"I will praise you ... your works are wonderful, I know that full well." Psalm 139:14 [NIV]
The din around us puts a perk in my ears that by now I should find familiar - but never quite snakes it's way to the part of my brain that accepts the sound as an old one, a recognized one, one that doesn't send a chill up my spine no matter the number of times I hear it.
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| Image: Beach Diner/Trip Advisor |
But I FEEL it, more than I hear it. It rattles my bones somewhere deep.
My husband and hero of 24 years sits across from me, relaxed, hungry, salting his egg with one hand as he expertly snags a strip of bacon in the other, biting into the perfection of crispy and savory.
He DOES see me, though I know he's doing his best not to draw attention to my rigid spine, legs tightly tucked underneath me as I have crossed them at the hip and brought them as close to my chest as humanly possible while still allowing for the mobility of actually putting fork to mouth. He knows my palms are sweaty and I'm waiting until the waitress pops by one last time to see for herself that our meal is as we've ordered it and we are smiling and happy.
He's waiting for me to take a bite. And I will, but until that first amazing, steaming bite of Southwest Omelet hits my lips, I can't relax. I'm waiting.
For a fellow patron to point out that I don't need the calories.
For someone to point a finger at me and remind me that THIS is why I no longer model.
For that person walking her dog on the other side of the window to point at me and mouth the words - stop. Why are you eating that? Don't you think you should skip a meal or two? I mean, look at you?
And though I DO actually expect these things to happen every single time we go out and eat in public, they NEVER actually happen. I bite into my omelet with the perfect balance of tomato and avocado, including just the right amount of hollandaise dripping from the edges. And nobody points.
I sigh and eat breakfast.
What "they" don't tell you in therapy ... what not a single person on my Psych team CAN prepare me for ... is that once an anorexic. Always an anorexic.
Wait? Anorexia?
I'm clearly no longer the runway model with a 23 inch waist and two inch heals looking just above the heads of the people at the mall trying to guess from which boutique I have borrowed today's fashionable ensemble. Clearly, I am no longer sporting $200 sunglasses and designer label make up with hair coiffed to perfection and exactly the right amount of expensive perfume [sprits and walk into the spray, people - never spray it directly on your skin]. Shouldn't this whole eating disorder be a thing of the past?
Ok. First of all. Yes, I admit - I have suffered with an eating disorder for YEARS only managing to periodically jump that major hurtle in my life with a whole bunch of prayer, the right medications and the love, support, and dedication of amazing family [ok, AND the natural child birth of two children - you can't starve yourself while pregnant if you want the baby to be healthy].
I know ... I no longer resemble the symptoms of this disorder physically the way I once did, but the thing WILL always be "a THING" in my life FOR the rest of my life. It will always be just over my shoulder, whispering horrible things in my ear: you aren't pretty enough to be seen out in public with your husband today, do you want him to be embarrassed? You don't really mesh with the physical description of the rest of your family all of whom probably weigh at last one hundred pounds less then you do. You are no longer pleasant to look at, and therefore, no longer valuable....
That daemon will always be there in the shadows.
But ....
He doesn't have to win.
Not anymore.
Anybody with a crippling phobia, disorder, or even just a bad day will tell you that sometimes the fight isn't daily. It might not even happen regularly on a monthly basis, and that there are, indeed moments when the battle must be fought from minute to minute. The battle lines must be drawn definitively in the sand every few seconds as we gird our brains with God's truth.
There IS God's truth. Always.
But what if you're an M.K.? [missionary kid] or a P.K. [preacher's kid] or a T.C.K. [third culture kid] or my goodness, ALL THREE and you KNOW the answers, already? You know all the Bible verses and have read all the motivational prayer books? You know them by heart because you use them all the time?
There IS God's truth. Always. Even during those moments we don't FEEL it.
And I love David for this in the book of Psalms because - I swear - he goes through the same mental battles as do I from time to time. You can FEEL his struggle, can't you? His pain? His internal arguments? .... AND his victories! He doesn't merely put pen to paper when praising God, he passionately portrays every single note he sings with a vibrancy not shared by any other author. For me, David is a go-to on bad days because he praises God even when the tears are streaming down his face. Even when he knows he's done things God would deem disappointing.
Why? How?
Because there is ALWAYS God's truth.
During moments when I'm absolutely positive the woman on the other side of the window walking her furry little pooch is thinking what a disgrace it is that I even stepped foot inside the Beach Diner for un-needed calories and I've already prayed through every verse in my mental inventory - I sing like David. Lord, I praise you, because you are AWESOME!! Your works are wonderful, I know this full well.
That "THING" pointing fingers and whispering over my shoulder doesn't matter. It's lies are of no consequences even during the moments I can no longer tune them out - because I praise God. His works are marvelous. The trees are green with spring time, butterflies float from flower to flower in a bright sunny sky, people are eating out again after one of our scariest pandemics and the people that I see out and about are mostly smiling.
Sometimes, you don't win the battle by knowing all the answers or even applying them appropriately. Sometimes, you win the battle because you put your focus on what truly matters. You praise God.
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