As I lay here in bed, doing my best to recover from today's draining, yet rewarding preparations and subsequent Fiesta, I hear the cats playing outside my window, and somehow seamlessly thankfulness and an awareness of the Lord's provision wash over me. From my first night here in Chiang Rai when I was feeling particularly homesick, and yearnings for my dog, Imani were not abating, God has inclined His mighty self to me in meeting my needs. On my very first night, as I was sitting on my bed, at the very moment I began to write in my journal about how I was not sure how would stand the next nine weeks, in pranced a little black cat through the open door I had unwittingly left ajar. Without any hesitation, she leapt onto my bed, crawled into my lap, and there she stayed throughout the night. Although this cat roams around the property here at Home of the Open Heart, for she is owned by own of the HIV mothers here, she has not shown any inclination to enter my room again since that first night when I needed her most.
And then there were the pinto beans. Once the decision had been made to carry out my plans for a Mexican Fiesta Night with the kids, I and two volunteers set out in search of ingredients, pinto beans being one of the most vital to the success of our (or my, as it were) mission. We searched far and wide, but nary a bean was to be found. At our final destination--a market that caters to westerners--I sought out the aisle with grains, legumes, and the like. I looked and looked, but was able only to find black beans. Even the two other volunteers searched vigilantly, but were also unsuccessful. We had resigned ourselves to substituting black beans for the pinto beans and were just about to leave, when I gave the shelf above me one last look and, lo and behold, there sat a very small bag of unmarked pinto beans! Four bags of them, in fact! They were very small, but oh how joyful a moment that was. I grabbed them as swiftly as I could, for fear that they would disappear. As I walked toward the checkout, I thanked God aloud, and then realized how infrequently such joyous occasions were accompanied by vocalizations of thanks for His concern for what concerns me.
And finally, and probably the silliest (to anyone who has not had an eating disorder) of all, there was the scale. I hesitate to share this one, but it was so undeniable and moving to me, and even now I truly feel the Father's love for silly little me, that I cannot neglect its relation. Unfortunately, a little bit of backstory is necessary:
During my teens and early twenties, I suffered from anorexia nervosa and bulimia. After my father left, while my 'disease' or 'addiction', whatever you want to call it, went in the opposite direction, resulting in the rapid weight gain of over a hundred pounds. My eating has always been disordered, and my self-image distorted. It has been a daily obsession and disability that has plagued my life for nearly twenty years. I have since lost sixty-five pounds, but food, my appearance, my weight, calories, carbohydrates, everything continue to dominate every aspect of my life. It is very humiliating for me. I avoid discussing it with people, for I have discovered that it doesn't dominate their lives as it does mine, and that they cannot relate to me, or I to them. It is embarrassing for me, very much like an addiction would be. I do not see things...correctly, it seems. I do not see myself correctly, or so I've been led to believe. I cannot rely upon myself or my own perception of myself as an accurate judge of...what I look like. I know logically that it doesn't matter, but that doesn't matter to me, to someone with this psychological disease. I can liken it only to that scene in the very first Dark Knight film where all of the inhabitants of Gotham have been drugged. One person knows that what they're seeing isn't real, but they still, ACTUALLY see things in a distorted way. I have struggled and will probably continue to struggle with this until something miraculous happens, or I'm given the antidote.
That being said, I have been experiencing very intensively lately these "thoughts", "anxieties", what have you. It has been brought on by the absence of mirrors, scales, treadmills, and protein sources. I have seen myself gaining weight, looking bloated and blimp-like. Being attractive is not important to me. Being thin, whatever, doesn't matter. This way of living and thinking does not make sense, I reiterate! But just the same, it's been debilitating to the point of me not wanting to go out in public. I mean, I'm on a mission trip, for goodness sake!!! It is ridiculous, but there it is. I'm not perfect. Now you know!
Well, anyway, I was terrified and convinced that I had gained at least ten pounds. My clothes fit the same, in fact they were a little baggier, but my eyes saw something else. They still do, actually. I was panicked and depressed. I was making lists of foods I could and could not eat, and which days I could and could not eat, how many workouts I would have to undertake. I mean, if iwasn't doing anything here in Thailand, I could at least lose weight, right? It was desperate and unending, and completely unfulfilling!
Long story short, on the very worst day of this "relapse", I was in the kitchen making preparations for the Fiesta on Sunday and as I walked through the hall, down by my feet was a scale. I know it sounds ridiculous. Almost like God was enabling me, but...that's not what it felt like then, that's not what it feels like now. I weighed myself then and there, and discovered that I'd actually lost two pounds. I hadn't gained any weight! That wasn't what struck me. What struck me was that I had been in and out of that house almost every day for a month and had never once seen that scale. It was probably there, but I noticed it on a day of particular oppression and despair (these are strong terms, I know, but they are applicable). I truly believe that God provided that scale for me, because nothing else--NOTHING ELSE--could have gotten through to me. As I stepped foot off the scale, it wasn't "Thank God I didn't gain any weight" it was "Thank you God for seeing what I needed, silly as it was, and deigning to give it to me anyway. And in so doing, not giving into my weakness, but reminding me of, oh so many things. That I do have a problem. That You are with me and will work with me through that problem. That You care about my tiniest, most irrational needs."
He has met my needs here, and everywhere. He has met my needs in ways that I have net to see. He will continue to meet my needs. And by 'meet my needs' I do not mean that He will give me my way. No, He knows what I need, even before or in spite of my failure to realize that I need them. Sometimes, He will comfort us, sometimes He will discipline, sometimes He will allow us to go without our desires, but He always meets our needs. My needs, so far, have been very small and silly, but I am so grateful to have taken notice of His acknowledgement of them. I wish to praise Him here before anyone who may read this. He is such a good Father!
And then there were the pinto beans. Once the decision had been made to carry out my plans for a Mexican Fiesta Night with the kids, I and two volunteers set out in search of ingredients, pinto beans being one of the most vital to the success of our (or my, as it were) mission. We searched far and wide, but nary a bean was to be found. At our final destination--a market that caters to westerners--I sought out the aisle with grains, legumes, and the like. I looked and looked, but was able only to find black beans. Even the two other volunteers searched vigilantly, but were also unsuccessful. We had resigned ourselves to substituting black beans for the pinto beans and were just about to leave, when I gave the shelf above me one last look and, lo and behold, there sat a very small bag of unmarked pinto beans! Four bags of them, in fact! They were very small, but oh how joyful a moment that was. I grabbed them as swiftly as I could, for fear that they would disappear. As I walked toward the checkout, I thanked God aloud, and then realized how infrequently such joyous occasions were accompanied by vocalizations of thanks for His concern for what concerns me.
And finally, and probably the silliest (to anyone who has not had an eating disorder) of all, there was the scale. I hesitate to share this one, but it was so undeniable and moving to me, and even now I truly feel the Father's love for silly little me, that I cannot neglect its relation. Unfortunately, a little bit of backstory is necessary:
During my teens and early twenties, I suffered from anorexia nervosa and bulimia. After my father left, while my 'disease' or 'addiction', whatever you want to call it, went in the opposite direction, resulting in the rapid weight gain of over a hundred pounds. My eating has always been disordered, and my self-image distorted. It has been a daily obsession and disability that has plagued my life for nearly twenty years. I have since lost sixty-five pounds, but food, my appearance, my weight, calories, carbohydrates, everything continue to dominate every aspect of my life. It is very humiliating for me. I avoid discussing it with people, for I have discovered that it doesn't dominate their lives as it does mine, and that they cannot relate to me, or I to them. It is embarrassing for me, very much like an addiction would be. I do not see things...correctly, it seems. I do not see myself correctly, or so I've been led to believe. I cannot rely upon myself or my own perception of myself as an accurate judge of...what I look like. I know logically that it doesn't matter, but that doesn't matter to me, to someone with this psychological disease. I can liken it only to that scene in the very first Dark Knight film where all of the inhabitants of Gotham have been drugged. One person knows that what they're seeing isn't real, but they still, ACTUALLY see things in a distorted way. I have struggled and will probably continue to struggle with this until something miraculous happens, or I'm given the antidote.
That being said, I have been experiencing very intensively lately these "thoughts", "anxieties", what have you. It has been brought on by the absence of mirrors, scales, treadmills, and protein sources. I have seen myself gaining weight, looking bloated and blimp-like. Being attractive is not important to me. Being thin, whatever, doesn't matter. This way of living and thinking does not make sense, I reiterate! But just the same, it's been debilitating to the point of me not wanting to go out in public. I mean, I'm on a mission trip, for goodness sake!!! It is ridiculous, but there it is. I'm not perfect. Now you know!
Well, anyway, I was terrified and convinced that I had gained at least ten pounds. My clothes fit the same, in fact they were a little baggier, but my eyes saw something else. They still do, actually. I was panicked and depressed. I was making lists of foods I could and could not eat, and which days I could and could not eat, how many workouts I would have to undertake. I mean, if iwasn't doing anything here in Thailand, I could at least lose weight, right? It was desperate and unending, and completely unfulfilling!
Long story short, on the very worst day of this "relapse", I was in the kitchen making preparations for the Fiesta on Sunday and as I walked through the hall, down by my feet was a scale. I know it sounds ridiculous. Almost like God was enabling me, but...that's not what it felt like then, that's not what it feels like now. I weighed myself then and there, and discovered that I'd actually lost two pounds. I hadn't gained any weight! That wasn't what struck me. What struck me was that I had been in and out of that house almost every day for a month and had never once seen that scale. It was probably there, but I noticed it on a day of particular oppression and despair (these are strong terms, I know, but they are applicable). I truly believe that God provided that scale for me, because nothing else--NOTHING ELSE--could have gotten through to me. As I stepped foot off the scale, it wasn't "Thank God I didn't gain any weight" it was "Thank you God for seeing what I needed, silly as it was, and deigning to give it to me anyway. And in so doing, not giving into my weakness, but reminding me of, oh so many things. That I do have a problem. That You are with me and will work with me through that problem. That You care about my tiniest, most irrational needs."
He has met my needs here, and everywhere. He has met my needs in ways that I have net to see. He will continue to meet my needs. And by 'meet my needs' I do not mean that He will give me my way. No, He knows what I need, even before or in spite of my failure to realize that I need them. Sometimes, He will comfort us, sometimes He will discipline, sometimes He will allow us to go without our desires, but He always meets our needs. My needs, so far, have been very small and silly, but I am so grateful to have taken notice of His acknowledgement of them. I wish to praise Him here before anyone who may read this. He is such a good Father!
