*NEW* Project!

I've decided to start a new blog that's a little different from this one. It's called...

THE HEALTHY BABY BUMP!

So I guess you know what that means....I'm pregnant! :)

James and I could not be more thrilled. For those of you who have been following this blog for a while know what an answer to prayer this precious baby is to us. God's faithfulness is overwhelming, and we are so excited.

I'd love to tell you the whole story...but it would take way too long to type. So, how about you hop over to youtube and check out my video?

Don't forget to leave me a comment! ;)

True Beauty: Transparency

Over the past few weeks, I've opened my inbox to have several emails from people I don't know. The email addresses are different, but the content is essentially the same. They are all from women who have trusted Jesus Christ as their Savior, they have read my recently-published book, and like me, they have at one point in their life, either now or previously, battled an eating disorder.

I've had ups and downs reading their notes. Sometimes, I can identify with their stories so well that I am brought to tears. Other times, I rejoice so loudly with their victory in Jesus over their past destructive behavior, I wake James up. (I check my emails in the morning, and I get up before him - whoops!)

However, today, I got a particular email that broke my heart more than others. Though this young woman has definitely had her share of struggle, it wasn't the details of her eating disorder, or even her depression, that devastated me.

She wrote...

"Last night, I told my sister and a handful of close friends [about my struggle with the eating disorder.] It is amazing to see how the Lord is already working through it. I have a few good friends who are currently struggling with eating disorders. I would have never been able to understand or relate, nor would they have ever told me, if I wasn't first upfront and vulnerable in front of them."

Three things in this paragraph caught my eye.

1. Of the handful of close friends she told who she knew she could count on to pray, a few of them (defined as at least 3 or more) are currently struggling with an eating disorder.

Maybe we've allowed ourselves to become immune to the statistics:

- 1 in 5 women currently have an eating disorder.

- 90% of the women who do have eating disorders are between the ages of 12-25.

- Twenty percent of the women who do survive anorexia will die prematurely due to health conditions caused by the eating disorder.

But those statistics don't represent numbers - they represent people. And they aren't strangers - they are people you know. She's the woman who sits in front of you on Sunday mornings in church. She's the student who walked by you on campus today. She's the young girl who just joined the youth group. She may even be your daughter, your mother....maybe even the pastor's wife.

We have all of the research, so being uneducated can't be the reason we don't act upon it. Certainly, we can't believe this type of unhealthy lifestyle is acceptable, so that can't be why we don't respond. Yet, remaining silent certainly takes less time and energy than dealing with the consequences of our actions or attempting to change.

2. If one person is willing to be vulnerable, others will follow.

The next time you're at church, test my "fine disease" theory. Ask five people how they are doing, and at least four of them will quickly respond to you, "Fine." Of course they are. I'm fine, you're fine...all of God's people are just fine!

We want to appear confident. Put-together. Solid. Because somehow, we have wrongly associated lack of difficulty in our life with godliness.

Wrong.

Don't believe me? Just check out Psalm 34:19 and 2 Timothy 3:12.

Persecution and affliction are not a maybe thing when you walk with Christ. It's not even a most-likely thing. It's a promise.

But what happens when we keep our struggles inside? We quietly pray, hoping that no one notices any broken pieces we haven't frantically tried to glue back together. When God restores the situation, we silently bow our heads and give Him praise.

Do you see what's wrong with this picture? We give God a golf clap (which is way lame, if you ask me, and one of the many reasons why I choose to watch football instead) when we should be wearing His jersey, jumping up and down, screaming with excitement as He runs us into the end zone!

Every time I share about my shortcomings in my walk with Christ, people line up to talk to me afterwards. Many times, it's just to utter the two words that were actually the subject line of the email I've referred to in this post: "Me too."

3. As soon as this young woman opened her mouth and shared her struggles, God started working in her life...and in the lives around her.

One of my favorite passages in Scripture is 2 Corinthians 4:5-9:

"For we do not preach ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your servants for Jesus' sake. For God, who said, "Let light shine out of darkness," made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ. But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed."

For this to make sense, we have to remember that "jars of clay" is an ancient metaphor for human weakness. So if you were just to isolate that one passage, it reads:

"But we have this treasure in human weakness to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us."

Make it even more personal: We have an opportunity in our human weakness to show others the power of God.

Picture for one second that you are that clay jar. Imperfection happens. Maybe it's anorexia, but maybe you struggle in another area: jealousy, gossip, sexual sin, drugs, lying. Maybe you're struggling in your marriage or maybe you're compromising your morals at work. But when you try to piece yourself back together, you're just a clay pot with a bunch of dull cracks.

However, when you share your struggles with others, when you admit your imperfections....that is when His light can shine through you to penetrate into the lives of others. And where does the light shine the brightest - in the pieces that are solid and held together? No. God's light shines brightest through the cracks of the jar of clay...in our human weakness.

Instead of seeing transparency as messy and broken, can we recognize it as the opportunity for God's light to shine brightly through us?

Transparency is beautiful.

Let Him bust down your wall.

Let him peel off your mask.

Allow Him to mold you into the very person He created you to be.

My Confession of Doubt & Request for Prayer

"...He [Satan] was a murderer from the beginning, and does not stand in the truth because there is no truth in him Whenever he speaks a lie, he speaks from his own nature, for he is a liar and the father of lies." - John 8:44

For the past few days, I've been repeating this verse to myself over and over again, especially that one little phrase: "There is no truth in him."

In case you don't know, I'm in the process right now of publishing my first book. It's called The Look that Kills: An Anorexic's Addiction to Control, and it should be available by the end of the summer. (In case you've never read my testimony, click here for a teaser of what the book is about.)

I'm so thankful that I wrote that account of my testimony within a few days of when it actually happened. I remember sobbing as I wrote it because I could remember each moment with such detail. I felt so overwhelmed, so thankful and so amazed that God would have gone to such great lengths to draw me back to Himself....even when I just took a baby step back in His direction (James 4:8).

But just a few weeks of the day when I fell, I began doubting it ever happened.

At first, I thought it was just me. After all, at that time, I had been extremely far from the Lord. When the doubts began, I was shocked and ashamed of my own disbelief.

The first time I was asked to share my testimony in public, my doubt was paralyzing. I wasn't even sure if I waa going to be able to go through with it.

Michelle....really? You went how long without eating and you ran how far? Is that even physically possible?

Michelle, you love telling great stories. are you sure your testimony just wasn't up to your standard? And if the story you're telling isn't even true, do you really think God would even use it?

Finally, from beginning to read the Bible again, something triggered. This was spiritual warfare. This didn't mean that I was super spiritual or that I was so special that Satan was attacking me. It just meant that Satan was literally using his oldest trick in the book.

This trick he was using went all the way back to the Garden of Eden when he tempted Eve: "Did God really say that?" (Genesis 3:1).

Thankfully, though each time before I share my testimony, Satan seems to creep these doubts back into my mind, God is bigger. Those close to me know about my struggles, and they are faithful to pray for me specifically as I am preparing to share my story with others.

But now that I am just a mere weeks away from the release of my story being released into the public, these doubts have escalated to a new level. It's to the point to where as I am turning off my alarm clock, I have to immediately begin praying for God's protection. I can't let my guard down for a second.

For example, this past week, I was a rushed getting ready in the morning, and I was going to have to have my quiet time later than usual. Those few hours were exhausting, as Satan delivered one low blow after another. (I mean, who likes the thought of standing before God in judgement and being asked why I created a new testimony when He had already given me one?)

I am still going to begin everyday with personal dependency on the Lord to begin praying as soon as my feet hit the floor. After all, I know that I should not "be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present [my] requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard [my] heart and [my] mind in Christ Jesus" (Philippians 4:6-7). But I also know James 5:16 says "the prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective."

That's why I am asking you to join me in prayer that the doubts will cease -- that not a single second of God's glory will be robbed by insecurity planted by the enemy. I want to be able to tell my story with full confidence in Christ.

If you don't know exactly the words to pray, that's fine. Romans 8:26 says, "In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express." Please just lift me up whenever the Holy Spirit brings me to your mind.

Ironically enough, I had doubts of whether I should write this blog or not. Friday afternoon, I decided to just write it. When I was finished, I would decide whether or not to publish it. So poured my heart out as I have just done. Then, when I clicked "publish post," my server timed out, and I lost everything. That's when I knew I had to publish it.

Satan didn't want God's people joining in prayer against him. He liked me trying to fight the battle alone - because he knew he stood a better chance of beating me down that way.

But I know that my God is bigger than any enemy and prayer is more powerful than any insecurity or doubt that Satan can muster. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you for your prayers. I am confident that as I stand with Christ who strengthens me, with the support of my brothers and sisters in Him, Satan will not get any victory from my life.

"We always thank God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, when we pray for you, since we heard of your faith in Christ Jesus and of the love that you have for all the saints, because of the hope laid up for you in heaven. Of this you have heard before in the word of the truth, the gospel, which has come to you, as indeed in the whole world it is bearing fruit and growing—as it also does among you, since the day you heard it and understood the grace of God in truth." - Colossians 1:3-6

Sidenote: If you are interesting in learning more about spiritual warfare, this is one of my favorite resources on the subject:

Beauty By Design - My Interview with Alyssa Avant

Yesterday, I had the honor of being interviewed on the Mom-Daughter Connection Radio Podcast. Alyssa Avant has a fantastic ministry, and yesterday, her topic was anorexia nervosa. Alyssa set up our conversation very well on her blog (www.beautybydesignonline.com), so I'm going to re-post her comments and attach a link to the podcast. I hope you will listen.

For today’s show I interviewed a young lady in ministry, Michelle Myers, who several years ago struggled with a big temptation and sin in her life. Her sin was unlike some that teens struggle with, but all the same it was the area where Satan attacked her life.
She shares her story of dealing with anorexia, bringing her close to death, but ultimately closer to Christ. She now shares her story as a way to share Christ with others. It is an awesome testimony all young girls need to hear.

I want to thank Michelle for being on the show and tell you that you must keep an eye out, as Michelle is writing a book that is a must have. She’ll be back on the show once it is available and we’ll be sure to help you know where to get your copy. Thanks Michelle!


Please listen to the podcast by clicking here.

My Mother's Day Reflection

Today is a day that I have been waiting to come for a long time. Before you get too excited - no, I'm not pregnant. But today is the day that I am delcaring victory over Satan and anorexia - once and for all.

Most people know that I struggled with a pretty serious case of anorexia for most of college. In April 2005, I admitted to my parents that I had a problem, and they supported me through an intense 1.5 year recovery/weight gain process. My parents' unconditional love was the push I needed to get back on the right track.

By June, I had finally gotten enough of a grasp on my eating and my parents agreed I was ready to move to Texas to begin my seminary degree - a huge leap of faith on their part.

For most of my life, I don't think people would have described me as a nurturer. I never really thought I had any of the "mommy" genes. In fact, when I moved to Texas, I was pretty convinced that God's plan for me did not include marriage or children. Coupled with the fact that I knew because of my eating disorder, getting pregnant would be difficult for me and the lack of desire in my heart to be a mom, it seemed logical that God would just want me to be focused on serving Him - not a husband or children.

Even as I shared this with people who asked, though, I still had a story that I couldn't quite shake from my mind...

The summer before 8th grade, I was putting together some family pictures, and I found some pictures of my mom from her young 20's. I'm not afraid to say it - my mom was hot. Terry McNatt did well for himself. Like me, my mom competed in pageants. She only competed at the state level (Miss Tennessee) one year because my dad proposed before she could compete again.

I showed her the picture, complimented her stunning beauty and asked her, "Do you ever wonder what could have happened if you had gone back to compete again?"

She shrugged. "Maybe for a little while...but as soon as we had you girls, I knew that maybe God had created me just for the purpose of being your mom. Someday, I might be a legacy because of you."

I don't think she realized how much those words impacted me. I realized in that moment that God would have to give me a personality transplant in order for me to be a good mother. I wanted the spotlight. I needed the approval of the world. In my mind, it would be failure to say that my life's purpose was for someone else to get the glory.

But "God's plan" (which was really more my plan all along) was completely ruined shortly after I moved to Texas and I met my husband.

James has all the characteristics you could ever want in a father. He's a strong leader, and he seeks the Lord in all areas of his life. He is a natural protector and provider. He leads with such humility that I knew from our first conversation that I wanted to be on his team for the rest of my life. I wanted this man calling the shots for me. And wait a second...I wanted to raise a family with him?

I realized then that I had a long way to go. Case and point? My mother. The definition of a servant, my mom always went above and beyond for me and my sister. We had every need met and most of our wants. Whether sitting at the table with us to make sure our homework was done or driving us to whatever activity of that season, she was always there. She worked as a teacher and came home to work again - dinner, laundry, cleaning, etc. She did every bit of it without complaining - so much that until I began managing my own house, I didn't recognize how hard she worked.

Not to mention, James and I had the additional pressure of my eating disorder looming over us. Sure, I was much better than I had been...but I still had foods that were "off limits." I was convinced if I ever ate them, I would instantly gain 50 lbs.

I remember one day in particular when I came home from teaching at the gym. James had gotten off work early, and he had made chicken tacos. I wasn't there to watch him make the chicken to make sure he hadn't cooked it in butter or anything, so even though I had just finished a tough workout, I insisted I wasn't very hungry. I found a can of tomato soup in the pantry and began heating it in the microwave.

James looked at me with sad eyes. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't get angry. He just said quietly, "You know, I can't marry you until you get this under control."

That was the beginning of Phase 2 of my recovery. There was an urgency there that didn't exist with my parents. My parents HAD to love me...but James didn't. As our relaitonship deepened, I knew I had to begin making some compromises and releasing some control to James over what I ate. It sounds silly, but I wasn't making the best decisions on my own, and I needed his help.

He didn't go to the opposite extreme - insisting that I eat cheeseburgers and greasy pizza every night. But we discovered that I liked pork tenderloin. He began making healthier choices - switching to whole wheat pasta, leaner cuts of meat, etc. I no longer feared eating what James cooked because I knew that he was on my team. He wanted me to be healthy, and he wanted me to be happy.

Through James' prayer and support, we mastered my compulsive nature. Most addictive behaviors consist of thoughts and compulsions. For example, I would have thoughts of how fat I was, and then my compulsive action would be to skip my next few meals. I still battled the thoughts and avoided mirrors to the best of my ability, but I knew that even if I had a bad day, I would never get back to the point of food restriction.

When James proposed, I thought that my relationship with food would never be healthier. I just came to the conclusion that this would always be the area where Satan would tempt me, but I was confident that through God's strength and my husband by my side, I would never walk that dangerous road again.

But immediately after thr ring went on my finger, the question changed from, "When do you think ya'll will get married?" to "When do you want to start having kids?"

Each time I was asked that question, guilt and shame would wash over me. Sure, maybe the person didn't know my history. Or maybe they didn't know that having an eating disorder like mine does plenty of irreversible damage to your reproductive system. But I always felt that fear lingering inside of me.

What if I can't give this amazing man the children that he deserves?

Over the past year, we've seen several of our couple friends become parents. It sparked conversations between us about the names of our children, adoption, and how our parents would handle being grandparents from a distance. We decided on at least one name for each sex.

Our little boy will be Noah, and our little girl is Storie.

It's become easy to pray for these little ones by name. For someone who didn't have a desire to be a mom until three years ago, I must be making up for lost time because I am already crazy in love with my kids...that aren't even on their way yet!

That's why today, on Mother's Day, I want to thank my precious Noah and Storie. Because though they aren't physically with us on this earth yet, they've done something that only God could orchestrate.

They've gotten their mother through her third and final phrase of her recovery from anorexia.

I never thought I would be able to go a day without making sure that my daily calorie intake was equivalent or less than my daily calories burned. I never thought I would be able to look in a mirror and see what everyone else sees when they look at me. I never thought I would ever experience a day of complete freedom of eating when I felt hungry and stopping when I was satisfied.

But over the past three or four months, I started a pattern. If I ever had an anorexic thought, I began praying for Noah and Storie. Seeing their sweet faces in my imagination just made me smile and put my mind where it needs to be - off of myself and on the responsibility of taking care of my family.

So this year, while I am not able to celebrate Mother's Day as a mom, I want to celebrate my precious Noah and Storie, who have helped their mother more than they'll ever know. I can't believe that I ever allowed myself to be so inward focused that I could ever think that raising a child was a wasteful legacy. I am eager to see how God uses the lives of Noah and Storie to do His work.

I don't know how I will be a mom - whether through natural birth or adoption - but for my children, I pray the prayer of Hannah.

"I am the woman who was standing here in your presence, praying to the Lord. For this child I have prayed and the Lord has granted me my petition that I made to him. Therefore I have lent him to the Lord. As long as he lives, he is lent to the Lord."

(1 Samuel 1:26b-28)

The Skeleton in My Mirror

Everyone has skeletons in their closet - secret shame from your past that you don't want anyone to find out about. But this is a picture of my skeleton - except I didn't keep mine in my closet. I had to look at mine in the mirror everyday.

It started out as an attempt to become more “healthy.” After watching several older friends take on the “freshman 15” in college, I was determined it wouldn’t happen to me. At 118 pounds, I decided to make some changes.

First, I decided I needed to increase my exercise. In high school, I worked at a health and fitness center, so I typically worked out 4-5 times a week. When I would finish a shift, I would head to the cardio machines and leisurely jog on the treadmill or go to a strength-training class.

That wasn’t enough for me now. I read that it was better to work out on an empty stomach, so I began getting up at 5 a.m. to get my workout in before class. But that didn’t mean that I stopped my routine at night after work. Double the exercise meant double the results.

I started getting attention from the personal trainers and fitness managers. “Michelle, you’re in such great shape. You look amazing. It’s such a waste having you at the front desk. Why don’t you get certified to teach classes?”

Did I just get offered to get paid to workout? Somebody pinch me, because I am dreaming. It was perfect. I paid for the certifications out of my savings account, and before I knew it, I was no longer standing behind a desk. I was up in front of the exercise classes, torching calories for hours a day. Yet, I couldn’t seem to shake the last few pounds that I wanted gone.

“Michelle, you know that working out is only 20% of weight loss. 80% is nutrition,” one of the personal trainers informed me when I shared my frustrations. Enough said. Exercise more, check. Operation: Eat Less would begin.

I began doing intensive research on the healthiest foods, the lowest in calories, and the lowest in fat grams. I developed my “Safe Foods” and made sure they were always accessible. I knew as long as I stuck to my routine, I knew exactly what was going into my body. There wouldn’t be a single calorie unaccounted for.

Operation: Eat Less included old fashioned oats and ½ cup of egg whites for breakfast. I ate a turkey sandwich on whole grain bread with lettuce and mustard only. If I had already worked out that day, I could have an apple for dessert. For a snack, I would have non-fat yogurt and carrot sticks. My dinner consisted of a chicken breast, steamed broccoli, and a sweet potato (if I hadn’t eaten the apple at lunch. Before I went to bed, I drank 8 oz. of skim milk. Oh, and I had 128 oz. of water each day. It always came out to less than 800 calories a day. (I wrote it down in my food diary each day.) I burned twice as many calories as I consumed most days. Sometimes I burned even more.
The weight fell off of me. I’m not sure how quickly it happened or when exactly it all came of. I still felt disgustingly fat each time I looked in the mirror. How was it possible that I still looked heavy in the mirror when size 0 pants had to be taken in to fit me?

I no longer saw benefits from two-a-day workouts. I wasn’t sure I could force myself to eat less. I was already starving. I asked my manager for more classes. Pretty soon, I was teaching 15 classes a week.

By this point, the compliments had stopped. They were replaced with, “Michelle, you’re so thin. Maybe you should back off a few days. Are you sure you’re eating enough?”

Instead of paying attention to their concerns, they only motivated me more. But the comments didn’t stop. I knew I was going to have to do something to prove to everyone that I didn’t have a problem – because I didn’t. I just wanted to be healthy.

I needed a mask, and I needed one fast. I entered a pageant. What person with an eating disorder or an unhealthy body image would purposely parade around on a stage in a swimsuit? It was perfect.

I was 19. I didn’t think I stood a chance. But at the end of the night, the crown went on my head – average, good student, little church nerd ME! That’s when the mixed signals started. At the same time I heard, “Michelle, I think you might be a little too skinny,” I heard, “But you look absolutely amazing on camera.”

From there, I went from bad to worse. Now, I was going to have to compete against 50 of the most beautiful girls in my state. I knew I couldn’t beat them in age or experience. They had a few years of maturity on me in the talent competition. But I could do everything in my power to rock the swimsuit competition. I just had to have the will power. If I couldn’t get rid of the weight while I was still eating, I would just stop eating altogether.

I cut out snacks first, then meals. Before long, I was skipping entire days of eating. All while keeping up my exercise class teaching schedule. Plus, I decided I needed to train for a half-marathon.

It was empowering. I knew I had something inside of me that was better than everyone else. Everyone I knew had to count on food to survive. I was super-human, I could make it without it. Sure, I would have to break down and eat something every once in a while. I just made sure it was a “negative calorie food” – foods that actually burn more calories to digest that you do from eating them. As if that wasn’t enough, I began taking multiple appetite suppressants and fat burners.

By the time the state pageant rolled around, I was at my smallest. During the swimsuit competition, my dad, who was typically my biggest fan, put the binoculars down. “I can’t look at her like that,” he told my sister. He knew I had a problem. They all did. But anytime they brought it up to me, I had an amazing excuse. I still didn’t think it was a big deal.
Backstage, the girls all fussed over how thin I was – how it was “unfair” to have to walk on stage after me. I looked in the mirror, glancing at my trouble spots, wishing my tummy would be just a little smaller.

“I bet you don’t even weigh 90 pounds,” one of the other contestants challenged.

“Sure, I do,” I said. “I weigh 102,” I said, even though the last time I had stepped on a scale was nearly six months earlier.

“Prove it,” she dared, pointing to a scale in the corner.

“I will,” I replied defiantly, swallowing hard. You would have thought I was walking to the gallows to be hung the way I was dreading stepping on that scale. What if I had gained weight? What if they actually thought I was fat?

Taking a deep breath, I stepped on the scale, closing my eyes.

The other contestant shouted, “Ha ha! I was right! 89 pounds everyone!”

I don’t remember if I said anything to her. I just know her words kept echoing in my brain. 89 pounds. Plus, my shoes and my earrings alone weighed at least five pounds. I know 89 pounds is skinny. Maybe even too skinny. So why do I still feel fat?

All of the sudden, I knew I had a problem.

But I had gotten myself into a mess I didn’t know how to get out of. I didn’t want to disappoint my parents. I didn’t want to have to go through therapy. I didn’t want to have to leave my job or put college on hold. More than that though – I didn’t want to eat. I couldn’t bear the thought of gaining weight.

I knew there was only one way to handle this. Quit fighting, and let food and the mirror win. Just accept that I was afraid of food, and do whatever it took to cover my tracks. There were times I would go to bed hoping I wouldn’t wake up so it would be over. I had trouble sleeping. Many nights, I heard my parents and my older sister come into my room to check to make sure I was breathing.

My family did everything they could. I left the house before they were awake most mornings. I would leave the pantry door partially open so they would think I had gotten breakfast before I left. They would bring my dinner at work. I would make up an excuse about having to train a client, but I was always appreciative. I shudder to think about how much money they spent on food that I put in the trash can or gave away. I knew I was hurting them. I heard my mom’s sniffles. I saw the circles under my dad’s eyes. I felt my sister pulling away from me like she knew she had to distance herself since they were losing me.
A small detail I forgot to mention: I was still a leader in my church throughout all of this. I taught a bible study to the youth group girls. I sang in the praise team every Sunday morning and Sunday night. Yet I had completely abandoned my personal relationship with Christ. I knew the Sunday school answers. I knew the public prayers to pray. But I couldn’t force myself to be real with God because I couldn’t bring myself to think about how much I was hurting Him.

But as God tends to do, He eventually got my attention. On April 14, 2005, I took off to a park about 10 minutes away from my parent’s house to complete my last long run before my upcoming marathon. 20 miles was on the training plan, and it didn’t matter that I hadn’t had a meal in 13 days. I was super human, remember?

I made sure to cover all of my bases beforehand. I knew my parents would call to find out where I was and beg me to come home, so I purposely left my cell phone in the kitchen so they would have no way to reach me.

I made it to mile 19. My vision began to get blurry as I rounded a corner of the familiar park. This stretch of the trail was completely hidden from the road. Trying to clear my vision, I closed my eyes for a few paces. The next thing I knew, I tripped, and I was on the ground. All 84 pounds of me hit the pavement, and I literally felt every brittle bone in my body crack.

Frantically, I scanned for help, but I was all alone. I wanted to cry, but I didn’t have the energy. I couldn’t see anymore, so I tried to open my eyes. Oh my gosh. My eyes felt open, but I couldn’t see anything. What is going on? I knew I should panic. Wait a second. Michelle, why is breathing so hard? Michelle, GET UP! Can you hear me? Why aren’t you moving? This is serious! MICHELLE!

I don’t know how long I laid there and tried to move. I just knew I couldn’t get up. Wow, I thought. So this is it. It finally happened. I am going to die right here on this track. Still trying to move, I attempted to gather my final thoughts. Michelle, how did you let it get this far? How could you be so selfish? Mom will never recover. Dad will never forgive himself. And your sister is getting married in three months and her maid of honor won’t be there.

I knew that I should talk to God. I used to turn to Him for everything, and now, I didn’t know what to say. Still trying to move, I attempted to gather my final thoughts. Michelle, how did you let it get this far? How could you be so selfish? Mom will never recover. Dad will never forgive himself. And Melody’s getting married in three months. Her maid of honor won’t be there, thanks to you! What will they think when they find you like this? What if they don’t find you? What if it’s some child headed to the playground?

Bingo, I thought. Something I can ask God for.

So, for the first time in over a year, I prayed – really prayed. Not a prayer out loud at church to make everyone think that I was the perfect Christian – I was the master of those - but I went before my Savior with a genuine request.

God, I’m not asking You to live. I don’t deserve to live. I know that. But if You could, can I just get up and walk to my car? That’s all I want, Jesus. Just let me walk to my car.

To this day, I don’t know if angels picked me up or if God simply gave me the strength I needed to stand. But through His grace, I stood up. I don’t remember much about the walk to my car, but I know I made it there. I sat in the driver’s seat and reached for the middle console where I usually kept my cell phone. Of course, it wasn’t there. It was on the kitchen counter, where I had accidentally left it on purpose.

Well, there goes your last hope, Michelle. The only thing you can do is sit here and wait to die. I drank some water that I had with me, and I felt it slosh around in my empty stomach.

See, Michelle. You’ve always heard that before you die, you think about what is really important to you. What did you think about? Your family and your faith. Did you think, “Gosh, I am going to look so fat in my casket. I really shouldn’t have eaten that apple almost two weeks ago. You should have ran farther!” NO, YOU DIDN’T!

All of the sudden, I wanted to live. Really live. Not count calories or starve myself. I want to hug my dad and tell my mom I love her, I realized. I want to catch Melody’s bouquet in June. I’m sorry, precious family. God, I want to talk to you, but I don’t know what to say. I turned my car on. Maybe a car running will attract more attention than a parked car.

I don’t remember having my radio on as I was driving to the park. Even f I did, I certainly didn’t have it on the contemporary Christian radio station. Literally and figuratively, I had been running from God for quite some time. People who run from God don’t listen to songs that remind them of their guilt.

Then, I heard it. God’s voice. That comforting voice that I hadn’t heard in so long. Michelle, I love you. In fact, I love you so much, that right now, when you don’t even have the words to say, I’m going to give them to you.

Then, the radio station played the song below:

“Restore Me”
- Anthony Evans

On the outside
You think I'm alright
There's a smile on my face
Everything's okay
But on the inside there's a different story
I've stumbled down this road
And I've got so for the go
I'm a broken man
On my knees again
Longing for a touch from you
I need you hand to

Restore me
I need your mercy
Take me
To the place I used to be
Use all the pain and the hurt
To do a greater work and
Restore me

I wore my mask
Running away from my past
Hiding all my scars
Thinking I'd gone too far
But he knew my pain
And He loved me just the same
He promised I'd be free
If I fell on my knees and cried

Restore me
I need your mercy
Take me
To the place I used to be
Use all the pain and the hurt
To do a greater work and
Restore me

Restore unto me the joy of my salvation
So I'll sing again the song you wrote for me
Give me a clean heart
I want a brand new start
Like the moment when I first believed

Restore me
I need your mercy
Take me
To the place I used to be
Use all the pain and the hurt
To do a greater work and
Restore me
Please, Jesus.
Give me another chance.
I want to be a new man.
Please, Jesus.

With huge tears in my eyes, I felt God’s love surround me. Does this mean you’re going to let me live, Jesus? Suddenly, I had the strength to sit up. I put my car in reverse, and I drove home. Amazed at God’s grace, I came in the door of my house. I immediately saw my mom, and I hugged her.

“Mommy, I need help.”

She nodded, tears streaming down her face. “I know.”

I sat down at the kitchen table, and my dad fixed me something to eat. I don’t remember what I ate, but I know that I didn’t write it down. I didn’t check the nutrition labels before I put it in my mouth.

That doesn’t mean it was over. Recovery was frustrating, especially at first. I remember sitting at a table having to eat a normal meal and crying harder with every bite that I put in my mouth. Each calorie that went into my body was undoing my “hard work and discipline.” I felt like a child again, reintroducing food to my body. My dad even had to give me the Heimlich maneuver on three occasions because I had forgotten how to properly chew and swallow food. I clung to Jeremiah 30:17, “’But I will restore you to health, and heal your wounds,’ declares the Lord.”

Forgiving myself is still a challenge. I can’t believe all of the time I wasted - the opportunities I missed to be an example for the Lord. I can’t believe the hurt my family went through because of my actions. Today, I still deal with the permanent damage I’ve done to my body – something that not only affects me, but my husband as well.

It’s not over – it’s like any stumbling block. Satan know my struggles. He tries to put those thoughts back in my head and to warp the mirror when I look in it. Most of the time, I am able to overcome the temptation “through Christ who gives me strength” (Philippians 4:13). On rare occasions, I slip, falling into old patterns of spending too much time at the gym or eating too few calories.

But “the Lord, the compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness” is there every time I fall to pick me up (Exodus 34:6). He values me, He loves me, and I can turn to Him.