Beautiful

I love green beans. Vegetables appear on my plate at every meal. I love cottage cheese with fruit and I am a sucker for tofu. Sugar free pudding is considered a dessert. I count calories, drink green tea and use an egg substitute. These meal time routines have been engraved in my menu since the sixth grade. Oh sixth grade, the year the name calling started and the hatred toward the mirror sparked. It was the year I dropped the “f-bomb” on my helpless self esteem, the year I began calling myself fat.
My thunder thighs propelled my along that downward spiral staircase. I loathed my love handles and cringed at the outcast in the mirror. As diets failed, my self confidence dwindled and all blame fell heavy upon my shoulders. Grasping at any chance to fix my faults, I became obsessed with calorie counts and fat content.
Food and I quickly developed a love hate relationship. We got along great. Whenever I was feeling good, a cookie was there to congratulate me. Whenever I felt accepted, a bowl of cereal embraced me. Whenever I was on a high, any and every sweet indulgence was on top of that mountain with me! Unfortunately, the meals soon proved to be mightier than I. I was hypnotized by food’s false friendship and trapped in its trance.
A nightly binge was soon added to my schedule. When the lights were out and the rest of my house asleep, the pantry was up for grabs. I ate anything and everything I could get in my mouth. I would suddenly lose all control over my actions. My hand had a mind of its own as it moved form cereal boxes, to bags of cookies and to cartons of ice cream. My head screamed “STOP!” and my stomach cringed in pain, but my hand kept shoveling it in. I was shocked by the terror of what was happening and had no means of fighting it. My fists of food had quickly transformed form friend to foe and those hands would soon become my worst nightmare.
As my secret, sinful habits continued, I packed on the weight. Shirts shrunk and jeans ripped. A month into my indulgences and I was twenty pounds heavier. The pudge seemed permanent and once again, the only thing I lost from my dieting attempts was hope. I hated myself for bringing this misery upon my life once again. I thrived on screaming at the image in the mirror and cursing the girl in my head. I lived day to day on shattering my spirit and murdering my confidence. Tears fell by the minute and all happy thoughts vanished.
I had to get out of this hell hole. Obviously food had stabbed me in the back and could no longer be trusted. More than anything, I wanted that painful substance out of my body. I wanted it out fast and quick. A temporary pain would bring freedom and the chains of my food frenzies would be flushed down the porcelain pipe to paradise. Encouraging voices flooded my mind. Their lies seemed like the perfect truth. The thoughts tempted me more and more, jeering at me and calling out names. The food and the thoughts of quick relief, bullied me day after day, meal after meal, glance after glance. In a final fit of anger and frustration, tears rushing down my cheeks, knees knocking with fear, I leaned over the toilet and pressed my fingers to my tongue. I held them there in anger and fear, but I never threw up. He stopped me.
My fists relaxed as my arms fell at my sides. He picked me up and brought me to my feet. My eyes were opened and I saw Him that night. I saw Him there with me, weeping at my tears and cringing at my pain. He took hold of my hands and held me in His arms. He saved me from my worst enemy. God saved me from myself.
No words could possibly describe His overwhelming compassion that filled my bathroom that night. My rage and determination to cause myself more pain had seemed so strong, yet it crumbled at the touch of His hand. Why did God save me that night? The answer I can not find. At my lowest point, with nothing to offer, I hated myself. I could not stand my own presence, but the King of the universe could not stand to lose me. I saw a filthy wretch, a self-destructive girl. He saw a masterpiece, a flawless daughter, a prized possession.
I am blinded by the world’s standards and fall short of its expectations. However, there is hope. God tells me I am worth so much more than anything this world can offer and that his plans for me are beyond all I can ever imagine. I live my life as a reflection of his compassion, seeing others through God’s eyes. I look for the true beauty in every life, rather than focusing on the scarlet letters sentenced by society. By viewing them through God’s eyes, they too will see a perfect work of art, a bride fit for a King.