Sundi Jo Graham's Blog, page 26

Mind Praying for Me?

I’ve had a lot on my heart and mind these last few days. More like the last couple weeks, actually. Would you mind praying for me?

None of it’s bad. It’s all good. Even when it’s good though, sometimes it’s still really hard. 

I think the reality is setting in that I’m living back in my hometown. It’s not a bad reality, it just is what it is. I’m here. For real. For the long haul.

Yesterday I had a mini meltdown. I missed my friend, Jammie. I missed our Tuesday nights, where we drank coffee or went to a movie, or laughed about absolutely nothing. I missed my other friends. I missed Branson. I missed comfort.

Comfort. There’s the word. When we get down to it, that’s the biggest problem. I’m so far out of my comfort zone in this season of my life, I’m not sure what to do with it.

I’m battling an intense fear I haven’t felt for a while. Despite the excitement of what God’s doing in my life, the fear is real.

I struggle with taking on too much pressure and not letting God handle it. I tend to carry the load of both my own life and the lives of others. It’s so annoying, really. Then I get all discombobulated and put this crazy pressure on myself and don’t shut up long enough to remember God is completely in charge.

Esther’s House is actually happening. Each day we make forward progress to getting the doors open. Enter pressure. We’re hosting a 5k race  as one of our fundraisers and we just secured our Primary Sponsor. Enter pressure. We looked at the possible future location of the house and it’s ready to move into. Enter pressure. We have to find donors and churches and businesses to be a part of the mission, which means I have to meet people and network. Enter pressure.

Maybe part of the problem is Esther’s House isn’t just a dream God placed on my heart anymore. It’s real. He’s moving forward and I’m not ready. I’m not equipped. I convince myself He’s made a horrible mistake and chosen the wrong person to lead this ministry. I wonder how many times He’d really like to slap me for being such a brat.

It’s all about me, really. I’m turning it into that anyways. How will we pay the bills? How will I keep the electric on? How will I eat? How will I meet people? How will I lead these women? What are people going to think with me stepping out in faith like this? Am I being completely irresponsible?

Me. Me. Me. Me. Pride. 

He’s opening a door for me to write another book my comfort zone isn’t ready for. I want to run away and hide. I want to protect myself from what others are going to say. I stare at a blank page and don’t know where to start. I can’t do this. It’s too hard. Besides, writing this book wasn’t on my list of goals for 2015. It’s impossible to make happen.

Me. Me. Me. Me. Pride. 

God is calling me to trust Him – to show Him I trust. I’m scared. I want to say, “I moved here. Isn’t that enough to show you I trust you?” It was a start, but only a start. Big things are to come. Have I mentioned fear?

With all that said, will you pray for me? Pray for me to live courageously, knowing God will catch me every step of the way. Pray for me to trust God can handle all things and I don’t have to carry the pressure of it all. Pray for the peace that surpasses all understanding. Pray for my heart. My mind. For my desires to be His desires. For me to continue walking in obedience, despite what it may look like to others.

I’m learning through this journey irresponsibility and faith look very similar. Oh boy… Here we go.

Question: How can I pray for you?  You can leave a comment by clicking here.

Homosexuality and Sexual Abuse: Are They Related?

Someone asked me this question the other day: “Do you think there’s a connection between homosexuality and sexual abuse?”

I don’t want to answer it. Why? Because I know regardless of what my answer is, someone, somewhere won’t agree with my answer, and then I’ll be labeled as a hypocrite, religious jerk, etc. etc. etc.

I’ve avoided publishing topics on homosexuality for this very reason. Because somehow, some way, despite being careful with my words, someone will get hurt, me included. But it’s time…

Yes. Yes, I think they’re related. Definitely not in all cases, but I would bet the majority. I’m not a scientist. I’m not a psychologist. I have no initials behind my name to qualify me to answer, but I have my own experience.

That time in the tool shed.

It happened more than once in the tool shed by a family friend. He would touch me inappropriately and make me touch him. It happened for several years.

Then it happened in the swimming pool by a relative. Then again in my bedroom.

Then it happened again by a different relative — a manipulative game to get me to follow his rules or I’d be in trouble.

Though a dark cloud of shame lived over me, sexual abuse seemed to be the new normal. I didn’t have a clue what normal was, really.

Did that make me attracted to girls?

No. I didn’t wake up one day and say, “I’ve been sexually abused. I like girls now.” It was a process. Shame kept me from desiring to be a girl. The last thing I wanted was attention from another man who would hurt me. They would all hurt me. I was convinced of it.

I was raised as a single child, with an alcoholic father in and out of the picture, and a mother working three jobs, and facing her own battles of the past. I played with my boy cousins. There weren’t Barbie’s or fingernail painting. There were guns and knives and GIJOE’s, oh my! I was a tomboy, no doubt about it. (No, being a tomboy doesn’t make you gay.) All kids should play in the dirt, and if your daughter wants to fight a battle with plastic Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles taking out Shredder, you should let her.

But.. looking back, I see how comfortable it was for me to take on that roll. I didn’t have to worry about being attractive to men. I wasn’t consciously aware of what I was doing, but I realized wearing ball caps and t-shirts hid the girl, kept me tough, and kept men from hurting me any more than they already had.

Mix that with a food addiction that helped me stay at 330 lbs., sure to keep anyone from being attracted to me and I was perfectly in control.

At a young age I was forced to watch pornography by a babysitter. It opened a door for me that took years to shut. By the time I was a teenager my view of sex was so distorted, again, I wasn’t aware of what normal was. I don’t remember thinking girls were more attractive than guys. I just remember vivid images of both that if we’re being honest, I still struggle with at times today.

It’s almost as if there’s a filing cabinet in my brain I don’t remember is there. I’ve cleaned the files out and replaced them with clean, healthy images of life. However, I’ll hear a word in conversation and I’m triggered all over again. Images flood into the front of my mind and there’s a battle taking place within seconds.

But I fight back. “I have the mind of Christ and I hold the thoughts, feelings, and purposes of His heart. I am a new creation in Christ Jesus and my mind is renewed. I am an overcomer and Satan does not have authority over my mind.” I remind myself I am God’s child. He loves me. Those thoughts and images no longer control me. Then they are gone, at least for a while. I pray someday they’ll be gone forever.

The first time I had a same sex attraction.

A friend of mine in high school professed her attraction to me. My plan for ball caps and t-shirts and a mullet (I pray all those pictures are destroyed) backfired on me. I was trying to protect myself from men, not thinking there were other girls out there struggling, too.

It opened a whole new door for me. Someone liked me for who I was. The t-shirt and ball cap were good enough for someone to want me. I was surrounded by confusion. Maybe this is what would finally make me normal. I was too scared. Scared of what, I’m not sure. Our friendship didn’t last long after that. I had a reputation for pushing people away when they tried to get to close to me, both emotionally and physically. She knew way too much.

I moved away from my hometown as fast as I could after graduation. To another state. It was there I would be free. I could do anything I wanted. I was away from the pain and could start a new life. Surely the pain of my past wouldn’t chase me there.

I had my first “date” with another girl. Seven hours away from my hometown, in a strange land where no one knew me, I could be anybody I wanted to be. The date was super awkward. We shook hands and said goodbye. It turns out we were both way too much alike in personalities to get along. I drove back to my tiny Nashville apartment and wiped away the thought I could be gay. Maybe it was just that one attraction in high school. I would keep this a secret, too, just like I did everything else.

Defining my sexuality.

It wasn’t long before I moved back home. I couldn’t seem to find my significance in Nashville. Maybe I’d find it back home. Instead, I partied my way through my emotions pretending life was grand. One night, after a conversation about homosexuality and way too many Bud Light’s around the kitchen table with some friends, one of them said to me, “You’re gay. Why don’t you just admit it?” No one had ever said it out loud. It seemed more real than ever before.

I really questioned my sexuality. Maybe I was gay. Maybe this was my destiny. I would finally find my significance by being open about who I really was, whatever that looked like for me. So I said, “Okay, I’m gay.” I told my friends. I told my mom. Honestly, I still had no clue what it meant to me, but I finally felt like I had a title — something I could tell someone about me. I finally had a place in life. I finally belonged.

I have to wonder as I write this, how many others choose the life of homosexuality because they just want to belong somewhere — anywhere?

After a one-night stand with some guy from the bar, as I tried to scrub the shame off myself in the shower, I declared a man would never touch me again. I was gay and I would live my life that way. Looking back now, I have no idea how or why my friends put up with me the way they did. Not because I chose to be gay, just simply because I had to be tiring in my pursuit of some kind of meaning. They loved me anyway. Most of them.

A week later, after another long night at the bar, I started a relationship with a friend from high school (No, not the one from earlier in the story). I look back and my head spins at the thought of how it all worked out. Months before, I consoled her as she walked through a painful breakup from her boyfriend. Now, we were “sneaking around” trying to figure out what in the world we were doing.

That was the start of a five-year relationship. It was safe for both of us. It made sense. I was taking my commitment to never trust another man seriously. I was in control. Things would finally be okay. We moved in together, finally telling a few friends and family members. We were convinced our problems would be fixed. Instead, it was a relationship with two toxic people, full of jealousy, depression, and deceit. We both still had our secret battles. Ah, but did I mention it was safe?

Then we came to know Jesus, life is great, the end….

That’s not exactly how the story goes, but I’d love to tell you about the rest some other time. You can read some of it here. I want to get back to where sexual abuse fits into this.

Does sexual abuse cause homosexuality or same sex attraction?

No. I believe homosexuality is a choice. Why do a man and a woman get married? Because they choose to spend their lives together. Why does someone got to college? Because they want to earn a degree to further their career. Why do some choose to eat gluten-free? Maybe they don’t like wheat. Why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the other side.

Why does someone choose to be gay? Because there is a lie they believe about themselves and their lives. Because their identity is not rooted and grounded in Christ. Because they’re searching for a significance they’ll never find outside of a relationship with Jesus. Because shame and fear are stupid.

Being sexually abused didn’t cause me to choose homosexuality. But I think it made a big impact on my decisions, just as I believe it makes an impact on the lives of others who choose that life. I have to wonder how different life would be had my childhood not been stolen from me. Sexual abuse brings shame. Shame brings fear. Fear causes us to believe lies. Lies cause use to walk in the darkness. If we keep the lights off in our lives, God’s Word can’t shine.

But where there’s light… Truth replaces lies. Truth dispels fear. (2 Timothy 1:7) Shame is replaced by radiance. (Psalm 34:5)

I can’t take back what happened to me. Want to know the truth? I wouldn’t take it back it now because looking back I can see God in the midst of if all.Yes.. I can see God in the midst of being molested over and over again.He didn’t do it to me. He didn’t cause it. It wasn’t His will for my childhood to be stolen, but He got me through it. And today.. He’s still holding me in the palm of His hand.

God longs to hold each of us in the palm of His hand, even when we’re choosing homosexuality. Do you know why? Because He created each of us in His image. His image. He doesn’t make mistakes, which means He didn’t make a mistake when He created me or you.

You are not who your past says you are. Our significance as individuals isn’t found in other people, whether straight or gay.

That was my one and only relationship with another woman because I learned my significance wasn’t found in my relationship with her. I realized my identity wasn’t found in a label. It took years to truly etch into my heart who I fully am in my relationship with Christ. There are days I still struggle with it.

I didn’t have an “I’m gay” then the next day, “Oh, no I’m not” experience. That’s another story for another day. I fought. It was hard. It will be hard. It is hard. Life is hard, my friend.

But God… He is patient. Kind. Loving. Merciful. Gracious. Hopeful. Compassionate.

At the end of the day, regardless of your mistakes, you are loved. You are chosen.

Will you believe that, take hold of it, wrap your arms around it, embrace it, and live out that truth?

You are chosen. You are loved. You are loved. You are chosen.

At the end of the day, regardless of your mistakes, you are loved. You are chosen.
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Why Some Secrets Should Be Taken to the Grave

I come from a family of secrets, just as most others do. Perhaps a few of those secrets should be taken to the grave.

“You don’t talk about being sexually abused. You don’t talk about your addictions. Some things are just better left unsaid.”

Have you ever heard these words? Maybe you’ve said them yourself.

Secrets make you sick. 

That’s an old saying – from AA maybe? I followed that advice most of my life until my secrets almost took me to the grave – literally.

It started with a Cholecystectomy (removal of the gallbladder). I’d literally “stuffed” my emotions so deeply the secrets were trying to find another way to escape, and they did, through physical illness. Then it got worse. I couldn’t hold on anymore, or so I thought, and suicide seemed to be a great option.

The good news? I chose another path besides taking my own life. The bad news? My body still pays the price of holding onto so many secrets for so long.

You need to share your secrets.

What does that look like? I don’t mean run up to the checkout lady at the grocery store and tell her you were sexually abused as a child and you’ve been keeping it a secret for 20 years. You don’t need to tell the mechanic changing your oil about your pornography addiction.

But you need to tell someone. Someone safe.

As a teenager I shared with someone close to me that I’d been sexually molested. I trusted her and knew it was the right time to tell her. All these years later, she’s still a safe place for me.

Later on, I tried to share with a friend and it backfired on me. She turned it into gossip and it broke my heart. I wanted her to be a safe person, knowing she probably wasn’t, but I told her anyway. It would be years before I let anymore secrets out.

Then I met Jennifer at church. She tried pursuing a friendship with me I wasn’t really interested in. I didn’t trust people and I had no reason to trust her. But she was persistent in showing me grace, sticking around, investing in our friendship, and proving over time she could be trusted.

So I told her a secret. Then I waited for her head to spin around and tell me to get out of her house forever. She didn’t. Instead, she embraced me, empathized with me, and prayed with me.

After time, I shared a bigger secret with her. The same thing happened. She didn’t run. She didn’t judge. She embraced.

There’s not a secret about my life she doesn’t know. Boy is that freeing.

Your secrets need healed.

There was definitely a freedom in sharing my secrets with someone else. It started a healing process in me I’d longed for but didn’t really know I needed. However, it was just the beginning.

Those secrets had taken a toll on me emotionally I didn’t know how to deal with. I had to take the next step – getting professional help. That involved some intense counseling and prayer.

I’ll be honest. Some of it really sucked. It was hard. It wore me out at times. I had to deal with emotions I’d spent my life trying to push down. I faced facts I didn’t want to face. I was angry. Sad. Overwhelmed. Scared. I wanted to quit.

But God gracefully walked me through each step, as painful as it was, and on the other side of that pain is a freedom I’m forever grateful for.

Don’t keep holding onto your secrets. They’re making you sick.
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You, my friend, have access to the same freedom. God is waiting for you to say, “I don’t want my secrets anymore. I don’t want to hold onto the shame I’ve been living with all these years. I want something more.”

Oh.. it excites me to think about the freedom journey you’re about to embark on, despite how hard the journey may be.

I encourage you today to ask God to show you who that safe person is. Be still and listen. He will show you.

Here’s to freedom.

Question: Do you have a safe person in your life to take your secrets to? You can leave a comment by clicking here.

Why Do People Commit Suicide?

When someone takes their own life, those closest to them immediately ask, “What could I have done differently? What if I did this? What if I called her more? What if I visited him more?”

There’s an immense guilt survivors feel and it takes a while to get through that grief. Then comes the anger. “Why would she do something so stupid? Why didn’t he bother to think about us before he decided to take the easy way out?” Insert your own question here.

On my 15th birthday I got a phone call my dad had attempted suicide. I tried to visit him. I tried to ask him why, but I was too angry. I remember walking out of the hospital telling myself over and over again what a selfish son-of-a-b!%c# he was, and vocalizing it to the staff around me. I was so focused on him breaking my heart, again, I couldn’t realize he had his own pain.

Last week I attended the funeral of a sweet man who took his own life. Two years ago this month I sat at the funeral of a friend who took hers as well. I’ve sat with friends and family as we’ve mourned and asked ourselves many of the above questions. Oh how I wish I could answer.

I don’t know why others commit suicide, but I can I tell you why I almost did? 

When my friend Chanel took her own life, I grieved for months. I grieved for the loss. I would never hear her sassy tone again. She never beat that stupid drug addiction. She was gone forever and she died of a broken heart.

But I also grieved remembering that could’ve been me. I could’ve been the one jumping off that bridge. I could’ve been the one in such darkness with my thoughts that I felt I couldn’t reach out to anyone.

Actually, I was that person more than once. The last time was 2009. I wanted to die. I couldn’t bare the pain anymore. I had nothing left to live for. I was a bad person. Many of my secrets had been revealed and now I just needed to go before it got worse. I needed to help others with their pain by getting rid of myself.

It wasn’t because I was being selfish like I thought my dad was. I was hurting and didn’t think I could find a way out. I was in a battle for my mind and Satan was winning.

We may not ever know why people choose to take their own lives, but I believe there is a common denominator.

Shame. It’s a powerful word, causing us to do things out of the norm. Shame convinces us we’re bad. It tells us there isn’t hope. It rears its ugly head and reminds us we’re unlovable and no one will ever truly understand us. It’s a great reminder to keep our secrets to ourselves.

Shame angers me. It took so many years of my life. It’s controlling many of those around me. And it’s literally taken the lives of of people I love. I’m not okay with sitting back and watching that happen.

Those who choose suicide often think their problems are unsolvable and they feel completely out of control.

Oh.. that’s a lie from the devil, my friend. I know it’s a lie because I believed it.

May I be honest for a second? I still fight shame. I fight it so frequently that I have Psalm 34:5 tattooed on my wrist to remind me “Those who look to Him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame.”

Sometimes I struggle with a deep loneliness I can’t explain. You could put me in a room full of people and I’d still feel alone. Crazy, I know, but true. Every now and again, even after all these years of combatting shame by knowing and reminding myself how much God loves me, a thought will slip in from shame, saying, “Why are you here? You know you would do the world a favor by just getting rid of yourself.”

But I choose life. 

I choose life because I know now what I didn’t know then – we are in a spiritual battle for our lives! Satan prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Don’t believe me? See for yourself. 

But I don’t choose life on my own. I choose life with others. I choose to share my secrets, no matter how big or small. I choose to share my struggles in relationships. I choose to know the truth about who God says I am even when my feelings are a big fat liar.

I choose life and I long for you to do the same.

You were made for more. You were created for a purpose. God loves you with an everlasting love. He knit you together in your mother’s womb. He holds you in His righteous right hand. He collects your tears. When you look to Him, radiance beats shame.

Shame is not yours to keep, my friend. It’s not yours to keep. I’m fighting it with you. You are not alone.

I love you.

I believe there is a common denominator in why people take their lives.
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Ashley Judd, Rambo, and the Stitch

I’m angry. Angry that while I type this blog post, women in Africa, India, the Congo, and all over the rest of the world and United States, are being kidnapped, raped, beaten, tortured, and humiliated to think they deserve to be where they are.

I’m angry I didn’t sleep well last night because all I could think about was storming into a brothel in Kenya, Rambo style, and taking out the men committing these grotesque, shaming, hideous crimes with a smirk on their faces. I’m angry I slept in my queen size bed, snuggled up with my four pillows, while little orphans in Phnom Penh are lucky to sleep on a piece of cardboard.

I’m angry Ashley Judd’s childhood was stolen from her and I just want to hug her and say, “I know. I’m sorry.”

When you can’t go back.

I just finished Ashley’s memoir, All That Is Bitter & Sweet, and I can’t go back. I can’t pretend I don’t know what’s happening in our world. I already knew some of it, as God has called my heart to those sexually abused and beyond. But this is different. Now I know more.

I can’t pretend life is sweet and great all the time, when I hear stories of  Ouk Srey Leak and Solange from Ashley’s many trips to Africa and beyond (as an advocate for Population Services International) and wonder if they’re still alive, or whether HIV/AIDS has taken their live because of the injustice done to them by savages.

I can’t pretend I don’t relate to Ashley when seeing the pain of others triggers your own pain so deeply in yourself until it finally boils to the top and you have deal with it. Oh.. I do.

But God uses our pain, if we allow Him to. He changes us. He mends our hearts. Then He says, “Go and be my hands and feet.” I am reminded in the midst of Ashley’s book why I started Esther’s House. God is using my own pain to bring healing to others. God, forgive me for my second thoughts.

Ashley walks you through many mission fields, as well as the travesties and adventures of her own childhood. As I read the pages, I didn’t see Ashley Judd, one of the greatest actresses of all time. I didn’t see the daughter and sister of one of my favorite Country Music duos, The Judds.

No… I saw a little girl, desperate for the love of her mother. Desperate to understand whether or not her father wanted her. A little girl seeking a sense of belonging somewhere, wishing she wasn’t invisible to the world. A sweet child using her imagination to remove her from the reality she was stuck in. A little girl whose innocence was stolen. Again, I am angry.

I saw me. As I read, I yearned to reach through the pages, hold her hand, and say, “You were made for more than this. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Where there is brokenness, there is healing.

God comes to us in the midst of our brokenness. He holds our hands in the memories and pain. He rocks us gently as a sweet father does for his crying baby. If we let Him.

He says, “Come to me all who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest.” Matthew 11:28.

He came to Ashley and gave her burdened and weary heart rest. He healed her. He used her pain to have compassion for a hurting world. Then she took that compassion and turned it into action, going into the trenches all over the world, refusing to allow her past to define her.

God redeems the time.

As I read about her first day of graduate school, her father by her side, packing lunches and making dinner, my heart was full. You’re never too old to long for your daddy to be by your side in the important steps.

What Satan stole from her childhood, God gave back in her 40’s. It reminds me of the last time my dad held me before he died. I was 24, but in that moment, just a little girl longing for the love of her father.

We may long for things of this world – fame, a husband, friendships, a house with a white picket fence – and those things aren’t bad. But whether we’re an actress or a single mother trying to make ends meet, at the end of the day, we long to be loved. That’s what really matters.

I want to pack my bags and head to Africa. I want to embrace Ouk Srey Leak. I want to hold her and tell her she is loved. In the midst of my anger at injustice and asking God why I’m not on a plane sneaking to Africa to kick butt and take names, He says, “Be still. You will embrace many Ouk Srey Leak’s. You already have and there are many more. I am using you where you are. Be still.”

Ashley writes in the Epilogue, “Do the next, good, right, honest thing. Keep it simple. I am responsible for the stitch, not the whole pattern. Turn the outcome over to God.”

We are responsible for the stitch, not the whole pattern.
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Yes. May I work on my stitch and let God create the pattern.

Does Anyone Ever Really Change?

The scale. My eyes met his eyes for the first time in two months after I finally broke down and bought one for my own. It’s the only scale I’ve ever owned.

I’ve determined the scale fits under the male category for two reasons: It’s easier to blame him when we don’t get the results we want, and when we see good news in the numbers, we want to wrap our arms around him and waltz across the bathroom floor. No? Just me? That’s fine.

Anyway.. back to the scale. April 1, the start of a new month. In less than five seconds, I would have to determine how I would approach the results and whether or not I would allow it to ruin my day.

I gained six pounds. Yep.. That happened. Or maybe not. Maybe it’s a mean April Fool’s joke from Hank. I decided to name my scale Hank. Nope, it wasn’t a joke. I got on again, but this time he told me I was one pound lighter than two minutes prior. Of course I’m going with the last scale reading. What woman wouldn’t?

Does this count as a failure?

I took a deep breath, walked to the kitchen and started my daily routine as normal. Make a cup of coffee, do the dishes, feed the dog, and put my gluten-free waffle in the oven. Then I sat down and opened my journal.

I’m a little bummed this morning, but I won’t stay down. I have to put this in perspective. Two weeks before I moved I was eating horribly. Stressed. Tired. Scared. All emotions. I don’t even want to know how much weight I really gained. The first two weeks here were up and down. I was sick, thanks to stress, and couldn’t work out for the first week, and I was trying to get back into a routine. BUT… the last two weeks have been better. I’ve made better eating choices, and this week has been the best! So… I will just keep on going. Keep on treating my body like a temple. God is not disappointed and I won’t be either.

Stasi Eldredge writes in her book, Becoming Myself: Embracing God’s Dream of You, “I am not a failure as a human being or as a woman. In some core place deep within, I know this. I fail, yes. But I am not a failure. I disappoint. But I am not a disappointment.

I got off track, again. But today I’m on track and today is all I have to focus on. After all, we only fail when we stop trying, right? I’m too stubborn to quit.

Shame is not an agent of change.

There was a time I would’ve allowed that number on the scale define me. I would voluntarily jump into the spiraling tornado of shame and take a trip around the world, finally landing back in Kansas when I felt I’d punished myself enough.

Shame didn’t change me. It didn’t make me want to do the right thing. It didn’t help me take the next right step. No, it took be backwards. I had to fight hard to get out of the cycle.

Knowing I am loved by God changes me. Knowing without a doubt He is for me and not against me causes my heart to want to change. To live for Him. To let go of the bondage and lies Satan tries to write on my heart and forehead telling me food will always control me.

When we know we are truly loved by the God who created us, who isn’t disappointed in us, who doesn’t look at us with disgust, our desire to be obedient increases.

Stasi says, “Our transformation begins when we believe we are loved. “ Do you believe you are loved?

You are, my friend. You. Are. Loved

When we know we are truly loved by the God who created us, our desire to be obedient increases.
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Question: What are you doing today to be reminded of God’s love for you? You can leave a comment by clicking here.

You are Not “The Fat Girl”

A couple of weeks ago I was hanging out with some new friends. We’re still in the “getting to know each other” stage, so there are still those awkward pauses, stares, shifting in our chairs, etc.

Things were going well, until I heard these words come out of one of my new friends’ mouths.

“I’m the fat girl,” she said with a smile, as though bringing humor to it would lighten the impact of those words. They may have for her and the others around us, but not for me.

It made my blood boil. I was mad. I still am. Not at her. I’m mad she believes what the devil is telling her. Mad she truly thinks of herself as the “fat girl” when God thinks of her in such a different way.

I’m mad, because I relate. 

I know what it’s like to be the fat girl. I especially know what it’s like to use humor to make it seem like it’s no big deal. Humor has been and still is my greatest defense mechanism. It’s how I survived most of my life.

Yes, I weighed over 300 lbs., had zero self-esteem, ate my way through pain, refused to talk about my struggles, harbored bitterness in my heart for years, hid addictions underneath my smile, but I could make those around me laugh in an instant.

What happens behind closed doors? 

I can’t really speak for my new friend, but I can guess what she does when the laughter stops and she’s alone. If she’s calling herself that name in front of others and believing that lie, I can imagine what she’s saying to herself and believing when no one is around.

I bet her self-talk goes a little something like this:

I’ll never amount to anything. I’m worthless. I’m ugly. Unlovable. Pathetic. 

The list continues. I’ve had those conversations with myself many, many times.

Here’s the truth…

If we don’t know who we are in Christ, we can’t fully grasp how much God loves us. We have to know what God says about us, and we do that through His Word.

He loves you with an everlasting love.
He is enthralled with your beauty.
He is your friend.
He holds you in His righteous right hand.
You are His beloved.
He has washed you white as snow.
He has made you pure, again.
You are His child.

You are Loved

I could keep going. He loves you, my friend. He loves you more than you can even begin to understand, but until you grasp that, you’ll just keep looking at yourself as “the fat girl.”

Well – I’m not okay with that. I’m not okay with people talking about my friends, or my friends talking bad about themselves. I’m not okay with the lies my friend is believing about herself, just like my friends weren’t okay with the lies I believed about myself.

I’m not perfect. I still struggle. Sometimes I’m the hardest person to give grace to. But it’s much better than it used to be. Why? Because when I start to believe a lie about myself, I go to the truth of what God says about me. Most importantly, I don’t just read the Truth, I believe it. 

You are not “the fat girl. You are not worthless. You are not ugly. You are not a bad wife. You are not a horrible mother. You are not a lousy employee. You are God’s beloved.

If we don’t know who we are in Christ, we can’t fully grasp how much God loves us.
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Question: What does God say about you that I haven’t included in the list? You can leave a comment by clicking here.

Why You Need to Be Stung By a Jellyfish

Have you ever been stung by a jellyfish? Me neither. Well, not a real one anyway. But I’ve been stung by plenty of metaphorical jellyfish and I can say I’m probably a better person for it.

Relationships are interesting. After we get hurt by a few people in our lifetime, it’s easy to become callous to letting others into the vulnerable places of our hearts. It’s easy to assume people are just out to get us.

I used to think that way, especially about men. I thought all men would hurt me eventually. None could be trusted. They were sharks, circling the ocean waters waiting to devour the already hurt places of my heart. I learned I was wrong.

Everyone isn’t out to get us.

As Donald Miller writes in his new book Scary Close, “For the most part, other people aren’t out to get us.”

I’m learning living with distrust brings out the worst in us. It will still bring heartbreak, even if we’re living that way to avoid it. Relationships are hard, but worth the investment, even if you get hurt occasionally.

Miller asks a great question in the book,

“Am I willing to be hurt occasionally and turn the other cheek in order to have a long-term, healthy relationship?”

I am. What about you?

I realize I’ll be hurt again, but that doesn’t justify a fear of intimacy. I know those I’m in deep, intimate relationships with most likely won’t hurt me on purpose. They’re human. So am I. I’ll hurt them, too. But the Bible says, “lover covers a multitude of sins.”

Swimming with jellyfish is part of the adventure. 

Donald’s soon-to-be wife, Betsy, asks him an interesting question in the book. She asked if he’d rather swim in a pool, a lake, or the ocean. He preferred the lake. When asked why, his answer was safe.

“In a lake you don’t have to deal with the jellyfish and the seaweed and the sharks and whatever else.”

She was quick to remind him trying not to get stung by a jellyfish was part of the adventure. “It’s worth it to get stung by a jellyfish every once in a while,” Betsy said. “For the occasional sting, you get to go to sleep feeling the waves and you get to giggle with your cousins.”

Isn’t that what it means to risk yourself on love and relationships? 

It is for me. I like to be safe. Comfortable. Knowing my every next move and plan. But I can’t live my life like that. I’ll die a boring, old maid with crocheted rugs and 20 cats in my house.

We have to dive into the unknown parts of relationships, where the dangers are real.
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I have to dive into the unknown parts of life and relationships, where the dangers are real. But for every danger I face, there are rewards. For every jellyfish that may or may not sting me, there’s a beautiful seashell waiting for me to pick it up and admire its beauty.

When God Speaks

This is a guest post by my friend and editor, Rachel Newman. She’s a Freelance Editor, Indexer, and has invested much of her talent into a future book project. She’ll be at the PENCON Convention in Austin, Texas in May. You should connect with her.

“Do you write much?” The question came from my chiropractor. I was face down on an adjusting table, and we had just been discussing a short essay I’d written comparing chiropractic care to the ministry of the church.

The answer hit me like the slap of a cat’s tail to my face in the middle of night. Editing. No, it wasn’t the answer to his question; it was the answer to mine. A question I’d been earnestly asking God for two weeks. “What’s next God? What is the answer to my heart’s longing?” The answer was so definitive, it left no question in my mind. God had called me to be an editor.

Effective Forms of Communication

Often we think that if we could just hear the audible voice of God, like they did in the Old Testament, then we would know what He wanted us to do. Oh! How easy that would make life.

I once heard a minister give the following scenario. Your child has moved out of the house and is living far away from you. They’ve encountered a situation in which you know exactly what they need to do. You have three options: (1) Write them a letter explaining the situation. (2) Call them on the phone and tell them what to do. Or (3) transfer what you are thinking and the desires you have directly into their mind and heart.

Which would be the most effective form of communication to bring about the desired result? The third option, of course. If you could simply drop the answer into their brain, it would be swift, it would be accurate, and it would be effective.

That is what God has done in this new covenant. He has given us His Spirit; He has given us His mind; He has written His laws on our hearts. When we spend time delighting in His presence and meditating on who He is, we understand who He has made us to be. The things He wants become the things we want. The way He would do things becomes the way we do things. It is the glorious mystery of grace, Christ in us.

Recognizing God’s Voice

When I heard Him say I was an editor, I immediately recognized His voice. Do you know what it sounded like? It sounded like me. He used my brain, and my spirit, and my thoughts to tell me what was in His heart. But I knew it hadn’t come from me; it had come from Him.

You might ask, how can you tell when God speaks if it sounds just like you? You start with His Word. Hebrews 4:12 tells us, “[T]he word of God is quick, and powerful, and sharper than any twoedged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit . . . and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.” His word separates what comes from our soul (our own personality) and what comes from our spirit (which is now one with His Spirit).

Wait, Rachel. You said God told you editing was your answer. Where is that in the Word?

The Word of God is only the beginning. It teaches you of Jesus. It teaches you of the Father. But it is only an introduction, an aid to help you recognize His voice and go deeper into His truths. Through many years of studying His Word and walking in His presence, I now recognize when He speaks to me about any topic, whether it is addressed in the Scriptures or not.

Editing was something I had never before considered. But as He spoke, I instantly knew editing was part of who I am. I began preparing, training, studying. God is the God of preparation, after all. And every bit of editing I’ve been exposed to has confirmed His word to me. In His calling is joy, fulfillment, peace, and even challenge. There is no other place I’d rather be.

Question: What about you? When have you heard God speak? What did it sound like? Are you seeking Him now for anything we could pray with you about? You can leave a comment by clicking here.

Fighting for the Ones We Love: Amanda & Joey’s Story

When life gets hard we want to quit. Our feelings of defeat are normal. It’s okay to feel them, but it’s not always okay to follow through with those feelings.

Meet my friends Amanda and Joey, and their amazing sons. I grew up with them. We laughed together. We cried together. We ate lunch together almost everyday in high school. Joey frequently bought me hot pretzels from the cafeteria ala carte menu.

They’re happy in this picture. Truly happy and full of joy. But life wasn’t always like that.

A Deep Secret Revealed.

High school sweethearts, Joey and Amanda loved each other. It was obvious from the moment they started dating. Joey would loudly profess his love strolling down the hallway between classes. They found out they were having a baby our Senior year (2001), and though it wasn’t their ideal situation, they knew they had to grow up quickly and raise their sweet baby boy.

There was a deep secret lingering in the shadows, though. Joey was on drugs. It was no longer teenagers trying to finish high school. It was real life.

You can imagine the various opinions and pieces of advise people were quickly willing to give Amanda. “Leave him. Raise this baby on your own. You’re young and still have so much life to live.”

But she didn’t. She loved Joey. She married him. She chose to love him enough to walk through an addiction with him – the good, the bad, and the really ugly. The really, really ugly.

When we choose to fight for the ones we love.

Divorce is as common today as taking out the trash. If it doesn’t work with your mate, just move on and find somebody else. I can say, had I been in Amanda’s shoes, I probably would’ve ran the other way. But she didn’t.

Choosing to fight for the ones we love doesn’t always make sense, but it’s worth it.
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She chose to stay and fight. As his addiction got worse, so did her fight to love her husband through the dark times, and be a mother to her children. Her fight paid off.

The world thought she was crazy. I’ll admit, sometimes I did too, but there was something about her perseverance that made me want to support her decision to stay by his side. Perhaps because I know what it’s like to have people give up on you. Because I know the control addiction can have on you.

In 2004, Joey entered rehab. Everything wasn’t perfect after that. He relapsed. Then again. And perhaps a few more times. What I love about this story, though, about all of our stories, is God never stops pursuing us. No matter how many times we screw up.

God waits for us. 

In 2005, Joey and Amanda walked through the doors of Bland Christian Church. Amanda said, “We felt instantly at home and overwhelmed with a desire to know Christ.

Within a month, they were both living their lives for Christ and Joey was finally set free from his addiction. Amanda’s waiting on her husband to be the man she knew he was destined to be, paid off. She didn’t look at Joey and see a drug addict. She saw a man she loved. The father of her children. A child of God struggling to find freedom.

Just as Amanda waited for Joey, God waits for us. He doesn’t give up when times get hard. He pushes through with us. He desires to push through with you, my friend, whatever the circumstances.

10 years later, three growing boys later, and a youth group of teens being led by a couple on fire for the Lord, the Butlers are a beautiful picture of God’s grace.

I am so proud to call these two friends. I’m even more excited to know they are my brother and sister in Christ.

Are you struggling today? Feel like there is no hope for you? Whiskey isn’t your answer. Drugs aren’t your answer. Pornography isn’t. Men aren’t your answer. Food isn’t the answer. Jesus is.

There is hope for you, just as there was for Joey and Amanda. Reach for Jesus. Reach for an “Amanda,” who will walk through this fight with you.

You are loved. You are chosen. By a God who longs for you to know how much He cares for you.