of this I am sure:

"Wake up, O sleeper, rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you." -Ephesians 5:14

 

The One Who Heals You

Well, this week I spent a few days resting and recovering from a minor surgery I had Monday morning. I was truly dreading the whole day. I hate hospitals…and needles…and drugs. Most of all, I hate drugs being put into my body when there is nothing I can do about it.

As we sat there in pre-op waiting for them to whisk me away to the OR, the anesthesiologist came in to ask me some questions and discuss the procedure in further detail. At the end of her little blab of rehearsed information was over, she asked if I had any questions. Without holding back I simply said “How long after until the IV comes out after the surgery? I do not want any pain meds and I want the anesthesia to stop right away.” Hahaha. She was probably thinking Oh Lord, who does this girl think she is? CONTROL FREAK!!! And yes, maybe I am a bit of a control freak—but it is MY body she is pouring that filth into.

Anyhow, my sweet sis Ashley came to balance me out a bit—her laughing at me and rolling her eyes, sitting over in the corner as I put on my ‘serious face’ and asked a million and one questions and barked orders of what I do and do not want done to me—looking back now, I have to laugh a little bit. I am stubborn sometimes and a bit of a control freak I suppose, especially when it comes to my body. I really do have a deep hatred for lacking control over what is or isn’t done to my body.

It is interesting because this is the first time in my life that I have legitimately cared about what is put into my body when it comes to medications, IV fluids, and anesthesia. After making it through a successful surgery and pushing through recovery without the pain meds that were quickly handed to me upon release, it just hit me how very much my mindset about medication in America has changed over several years. To me this is such a testament to God’s faithfulness and healing power in my life.

Three years ago, I spent almost a month in a hospital bed. I was being pumped full of fluids and food, yet felt only emptier and emptier inside. I was on every medication known to man, but somehow there still seemed to be a new pill added to that little plastic cup they handed me each morning and evening. I gladly swallowed it all down, never thinking twice about what exactly was going into my body—I mean why would I? After all, these are being prescribed to me by a fabulous team of doctors who went to years and years of school. They must know what they are doing—they are trying to help me get better! Right?

Honestly, I am not sure. I mean, I am not here to judge the hearts and motives of medical professionals…I am sure they are doing what they were taught to do and what American society expects them to do. After all, we are a prescription nation.

The most humorous part of this whole situation was that when I was admitted into the hospital, I actually could not swallow any sort of pill. I had just never learned—my mom had always given me chewable meds. So during my first three days of being hospitalized, the doctors sent a physical therapist to teach me how to swallow pills. I HATED that lady because I had no desire to even attempt to swallow the stupid pills they wanted to give me. She actually brought packs of Smarty’s into my room and would cut them up—at first into eighths, then fourths, then halves. Eventually, I could swallow a whole smarty. It was at this point, they began giving me a daily regimen of drugs, some of which were far to big for me to swallow. They told me I didn’t have a choice—I would just have to try until I got it. Eventually, I learned to swallow without thinking twice.

I can vividly remember one morning in the hospital when I became frustrated with all of these meds they were giving me, because something was making me feel nauseous morning after morning. When I told the doctor what was happening, instead of trying to figure out what was making me sick, she actually prescribed three new drugs to add to my daily regimen which would treat the side-effects of most of the drugs I was already on. By that point I was taking about thirty pills a day in addition to the meds being fed through my IV.

Just three weeks after being released from this stay in the hospital, it was my very ability to swallow pills that could have ended my life. After an intentional overdose on about fifty pills did not end my life, I realized that God just wasn’t going to let me die—so He would have to teach me how to live. Three, almost four years later, every breath I take is a testimony to His faithfulness in my life. He has shown me how to live—to live life abundantly, as He intended from the start.

For me, part of living out all that life is intended to be, as scripture talks about in John 10:10, is being healthy and taking care of the temple which I get to live in on this earth. The very fact that I am still sitting here today, able to share how God has and continues to redeem my life from the pit, is only possible because I am learning how to care for my body rather then destroying it as I attempted to for so many years.

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.”   -John 10:10

I know that I tend to obsess over certain things fairly easily, and by no means do I want to be this crazy, nutso, control-freak when it comes to medicine, vaccines, and food, but I do feel driven to continue to research and learn about these things for the purpose of living life to the full—I know that when my body was full of drugs, prescribed pill after pill to fix my problems, and consumed in binging on and then purging processed foods, I was on the road to death—the opposite of living my life to the full for sure.

I am convinced that this need for “instant gratification” in American society today feeds the drug industry and explains why millions are dying from diseases everyday. You cannot take pills, that are created from chemicals and toxins, for years and years and never expect there to be a consequence—we need to get back to the basics of feeding our bodies whole grains, fruits, veggies, and lean proteins. We need to be active and sleep enough at night time. I am not perfect at this to say the least—I am addicted to frozen yogurt and somehow I always manage to stay up late (blogging!), and sometimes I take Tylenol for bad cramps or a headache. But I do know that I know that I know one thing—medicating the problem does not fix it. In fact, so many medications will alter the way the body functions to the point where you will find yourself taking more pills to silence the side effects of the initial pills. An endless cycle that banks millions of dollars everyday in this country. Medicine has saved many lives over the decades and can be used for good, however I have seen in my life and those around me that very often medication can also have far greater consequences then benefits.  

Praise God for wise medical professionals and cures to disease and medications when helpful. With that being said, we must remember who it is that we serve as followers of Christ. Though the world tells us differently, we must not forget that we know JEHOVAH RAPHA…God our HEALER. I mean, we know the MAKER of the UNIVERSE. We know the One who knit us together in the womb—so who would know better how to heal, nourish, and restore our emotional, physical and spiritual health than the One who made us in the first place?

“There the LORD issued a ruling and instruction for them and put them to the test. He said, “If you listen carefully to the LORD your God and do what is right in his eyes, if you pay attention to his commands and keep all his decrees, I will not bring on you any of the diseases I brought on the Egyptians, for I am the LORD, who heals you.” -Exodus 15:26

Breaking the Curse

Last night I got to go spend some time with my precious brother and sister-in-law and my lil nephew. I love getting to go spend time with them…it doesn’t happen often enough!! I really wasn’t expecting anything but sweet time to catch up with my sister and to play with the little man. Of course, the Lord loves to use unrepentant moments such as these to teach me.

I have learned a lot about generational curses and generational sin over the past few years. When I look at the line from which I come, there are a good handful of addictions, behaviors, and mind-sets that have been passed down for many generations. Alcoholism. Divorce. Materialism. Financial issues. Anger. Abuse. Disease. Depression. Control Issues. Perfectionism. Abandonment. These are just a few. I have spent hours upon hours boldly proclaiming the name of JESUS over these issues over the past several years. In fact, this was one of the very first concepts I learned during my time at Mercy Ministries—the importance of breaking generational patterns in the name of Jesus Christ.

As time has passed the reality of the war being waged has only amplified day after day. After spending six months in a dating relationship over this past year, I think I was even further awakened to the gravity of the war going on when it comes to these generational sins. There were several times when I was in that relationship that I found myself doing some of the things I swore I would never ever imitate from my parents relationship. Then of course, there is just the paralyzing fear that no matter how much I pray, no matter how many generational sins I triumph over by speaking the name of Jesus, that no matter how different my husband is from my dad, no matter how different I am as a mom one day, that no matter how powerful the name of Christ is to break those curses that I will still remain enslaved to some of them—that I pass these generations of baggage on down to my own precious kids one day. I honestly think that is one of my greatest fears—that I would fail as a wife, mother and believer in that way.  

But tonight, tonight the Lord gave me a precious and unmistakable glimpse into a scene only He could create. Tonight some of those fears and doubts were silenced forever. Tonight I saw the chains loosed on the floor…the prison doors wide open…the ashes forming something beautiful. Tonight I heard those millions of prayers offered up to the Heavens hovering so near. Tonight I felt the gentle hand of God himself mold my heart together a little tighter, healing the brokenness. Tonight I witnessed a miracle. Tonight, the scene that played out before me was impossible apart from the chain-breaking, infinite, sovereign, unchanging, transforming, sin-shattering name of Jesus Christ. All I know is that only by His gracious power and infinite mercies can such generational sin shatter before my very eyes.

As I stood, leaning on the countertop, I watched my brother hold my little nephew close to his chest. They sat on the couch together, Jacob finally content—all he needed was to just be in his daddy’s lap. A little while later they got up and my brother took Jacob downstairs to play. As they were walking down the stairs, my sister just started laughing as she was glancing in their direction. As I looked up to see what she was snickering about I couldn’t help but smile—and in that moment the Lord spoke ever so clearly to me that this was just a little glimpse into how HE is the perfect Father and HE will break generations of sin. Tonight, through my brother, He showed me a real-life, tangible picture of His ability to do so—like a seal, a promise, a reminder really—of His faithfulness and ability to lavish the same redemption and freedom upon my life and my family’s lives one day.

 Here was my big brother, just hours after confessing to me his own hurts and heartaches and frustration with our dad lately (as a result of generational sin), but here he was carrying his own son down the steps to go play, not even realizing that they were dressed exactly the same…work out shorts and a grey t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. His kiddo is not even two yet and he already wants to be just like his daddy. As I watch Ryan interact with his son, I don’t see the hurt he has from his relationship with our dad—I don’t see the bitterness—I don’t see the unforgiveness—I don’t see one speck of conditional love. My precious nephew already wants to be just like his daddy because my brother loves his son with the love of Christ. I know this because if he relied on himself, he could never love Jacob freely—the generational curses would continue through that inability to love like Jesus. Seeing the boys, matching outfits and all, walking downstairs to play was such a testimony to the powerful name of Jesus Christ. Through Him, the battle over generational sins has already been WON!

All I could do was laugh—laughing at the preciousness of that moment, laughing at the irony of it all, laughing in the face of the enemy, who so desperately desires to see my brother fall into the same curses as our dad. Last night I learned that sometimes you just have to laugh—God’s faithfulness is just beyond words. 

Thank you, big brother for dying to yourself—your hurts, bitterness, heartaches, wounds from the past—and allowing the love of Jesus Christ to radiate through you and your imperfections to just wholeheartedly love that precious boy who is so incredibly blessed to call you daddy. You have shown me that this is real—generational sins that have been passed down through our family for centuries ARE broken in the name of Jesus Christ, in spite of our sinfulness and our failures—He is STILL BIGGER and MORE ABLE.

He redeems and He transforms, He renews and HE restores! 

“But if they confess their iniquity and THE INIQUITY OF THEIR FATHERS, with their unfaithfulness in which they were unfaithful to Me, and that they also have walked contrary to Me … then I will remember My covenant with Jacob, and My covenant with Isaac and My covenant with Abraham I will remember …” (Leviticus 26:40, 42)

Testimony Tuesday: What am I Missing?

Upon arriving at Cardinal Glennon Hospital, something went off in me as I soon realized I was in fact not going to wake up from this nightmare. This was really happening and there was nothing I could do about it. The smell of sickness and anti-disinfectant flooded my nostrils, causing my stomach to churn in dread. Over the next several hours, I was questioned, poked, and prodded by an overwhelmingly steady flow of doctors, nurses, techs, and treatment teams, not much more then a blur of faces I would soon hope to forget. Eventually I made it through the seemingly endless admission process and was moved a room on the third floor.

After awhile, my head fell back slowly, as the bristly dirty-blonde mess on my head brushed the pillow. I breathed. In and out. In and out. Oddly aware of the way my body was functioning in that moment, I watched as my stomach moved up and down. After a bit, I reached down with one hand. My palm rested on the full of my stomach. Wow, am I really still alive? I watched as my hand moved up and down, up and down with the beat of my heart, consistency of my breathing, it just hit me—I was still alive. As I gazed upon the wall and watched the little hand jump from one dash to the next, my body began to relax.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

I heard the voices whispering back and forth. I could have depicted the whole conversation, word for word. The tone heightened at times, in exasperation, lowered in times of defeat. Eventually, I heard the shuffling of a chair, a jacket maybe. The swing of the door and a clash as it shut. She needed some air. Back and forth they went, for hours. I wasn’t listening though.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

What did it matter anyway? I mean, whatever little plan they were scheming over there, wasn’t going to fix me. Just because it didn’t work this time, do they really think I wouldn’t try it again?

The mind is a crazy thing. There is no guidebook, no map to help you trek through it with. Maybe that’s why I spent so much time lost in mine. Regardless, I had made my mind up about six months ago. I knew what my life had become. I refused to continue to live if this was all my life was going to be forever. Death was the only escape from the hell that had become my reality.

“Well, how are you feeling?” asked Dr. Guerra as she glided into my room as if she owned the place. 

“I just took a look at your most recent set of labs and ultrasound results. Your heart is holding up surprisingly well considering all you’ve put it through with the overdose. Unfortunately, your potassium is at a record low and your…” she continued her medical mumbo-jumbo  for a while, telling me all of the reasons I had to stop this behavior and all of the consequences I’d soon face if I didn’t--the most consequential being death.

I honestly didn’t care whether I lived or died, I just wanted it all to go away.  I wanted to be free; I just didn’t know how to stop. This method had become the only way I could cope through day-to-day life.  Just to get that bit of relief; to not have to feel anything for a few moments in time.  This behavior enabled me to feel in control of one thing when everything else seemed so out of control. Seven years had passed by now, since I began struggling. I had willingly given up everything good in my life to follow this addiction, never imagining I could end up in a hospital bed just waiting to die.

My first night in the hospital was spent tossing and turning, constant beeping, distant voices, wailing cries of pain, ceaseless shivering (despite all the layers of blankets) as a result of the bolus, and a lingering fear of accidentally disturbing one of the several needles lodged into my arm and wrists. And then there was the minor disturbance of a nurse coming in every hour round the clock to check my temp and vitals, making sure my heart was still pumping? After a night of more exhaustion then rest, I was woken up at five-o-clock in the morning by a shooting pain in my finger, as the nurse stood beside my bed drawing my blood. This would become my life for the next three weeks.

However, none of this compared to the pain I experienced eating six meals a day. The control I once sought in my seven-year battle with an eating disorder was being pulled away from me and I couldn’t handle it. Despite the fact the my body was on the verge of shutting down as a result of the continual restricting and purging, all I wanted was to be thin and in control, two things the doctors were robbing me of. I felt like no one could understand the pain I lived in.

I knew that when I went back home, I would simply go right back into my old behaviors, the same ones which brought me here. Believe it or not, as the nurses prepared to discharge me a few weeks later, I actually heard two of the nurses making bets on how long it would be before I ended up back here in the hospital. I had tried to stop so many times. With all of my strength, I had fought for my self. For the sake of my family, my friends, my dreams and ambitions, I wanted to stop killing myself. So why did I always go back? For many years, I had battled through this question, wondering where the disconnect was. What was I missing?

Once I realized the strength to fight for my life, to overcome battles and struggles that we all face, did not come from myself or others, I was left pondering—where does it come from? Over the years I have come to learn that strength for true and lasting freedom from any struggle, lies solely in Jesus Christ and an intimate relationship with Him. Deeply contrasted by the more common emphasis on finding one’s ‘inner strength,’ Because humans are sinners, they are always going to mess up and fall short. Rather then looking inside oneself for some sort of greater strength, it’s like there is an answer bigger then oneself, bigger then other people even.

Jesus is bigger then man; He is God! Jesus is the perfect, sinless Son of God; He will never leave anyone or let anyone down. Jesus is not temporary satisfaction, but instead He provides eternal purpose and unspeakable joy. Jesus provides a source of strength incomparable to those in which the world often attempts to implement in overcoming addictions. Hope is not some far-off desire, but an alive and motivating reality that comes naturally in knowing Christ intimately. 

Looking back, I never wanted to die, I just didn’t want to live if this was how my life was going to be forever; I was hopeless, purposeless, hurting, broken, and slowly dying. Three years ago, as I lay in that hospital bed waiting to die, I never ever could have imagined I could have the privilege of walking in such freedom and redemption today.

I still don’t know why things happen how they do. I don’t understand why painful things happened to me in my early years that led to years of torment for which I pleaded to end in death. I don’t know why sometimes, days are really hard to battle through and other days are easy.

However, I do know that in my weakness, God’s power is made perfect. I do know that apart from Him, I am just a hopeless sinner in desperate need of a Savior. I do know that I spent seven years of my life chasing death and it is solely by coming to know Jesus as my Lord and Savior that I am living life today. Not just living life, as in surviving or making it through, but experiencing all that life is intended to be! I do know that today I have a purpose and passion to love on other women who are passionately pursing death and to tell them that there is only one way to experience life, but that it is so worth it—that there is no cost too high to pursue Jesus Christ.  

“By faith Moses, when he became of age, refused to be called the son of Pharaoh’s daughter, choosing rather to suffer affliction with the people of God than to enjoy the passing pleasures of sin, esteeming the reproach of Christ greater riches than the treasures in Egypt; for he looked to the reward.” — Hebrews 11:24–26

“Then Jesus said to His disciples, ‘If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me.’” — Matthew 16:24

“Do you not know that friendship with the world is enmity with God? Whoever therefore wants to be a friend of the world makes himself an enemy of God.” — James 4:4