Christ in the Lights of a Neon Parking Lot [After "Sext" Messaging and a Night Full of Binge Eating]

  Overwrought with tremendous anxiety due to my impending "to-do" list:

  Two research papers, one 30 minute presentation outline, one curriculum composition, one extra credit article, 4 mixed media pieces, 3 transcript requests and an essay for the completion of my Belmont portfolio,

 I hit a wall. 

   After every devised escape plan proved only to make the burden on my shoulders heavier, I pulled myself up out of bed around 7 p.m. I wondered how I could feel so exhausted after a 3 hour nap. I carried my lead limbs and the vice around my head back to the couch where I'd been planted from 6 a.m. to 3 p.m. 

I studied my planner. 

My belly ached with self-loathing. 

"Jade. You are 23 years old. When are you going to start being responsible?"

   My negative reinforcement was enough to demand two new pages of my research paper out of my resistant hands. In turn, I felt secure in my decision to engage in a new, 8:00 episode of The Mindy Project. 

"I can do both."

I said.

10 p.m. disagreed. 

 After opening my computer to "too late" 
And realizing I had [once again]  
dove into quicksand,

I began trembling and crying.

"Jesus! Jesus. Help me! What have I done?"

I said aloud. 

Without being still to listen to the Holy Spirit I interrupted with my own, fallen solution:

"I know what is wrong. 

I am hungry!"

... 

 Why was I so hungry? I had eaten dinner. My efforts at a "healthy lifestyle" were actually successful today. I'd had three balanced meals, drank adequate amounts of water, went for a run; took my vitamins. And yet there--in the midst of a mountain of paperwork--nothing seemed more important than feeding my body.

  I dove for my keys and rushed out the door before I could convince myself not to binge eat. The old familiar foe that adopted me as I began healing from anorexia crept back in. My idolatry of food over-took me. As I cruised beneath the neon lights of a local fast-food establishment, I began to self-deprecate; I ordered more than I knew my body could consume. My plan: Obliteration. I wanted it to hurt going down my throat.

 The enemy did not have to kick down the doors. I unlatched my chain-lock, turned the knob, and embraced him like a friend. 

 How quickly I abandon my Father for my idols. 

 Last week, the Lord asked me to lay down a relationship that has been a stronghold in my life for a year and a half. 

"Friends, lovers, or nothing..." 

On any given day 

We could be defined by 

Any 

Or all 

Of these things. 

   MY commitment hesitation has caused more destruction than I have words to write about. Despite my pursuit of healing in this area, I struggle with falling in love. I do not like the feeling of giving my power, my future, my dreams, my aspirations to another human being and trusting that they will come through for me. I am a character-flawed, coward. 

I am a tease. 

 I could use my past as a crutch. I could say it was some kind of emotional abuse, or a series of incredibly traumatic events. However, I know--at the end of the day--all of those things are excuses.

 I am not healed because I will not let the Lord heal me.
I meet Him with resistance every time.

 It is not as simple as "letting go." I am consumed by my flesh--even beyond my conception. I am reminded of Paul in Romans 7:15:

"For we know that the Law is spiritual, but I am of flesh, sold into bondage to sin. For what I am doing, I do not understand; for I am not practicing what I would like to do, but I am doing the very thing I hate."

 I let him go, I abrasively chase him again. The room feels cold and lonely and despite my efforts to press in and seek the healer, the temptation to send that last, gratifying, inappropriate text message wins and I am...

human. 

  I write this, because I want to be a vessel of confession. I do not mind the repercussions. This is my vulnerability.  I do not feel ashamed about my actions because I know this is not my character. This is a coping mechanism. This is a stronghold. This brokenness is not my identity. 

The 12 chicken nuggets, two cookies, and one large french fry

I ate tonight in a five-minute time period is not who I am. 

The emotional manipulation, verbal abuse that spills out of my mouth, and distancing
from people I love when I feel abandoned is symptomatic of my brokenness.
This is
Not Jade. 

  In the midst of my binge eating, I felt Jesus sitting next to me in the passenger seat watching me. He nodded at me, asking me if it was okay if He put His hand on my back. He waited like a child for an invitation to be let in. 

 "You're such a gentleman."

I said. 

I continued:

"You're probably sitting here wondering why I'm doing this when I know I can turn to You. I guess this is my low self-esteem, or feeling like my body is trash again. You're probably annoyed because You keep telling me not to go back to my bondage but I keep going back like this. I just keep eating and eating. I just keep stringing boys along for false validation because I can't stop consuming everything in my path. If I stop consuming--I will be hungry, I will be empty. 

I will be

a l o n e. 

I wish you'd break my arms; 
Sever my limbs,
Lord. 

I wish You weren't such a gentleman sometimes.
 I wish you'd storm the door--
Let the walls cave in.

Father, 

I am of flesh.

Father, 

I am in bondage.

Come, Lord Jesus,
Sit with me
In my sin.

Please God.
Just watch me eat this;
Watch me make an oil spill of my body.

 Don't leave me.
Father, believe me when I say:

I 

Can't 

Stop."

The Lord shifted in His posture, He lingered near my face; I felt Him take His hand and press it against my back. He leaned into my ear and gently said:

"Daughter, you don't have to stop...
But you can stop.
I will sit with you
Either way."

   I looked up, ill with wrappers and ketchup containers and used napkins covering me. I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror and as I saw my broken-heartedness I heard the voice of the Lord speak to me again:

"Daughter of Love,

Will you love yourself

enough to stop?"

   I pulled back and began putting my trash away. I pulled down my visor and flipped on my sidelight. I wiped my eyes and my mouth; I pulled back the hair from my face into a tight bun and studied myself. 

    Though looking in the mirror is at times physically painful for me, I decided to power through it. I looked at my cheekbones that I am incredibly unsatisfied with, my less than perfect skin, the way my lower teeth uncomfortably crowd the center of my mouth, and the way that I look...tired. I felt like a sunken in couch. 

 When am I going to stop being so mean to myself?

I continued.

    He responded by asking me how I was feeling physically. I briefly evaluated my physical state: my stomach was sore, my throat was repulsed, my forehead was warm and damp, and my palms felt stiff and clammy.

"Lord, I feel terrible."

I said. 

He responded with:

"That is because your void is spiritual, not physical."

  

  I keep seeing this image of myself taking a sharp shovel and carving huge portions of my body out. I offer up the remains to strangers. My brow grows weary but I keep shoveling. My hope is that someone will come along and stop me: Someone will come and fill me--sew me up, make me whole. 

  Meanwhile, the Lord keeps giving me aubergine thimbles. I first believed this word was for a friend [and still do], but I feel as though it serves a duel purpose:

The stitching is going to hurt. 

The Lord is going to press into my wounds 

And sew back the pieces of myself 

I have given away freely 

So that I might have complete restoration. 

I have been given a picture of God the surgeon. 

 "Father, forgive me now.

Amputate my Godless doubt.

You are God, and I forget."

-Sam Pinkerton

How quickly I forget He is God and that his mercies have made me royalty. As Brian always says: "We must stop acting as orphans." We belong to someone.

It is in this act that we have the ability to recognize we are empowered: We will daily fight the temptation to go back to our old idols, and abandon the supernatural for the natural. 

But He reminds us of the special helper who empowers us to walk out of darkness. And when we do not walk out of darkness--when we send the text we shouldn't have, when we go back to sexual immorality, when we are adulterers, when we are alcoholics, and binge-eaters, prostitutes and excessive spenders--

He puts his hand on our back--
A gentleman:

Waiting for an invitation to 

C o m e   i n.