“Which one do you like best, Daddy?” the boy asked.

“Son, it doesn’t matter to me. Pick which ever one you want; they’re all pretty cool.”

“I’ll go with Thor,” the answer finally came, and a satisfied look came over the little boy’s round face. Daddy selected the rolled up poster from beneath the hanging examples and tucked it under his arm. Father and son clasped hands and made their way to the register. As they walked, the young boy squeezed his dad’s hand.

“Thank you for my poster.”

“You’re welcome, Son.”

“Actually,” the little boy stopped in his tracks. “Thank you for your poster. You’re the one who’s buying it.” Realization swept over his features. “You’re just letting me hang it on my wall.” He took two more steps, then paused again. “Wait, what I mean is thank you for hanging your poster on your wall where I can see it! ‘Cause it’s really your wall too!”

A pastor related this personal story and I laughed with the rest of the congregation—cute. But the next morning when I opened my Bible to the Parable of the Talents, I saw the story repeated in Matthew 25 only in ancient, middle east terminology.

“Therefore stay alert, because you do not know the day or the hour. For it is like a man going on a journey, who summoned his slaves and entrusted his property to them. To one he gave five talents, to another two, and to another one, each according to his ability. Then he went on his journey.” Matthew 25:13-15

So often when we read this story, we imagine the “talents” as the talents and gifts that God has given us, those things that belong to us that we are responsible to use for God’s glory. But that’s not quite right. In the story, the money never belonged to any of the servants. The master held them accountable, not to wisely use their gifts, but to wisely invest His resources.

Paul brings this truth home to those of us with eating disorders, calling us to understand who really owns our bodies. “Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own,” (1 Corinthians 6:19).

It’s tempting, even in recovery to say things like, “God wants me to take care of my body,” or, “My body is a gift from God.” While these are nice affirmations, they are theologically incorrect.

We do not care for or use our bodies or invest our lives purposefully because God has given us a nice gift. No, we do these things because we are stewards of His resources. We do not own even our bodies. Let us tend them so that when He returns, He will find us faithful.

“Know that the LORD, he is God! It is he who made us, and we are his; we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture.” Psalm 100:3

RELATED:

Gift of a Story, by Julie LaJoe

Does God Care About My Eating Issues? video resource

The Predatory Lies of Anorexia: A Survivor’s Story, book by Abby Kelly

For years, I dreaded the holiday season. Spicy smells, muted hues, constant company, edible traditions all made me nervous—and not the “I can’t wait for Christmas” kind of nervous. It was more like, “How on earth can I escape this madness without gaining an ounce?”

One specific year, I recall we went to my aunt and uncle’s house in Missouri. Our family of six combined with their four and my grandparents made for a snug situation. The weather was perfectly autumn. One of the first chills pinched the air, the sun played hide-and-seek with the clouds, the lawn was toasty-brown.

At 15-years-old, I should have been giddy with excitement, the first to initiate a game of flag football. Instead, I huddled miserably in the corner and conjured up a sore throat. “If I’m sick,” I reasoned, “no one will make me eat.”

I was prepared for this, even packing cans of low-calorie, broth soup in my suitcase. “See, I’m eating,” I planned to say. “I’m trying to be good; I just can’t handle turkey, dressing and pie with a sore throat.” At the time, I was faking it. I didn’t realize that I could literally talk myself into being sick. Before I knew it I was certifiably miserable.

My sister did grab a football and everyone but me formed huddles in the back yard, blew steamy cold breaths and worked up an appetite. They came in voracious, more thankful than ever for hot chocolate, gooey sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie.

Sticking to my story, all gratitude in my heart faded dingy and gray. I could see nothing to be thankful for. I was miserably trapped in my own mind, constantly disgusted with my body, living on defense against everyone who cared about me and oh, so very lonely. I was anything but thankful.

I wish that story had a happy ending. It doesn’t. I barely survived that holiday season as the pathetic narrative replayed itself on Christmas Day at my grandparents’ house. Nothing could pull me away from my deadly love/hate relationship with the idea of complete control.

But this year, I truly am a different person. As Paul says, “The old has passed away and the new has come.” And as I’m counting down the days until I’m sitting on the floor in my sister’s house, sniffing the spicy aromas and cuddling my nieces, this verse came to mind:

“For everything created by God is good, and nothing is to be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving, for it is made holy by the word of God and prayer.” 1 Timothy 4:4-5

Did you catch that? Thanksgiving is not merely a day, it is a solution to our hopelessness. Nothing—even food—is to be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving. Yes, even food, is made holy through thanksgiving to the God is the giver of all good things. (James 1:17)

RELATED:

Afraid to Eat, video

Freedom from Anorexia, Freedom to Have Fun, by Abby Kelly

Family Nagging Me to Eat, video

1. Drown it out. I’ve long known that music is like a healing balm for my soul, but I had forgotten just how powerful praise can be. On my way home from the hospital, I stopped to buy a small bluetooth speaker. The moment, I got home, I selected a worship station on Pandora and turned up the volume. Songs of hope, freedom and praise filled the room. God’s presence became almost tangible as I reminded myself over and over, through song, of His mercy and faithfulness. (Eph. 5:19)

Perhaps none of these tools surprises you; they don’t seem profound to me either. However, weakened by stress, I immediately became vulnerable to the same old habits of self-protection and distraction from pain. It can happen to anyone—if we think we stand firm, we run the risk of falling flat on our faces. Whether it be an eating disorder, another addiction or any form of sin, Paul reminds us in Ephesians over and over to stand firm. We do have an enemy who is out to destroy us and he doesn’t care what it takes.

If you find yourself flirting with dangerous, consuming thoughts or tempted to find comfort in old habits, reach quickly for these three tools. Run away—get outside of yourself, as far as you can from the battle in your own brain. Don’t reason with it, run away. Drown it out—the Bible also says that God dwells in the praises of His people. You will find comfort and sense His presence when you remember to praise Him because He never leaves you. Sleep it off—we weren’t meant to be Energizer bunnies. We weren’t made to run forever. God passionately cares about us, His intimate creations and He longs for us to listen to Him about how to tend our bodies.

We cannot win this battle on our own. We cannot maintain our freedom on our own. But, the Bible is God’s way of explicitly telling us that we can trust Him and find our complete healing in Him.

“It is in vain that you rise up early and go late to rest, eating the bread of anxious toil; for he gives to his beloved sleep.” Ps. 127:2

RELATED:

Three Weapons for Fighting Off Relapse, Part 1, by Abby Kelly

Why is “Whole Person” Care Important?, video

Eating Disorder Warning Signs, by Constance Rhodes

My life hasn’t been all sunshine and roses for the past few years, but God has been generous. He has healed and strengthened my marriage, filled me with hope and given me so many opportunities. Recovery became a habit, for lack of a better expression. In this predictable phase of life, I figured out how to eat well, exercise moderately and control my thoughts. But what happens when life as you know it falls apart?

Last weekend, my husband deployed to Liberia. Every familiar aspect of my life flew overseas with him. Much of what I’ve relied on to be a standard part of my healthy life just crumbled out from underneath me. Suddenly, I saw the ugly image of relapse lurking in the shadows. Praise the Lord, I didn’t engage in any eating disordered behaviors, but the swirling thoughts of exercise, calories and compulsion swamped me. It felt like a war had erupted in my brain; a battle for control of my soul.

Why did the old patterns of eating disordered thoughts assail me right now? What triggered them? When all that is familiar was stripped away, when my heart was exposed to pain and stress, I believe it searched for a means to distract me from the hurt. By swarming my mind with compulsive thoughts, the loss of my husband’s presence was not so sharp.

But here’s the thing, feeling that pain is much safer than the eating disorder. Sitting among the shards of sadness is actually more healing than allowing our minds to be swept away by the distraction of an eating disorder or other addiction. In the course of the battle, I acquired three weapons for fighting off relapse.

1.  Run away. Weakened by the battle in my mind, I forced myself to keep a commitment to visit the local hospital with my therapy dog. Miraculously, the very moment I entered the hospital, fleeing from a focus on myself and my own pain, I found great relief. Second Timothy 2:22 says, “Flee youthful lusts”. The word for lusts here goes far beyond the usual application of sexual cravings. More accurately, it means any desire, craving or longing for what is forbidden. I believe this applies to my sudden desire to return to the familiar thoughts of anorexia. My natural longing is to relieve the pain of my husband’s absence in the quickest way possible, even if that is running back to the arms a deadly foe. Getting outside of yourself, running far and fast from  oppressive, self-centeredness is a powerful way to reclaim the mind of Christ. (Phil. 2:5-6)

This is Part 1 of a 2 part article. Check back next week for the weapons two and three!

RELATED:

Number One Relapse Prevention Tool, video resource

Weather the Storm, by Danielle O’Malley

The Predatory Lies of Anorexia: A Survivor’s Story, by Abby Kelly

I wish I could say when I hide in my safety-den it solves all my problems and I come out of my pity-party-esque hibernation a fully restored person ready to conquer the world. But a monster is waiting for me there and it torments me with thoughts of starvation and purging.

“It’s the best way to deal with this storm, just starve yourself, that will teach them to treat you like that!”

I am an expert at eating poison and waiting for other people to die. They never do. I am left with a damaged heart, broken friendships and possibly a relapse.

Recently, God placed it on my heart the need to be still and weather the storms before me. No more hiding, no more eating disorder. It terrifies me, but I know it’s an essential part of recovery. Honestly, sometimes running back to behaviors seems less scary than facing intimidating people or difficult situations. There are people in my life who all but force me to be honest, in the most loving way, of course, but it is still scary. God has given me places to safely share the parts of me I am most ashamed of and receive love instead of condemnation.

When the world around me feels out of control, when I get in a fight with a friend, or when I feel embarrassed or ashamed, my den awaits me, along with the behaviors that have nearly taken my life. In a moment of weakness I can convince myself an eating disorder is the rainbow after the storm, not recovery. I think, “I need this, why is God taking this away from me? Recovery won’t be a better life, it will be an out of control one.”

Of course, the life God has mapped out for me won’t be free of storms or hurdles, but I know if I replace my eating disorder with God, the outcome of the storm will be substantially different. He calmed the craziest storms at sea with only His voice. He can take my tornado and make it a gentle breeze.

I believe Jesus is placing it on my heart to stay put and weather the storms of life so He can clean out my old safety-den and He will become my refuge and strength. He is placing people around me who emulate His love and point me towards understanding His unconditional love for me so I don’t have to hide away anymore, but face the storm before me confidently because I am equipped with Jesus beside me and within me.

RELATED:

Everything is More Beautiful, Well  - by Abby Kelly

Did God Give Me an ED to Draw Me Closer to Him - video resource

Lasting Freedom - online support group

The belt snaked slowly, finally delivering my duffle-bag. I snatched it quickly, careful not to knock anyone over, and drug it to a quiet corner to call my ride.

“Hi! I just got my bag, where should I meet you?” I tried to slow my breath.

“Ummm…,” came the slow answer. “Where are you?”

“I’m at the airport, just left baggage claim.”

“Are you kidding! There must be some mistake! I’m waiting at your house; I thought I was taking you to the airport.”

My heart sank. My house was an hour away. By the time the guy drove to the airport, picked me up and took me home, it would be at least two hours and we’d be stuck in rush hour traffic.

“Never mind,” I held back the snotty things I wanted to say. “I’ll see if I can get a cab.”

He protested loudly. “Don’t no! I’ll be there as fast as I can. I promise the guy who made this mistake will be fired. He’s done this before. Wait, please. Sorry, I’m so mad about this. I can’t believe we let you down.”

Finally, I convinced him that I wasn’t angry, but I wasn’t going to wait either. Before we hung up he promised me again, “That guy can’t do his job. He’s going to get fired.”

The conversation reminded me of a recent email from a friend. She has struggled with an eating disorder for many years but finally, freedom is drawing near as she is learning to trust Jesus more. She wrote:

“When someone doesn’t perform as expected you fire them. I had an epiphany of sorts this past week. I hate how I feel in relation to food and eating. I hate the way my body feels. I hate what I see when I look in a mirror, or try on clothes. I hate the stress I feel when we go out to eat. And it’s been that way since I was 11. But I realized I’ve been trying so hard not to feel that way by using an eating disorder and it hasn’t worked, not at all. In fact, the eating disorder is what has made me feel this way, instead of “fixing” it which is what it professes to do. The only thing I haven’t tried in order to not feel this way is throwing myself 100% into recovery. So whenever the temptation or anxiety creeps in I’ve been reminding myself that the only way out is through recovery. The only way to not hate the way eating makes me feel is to eat. And that has made all the difference this week.”

When someone doesn’t perform as expected, you fire them.

Anorexia never did for me what it promised to do. However, 1 Thessalonians 5:24 promises that there is one who will never let me down, “The one who calls you is faithful, and he will do it.”

RELATED:

Lessons From My Failures, Abby Kelly

Setting Self Up to Fail At Recovery, video resource

Why Diets Fail, Constance, Rhodes

I was stunned by how many verses seemed to speak to exactly her situation. One Bible verse connected to another and to another, creating almost a personal anthem of hope for her. Her words challenged me to find the theme of my own hope in Scripture. I began to search the Bible for verses that related to food and body image and how God intends for me to relate to my body in this physical world. Again, I was amazed at how much God seemed to have to say to just me about my personal issue.

Following Christine’s example, I wrote my own song of praise to God; an anthem of hope for me to bolster my faith when ED seems too loud:

Jesus told me I don’t have to worry about what I eat or drink because He knows I need these things (Matt. 6:25-34). Not only does God know my needs, but from the beginning of time, He has been providing for all of His creation (Jeremiah 33:2, Psalm 136:25, Psalm 81:10). God doesn’t merely provide food for sustenance, but He gives it for my joy and He wants me to have pleasure in His good gifts of food and drink (Psalm 104:15).

God has given me this body specifically, He took special care and consideration when He made me (Psalm 139). Even so, He didn’t make me for myself or to spend my whole life pursuing my own goals of beauty and perfection—He said that I am not my own but His (1 Corinthians 16:9). He wants my body, it is my honor to give it Him for His purposes (Romans 12:1). God not only provides food for me and created my body, but He actually specifically teaches me how to care for it and says that all of my physical exercise, discipline and pursuit of physical perfection is of little value (1 Timothy 4:7-9).

Above all, I can trust what God says in His Word about my body and food and all of life because He alone knows and teaches me what is best for me.

“Thus says the LORD, your Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel: ‘I am the LORD your God, who teaches you to profit, who leads you in the way you should go.’” Is. 48:17

RELATED:

Broken Chains and Musical Altars, by Abby Kelly

Addiction and Grace, book by Gerald G May, MD

The Power of Scripture, video resource

Last week, one friend, I’ll call her Janey, emailed me with a heavy heart. To paraphrase her letter, “My therapist told me yesterday that she doesn’t think I’ll ever fully recovery from this! She believes that I will struggle with my eating disorder for the rest of my life.”

I imagined tears staining Janey’s cheeks; her next words cut to the quick of my soul, “Abby, it just makes me feel so weary. I don’t want to do this forever.”

Prayerfully, I sat down to write her back, then stood, knowing I needed to let her words wind through my mind a little more; I needed time to hear from the Holy Spirit so that I didn’t reply from my own strength and shallow wisdom. Later, I returned to send this email:

Janey, I’m not a professional, but I must respectfully disagree. I’ll try to tell you my experience. I do not fight anymore. Perhaps everyone’s definition of “fully recovered” is slightly different, but I believe I am fully recovered. My weight is healthy and I enjoy my life. I don’t think about food or calories or exercise all the time anymore. I don’t eat ice cream every day, or order pizza at every opportunity, but I’m free–comfortable with those things when need be and I’m happy with my body. 

Now, I will always struggle. I did not say I will always struggle with anorexia–but I will always struggle. When I’m in pain, it will usually remind me of “those days”. That is my reference point, that is my history; it’s not me today but it is part of my DNA, for lack of a better term. I am who I am today because I was molded in part through the refining fire of an eating disorder. My issues, my struggles, my choices and pain and future won’t look just like someone’s who battled postpartum depression, hypochondria, cutting or alcoholism.  I am in a battle every day–every day I chose to set my mind on Jesus. Every day, I am clothed in Spiritual armor. Every day, I know there is a prowling lion (the devil) who would love to devour me–but honestly, he doesn’t care if he takes me down with anorexia or bitterness. 

I came across 2 Chronicles 20:17 in my quiet time the other day and I found such hope there: “You will not need to fight in this battle. Stand firm, hold your position, and see the salvation of the Lord on your behalf, O Judah and Jerusalem.’ Do not be afraid and do not be dismayed. Tomorrow go out against them, and theLord will be with you.”

I stand firm every single day, and I’m in the battle, but I’m not fighting. The battle has been won by my Champion, my Savior, The One True God.

 

RELATED:

Don’t Give Up the Fight! by Julia D.

Letters: “Dear Parent” (A Letter of Hope) video resource

Lasting Freedom, online support group program

If you’ve read my book, don’t worry. I’m not headed off the deep end, tumbling back into the abysmal nightmare called anorexia. Hear me out.

Recently, I was praying about beauty, American ideals, excess, poverty and screwed up priorities. I didn’t really expect to come to any conclusion or receive new revelation about how I relate to my own physical body. I was praying about how to make a difference in my world, finding an awareness of need all around me and aligning my priorities with those of the Father, basing my observation of the world on the perspective of my Father.

But suddenly, I heard myself pray, “Lord, give me your perspective of beauty.”

It’s not so far fetched, is it—to surrender my ideal body to the hands of the Creator? I’m talking about changing my prayer from, “Lord, help me to see myself as beautiful in your eyes and to accept the body you gave me,” to, “Lord, help me to redefine beauty so I see it in all the places you see it, so that what you consider beautiful is exquisite to me, too.”

I mean, I have to hand it to Him, for the most part I think God’s imagination of beauty is spot on. Think of it—How perfectly beautiful are marshy, tall grasses and red-winged black birds? Who on earth came up with such a lovely idea of prickly, green grass melting into blue skies on the edge of the horizon? Who thought that black clouds stacked high in the atmosphere were marvelous? Even the precision of stripes on a snake’s back are a wonder all their own. Mostly, I agree with God’s standard of beauty, so why do I throw my vote in with the media’s opinion of human female perfection instead of the Creator’s?

Let me explain this one more way. Imagine I built my dream house. It has tall ceilings, a wrap around porch, dozens of windows, sparse decorations and it’s really small. (Who wants a big house to clean?) What if I invited you over–sure that you must agree, my dream house is the ideal house. But you don’t like big porches because there are too many bugs. The house is way too tiny and you think it needs Martha Stewart’s touch? You wouldn’t find my ideal home perfect at all.

So how did we get to the place that we feel we have a right to define an ideal body when God has built each one precisely the way He wants it?

One more try: If I asked a three-year-old to draw the perfect house, there’s a good chance she’ll forget to add windows or some other necessity. Instead of telling her she’s wrong, we assume that with maturity and experience she’ll change her perspective eventually and agree that perfect houses need windows.

Perhaps that’s what it takes—growing up. God has been waiting for me to mature and experience His wisdom so that I can admit, agree with Him that His design, even of me, is perfect.

RELATED

Perfect Women in Magazines Make Me Feel Ugly, video resource

Moving Forward, by Kimberly Wheeler

The Predatory Lies of Anorexia: A Survivor’s Story, book by Abby Kelly

I burned out on vacation because doesn’t it always happen this way? You find yourself sitting on the beach with your brother and sisters and their kids, crying to the sounds of Tom Petty crooning across the water.

Because you’ve lost yourself again, in the waves of social media. You’ve forgotten your status is not comprised of hashtags or a few well-worded statements; it’s not in the bestseller’s rank on Amazon or the mentions on Twitter. And it happened so fast—this losing of yourself, just after you’d found Jesus in the slums of Africa.

I came back from Uganda and Rwanda this January knowing without a doubt who I was: a vessel for God’s love to pour out into the lives of those who were suffering. I no longer cared about my color-coded life plan or my first-world problems. I fell on my face every chance I got praying to a God who’d seen what I’d seen: babies with swollen bellies, babies with no mothers or fathers or relatives, mothers holding dying children, shacks comprised of cardboard and leaking with every kind of fluid and the whole country, starving.

What else matters when people are starving to death? I knew without a doubt my role on this earth as a first-world resident was to help alleviate that suffering, and if I succeeded in doing that, even slightly, for some people before I died, that was enough.

But then I launched a couple of books and all of those thoughts which had no longer mattered—the worry over who I was in the eyes of my peers, the status I used to crave, the fame we all hunger for when our physical needs are satiated, the lack of latest styles in my closet, the shoes I didn’t have—all of these things began to creep back in and steal my joy, my purpose.

Until I found myself sitting on a beach crying to Tom Petty this summer. Convinced I would find myself again if I got a nose ring.

And then I read Galatians and I found this: “Live freely, animated and motivated by God’s Spirit. Then you won’t feed the compulsions of selfishness. For there is a root of sinful self-interest in us that is at odds with a free spirit, just as the free spirit is incompatible with selfishness.” (5:16-18, The MSG)

We are free, friends. You, sister, are free, from what Facebook or Twitter or Pinterest tells you. We no longer need to live according to the culture around us. And it’s when culture begins to wrap its tentacles around us that we forget whose we are—Christ’s, set free by his extravagant love to do one thing: love others.

The gospel is really that simple—it’s us, being saved by love, so that we might express that same love to a dying world.

What does it matter if our towels don’t match or we don’t have a chalkboard declaring the menu for every upcoming meal? What does it matter if our dreams aren’t turning out the way we’d hoped, or we aren’t “trending” on Twitter? Someone’s mother is crying for fear of her child not living to see the next day—because in spite of working from sun-up to sun-down, she can’t even provide him a bowl of porridge.

Nothing else matters.

So, let’s love.

It’s in this love that we find rest.

Galatians says we do this by embracing what God arranges for us—by entering into what He is doing for us. (3: 11-12) It’s about Him and what He wants to do through us, versus about us and what we can do for Him.

Lean in, sister, and hear the whisper of an upside-down kingdom: one that begs you stop caring what the world says and start caring about what God thinks.

It’s the secret to resurrection life.

RELATED:

Chasing Silhouettes: How to Help a Loved One Battling an Eating Disorder, book by Emily Wierenga

Nourishment for Living, by Jen Tormanen

Battling Negative Media Influences, video resource

This post was first published on Emily’s website: http://www.emilywierenga.com/social-media-wrecking/.

I put my hand in Daddy’s; his palm felt a little sticky. That was funny because I knew Daddy wasn’t scared. But I saved my questions for later. With a wink, Daddy patted his coat pocket one more time. Satisfied by the crackling sound of a stiff envelope, he led me down the sidewalk.

As we drew near, I recognized my friend’s house. The family went to our church. They had a son in my Sunday school class and they attended the same class that Mom and Dad did. It was late, their porch light was off, only one faintly glowing upstairs window indicated life inside. I felt Daddy’s hand relax.

“Okay, Abby. Here’s what I need you do to. Take this envelope, tiptoe up to the front door and tuck it between the screen and wooden door. Be really quiet, don’t ring the doorbell. Then come straight back. I’ll be right here by the mailbox the whole time.”

I took the envelope from Dad, nodded solemnly and embarked upon my given task. The winter grass crunched beneath my sneakers. When I reached the door, I was glad for the small gap between the storm door and the jamb. I wouldn’t even need to open the door incase it squeaked. I wedged the parcel into the crack and ran back to Daddy.

That was at least 25 years ago. Daddy never revealed exactly what was in the envelope, just enough to explain the blessing of generosity.

A few days ago, a friend sincerely confided some financial fears to me. I promised to pray, shared as much encouraging truth as I could recall from the Scriptures and said goodbye. The first of the month was barely behind us. We were smack in the middle of that dreaded week when rent and mortgage and most bills come due. Last month, my husband and I spent more than I felt like we should.

But I couldn’t shake the feeling. Even though we’d been a little less careful last month, God still provided above our means. There was that surplus.

I didn’t wrestle with God for long. Daddy had set a precedent a quarter century before. I called a mutual acquaintance and arranged to send an anonymous gift. When I hung up this time, a little thrill swept through my chest.

I wonder if that feeling is something we inherit from our Heavenly Father. For most of my life, consciously or not, I’ve been afraid of taking advantage of grace. Now that you saved me, God, I’ll do everything I can for you! I’ll try not to make mistakes, I’d hate for you to have to expend grace on my account! 

But the truth is, Jesus receives the greatest honor when we admit our deepest need and His unfathomable sufficiency; when we gratefully, humbly accept His gifts of salvation, daily grace, unrelenting forgiveness and perfect righteousness. And we find peace from all our anxious thoughts when we dive into His provision head first.

RELATED:

Obsessed With “Less”, by Sarah Cowles

Relapsed–Have I Let God Down? video

True Faced: Trusting God and Others with Who You Really Are, book by Bill Thrall, Bruce McNicol, John Lynch

It’s amazing how resilient these crops are. They are not brilliant green anymore, instead coated with a fine layer of dust and bronzed by the unrelenting sun. Still, they stretch up, seemingly proud of their singular role in life.

Nearer to my destination, the three-sided barn at the end of the drive, the fields are filled with wild flowers and a various structures dot the landscape. To me, the untrained eye, they seem cluttered with monstrous, obsolete equipment. To the Amish who tend these lands, they are bread and butter, familiar as the backs of their own hands. The children are as comfortable on a tractor as on they are on their father’s knee.

I park just in front of the second three-sided building. Inside, it is lined with rows and rows of garlic bulbs. But I enter the most inviting structure, the one filled with colorful produce: rosy tomatoes, bulbous potatoes, the crispiest cucumbers you’ve ever tasted, okra, eggplant, peaches and more corn.

No light bulbs hang from the ceiling. No fans massage the muggy air or coax a comfortable breeze. Sarah stands smiling at me, “Hello.” Her Pennsylvania Dutch never fails to make me grin in return. “Hi.”

I always feel a bit worldly when I enter Sarah’s world. It’s strange, because for once I’m not embarrassed by my lack of fashion sense, but humbled by my apparent gaudiness and excess. Sarah seems so content; the front of her dress is pinned neatly together. Her hair is always plaited in unassuming braids, parted in the middle and wrapped multiple times around her head. No makeup, but her cheeks have the “sun-kissed” look I read about in magazines: “How to get that perfect glow with a drugstore bronzer.”

Sarah tallies my purchases on a calculator, hands me my change and we agree to see each other next time. When she turns to cross the gravel drive back to her un-air conditioned home, I notice her feet. They are large—not peculiarly long, but thick, toughened by work and play—use.

Living near an Amish community has piqued my interest. So I read, “The Amish believe that the vast changes that modern, ergo English, society has seen over the past two centuries is detrimental to both spiritual and family life…The Amish recognize this shift in priority and choose to separate themselves from the modern world in this way.” (Tree of Life)

And I wonder—what am I supposed to learn here? It seems there’s so much more here than merely enjoying the fruit of the Amish’s dedicated labor. There’s something to this idea of pulling away from the world, of forsaking all the drama and deification of beauty. There’s something so lovely about hard work, unpolished toes and a simple smile. There’s something inviable in that kind of unpolished perfection.

RELATED:

Wrestling for Rest, by Abby Kelly

Why We Overeat, by Constance Rhodes

Battling Negative Media Influences, video resource