Divine Romance

The past month-and-a-half or so has been the hardest of my life. I’ve experienced pain that I was certain was unquantifiable. I’ve been through periods of utter loneliness, and cold, cold despair. Every day is a fight against depression and hopelessness, and there are days that I go to sleep not sure of who’s really won.

In this past month-and-a-half I have also experienced God’s presence in a way that has made my heart and mind a wreck of passion and discovery. Because of the pain I have gone through, I am able to fellowship with my Abba in a way that is just so humbling. Thinking about it now makes me want to just stop writing and cancel this post because there is no way that my words can do my Savior justice.

I recent weeks I have encountered my God on such an intimate profundity. I wish I could take everyone to that sacred place with me to - to meet my Abba together. But, honestly, at the same time, my heart shrinks at the thought. Those moments are mine and my Abba’s. Too holy and precious and intimate and naked-honest for others to come along.

About a week ago, on a particularly heavily trying day, I found myself struggling to find joy, and with tears on my face I whispered to my Abba a desperate plea,

“Romance me.”

Woo my heart to fall in love with Yours, Abba. That was my aching desire. It was a novel idea to me, and at the same time as old as the sun.

I ached for my first love to love me. I wanted to be His bride. And I wanted Him to romance me.

Last night, however, this desire was challenged and expanded. In a study of what is known as The Great Commission (Matt. 28:16-20), I met and fell in love with a new (to me) characteristic of Jesus Christ.

Jesus allows the disciples to worship. He receives their worship andthen He speaks. When He speaks, He addresses the doubters and reaffirms the worshipers by reminding them of who He is. Then, He gives them a command - entrusts them with a task. Lastly, He encourages them. The perfect Master.

Those are my notes on Matt. 28:16-20. I met the Perfect Master.

And then, again with tears in my eyes, my cry was a desperate, “Abba, let me romance you!”

At that moment, I was newly struck with how dire my need for the love of my Savior is. And I am not only referring to an emotional need… I am talking about all of me. I need my Savior’s love. ANA in her entirety needs JESUS in His glorious entirety.

My cry was, “Abba, show me how to make You fall in love with me.”

Don’t misunderstand me, please. I realize that my God’s love is unconditional. I fully understand this. I know that there is no way I can earn or lose His love. Still, my longing is to please Him, to romance Him. I suppose this is about me mending my relationship with my Abba. I know I have hurt Him, and I never, ever want to do that again. No. What I want is to engage in the beautiful, divine romance.

There have been days that I really am not sure I can even make it out of bed. Sometimes anxiety grips my heart and I pace. I pace a lot. I hate pacing, because when I start pacing I know that I’m about to lose it. I pace in circles, as if hoping that if I keep walking maybe I’ll eventually find myself somewhere different - somewhere better, somewhere my heart does not feel like it’s being stripped raw.

And then, I remember. I think of Calvary. I think of Jesus, pacing in Gethsemane, feeling like the whips that would soon rip His back to shreds were already tearing the flesh away from His very heart. I think of Him, and the truly unquantifiable pain He went through and my anxiety begins to turn to gratitude…

Because truly, what can I do but be grateful? In this pain I am experiencing, I get to share a taste of the bitter cup He drank from. And once again, I want nothing but to romance Him.

The Truth About We

If you're here because you received a bag of popcorn from some giggly stranger in honor of To Write Love On Her Arms Day, welcome! I hope the popcorn wasn't too cold!

Okay... I really don't know how to start, so I will just say what's on my mind.

First, I hope this post finds you well. But if it doesn't, don't worry - you're not alone.
That is my anthem today - you are not alone.

If today was a bad day... I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could do to make it better. I'm here to listen, though, if you would like that?

I love Truth. Although the finding of Truth can be a painful and unpleasant experience, it brings hope.

The Truth about we...

The Truth about we is that we are broken, lonely human beings who were created for just the opposite.

The Truth about we is that we were created for love and community.

The Truth about we is that we hurt.

The Truth about we is that we hurt less when we share our hurts.

The Truth about we is that we are stubborn and prideful and think we're better off alone.

The Truth about we is that deep inside, we know we need something bigger than ourselves.

The Truth about we is that, yeah, we stink at anything and everything we try to do on our own.

The Truth about we is that we don't have to do this on our own.

And by this I mean life.

In the words of Relient K, but in a different context, "there's hope for every fallen man."

There's a love bigger than anything we know.

And Love is the movement.

There's a song by Switchfoot by that same title. In it, there's a beautiful line that pretty much sums up my heart's cry right now.

Mysterious ways how God gave His life, to put motion inside my soul.

I've hurt, badly.

Truth is, we will hurt. That's a given.

But there's hope for us, yet. Oh, yes. There is hope for us, yet.

There's an awesome group of people at To Write Love On Her Arms. If you haven't met them, head on over to twloha.com. You won't be disappointed.

First, though, check out their vision statement. They are far more eloquent than I am.

Please know that you are loved. Christ allowed His body to be grossly hurt so that you and I could know the greatest love of all.

I love you, hurt and broken and dirty - 'cause I've been there. And I am praying for you.

Love,
ana.

Crazy, Crazy

Get creative here with me for a second.

Let's take the word know, and move the kn from the beginnning of the word, to the end of the word. Now, get rid of that k.

What do we get?

No? Don't see it?

OWN.

Know turns into own.

I find that to be very interesting, seeing how know and own are two very different things and very similar things, simultaneously.

All my life I've known truths - from the most practical and elementary, to the mind-boggling and philosophical.

When I became a Christian, I knew God was the Omniscient, Omnipotent Creator of the universe. I knew that I was unworthy of being in His presence because He is holy and I am dirty. I knew that the only way I had of being with Him was given to me through His only Son, who died on a cross 2000 years ago to cleanse my sins. And I knew He loved me.

I knew everything I needed to know to be a good Christian.

But I owned nothing that would make me a true follower of Jesus.

A week ago, the the girls' lifegroup I am part of started reading the book Crazy Love by Francis Chan. In the first two chapters, I have acquired so many amazing truths.

Now, I own the fact that God is the Omniscient, Omnipotent Creator of the universe, from whose throne come flashes of lightning and peals of thunder. I own the fact that my life is but a vapor, utterly insignificant in comparison to the greatness and glory of God. I own the fact that it's not about me, it's about Him. I own the fact that, if it weren't for His holy and perfect Son Jesus willingly giving Himself up to a gruesome death on a shameful cross in my place, I could never experience the wonderful solemnity, beautifully and awesomely enpowering realm of prayer. And I own the fact that this incredibly creative, incredibly powerful God loves me.

So I challenge you with this -
Do you know... or do you own?

Love always,

Ana

Peace Like I've Never Known

I feel like all my posts are always very depressing... Maybe I should change the layout colors to something cheerier. That might help...

So anyway, I'll try to share some joy of the Lord in my posts more often, not just my angry encounters with the devil.

This Wednesday, May 12, I did one of the scariest things I've ever had to do in my life.

I spilled my very dirty little secret.

For years Jesse was the only person who knew about my struggle. I just didn't have the courage to tell anyone else. For three years, I lived with the silent burden of my struggle. I missed so many opportunities to share my struggles and victories with girls who were going through similar thigns because I was terrified that my secret might reach my parents' ears. Actually, now that I think about it, I had been wanting to talk to my youth group about my struggle ever since I told Jesse. Wow... that's about a good three years of ignoring God's voice...

A few months ago, God brought this to my heart again. He kept bringing James 5:16 to my mind. Then, Mr. Roberts, our current youth pastor, showed a video at youth about a guy who talked to his youth group about when his father passed away. The guy said he remembers standing to the side of the stage when he had finished talking, and seeing people crying and hugging in the audience. He said he was surprised that God had touched the people's hearts with his story and his words.

I thought, "Okay, God. I get it." I made up my mind. I was going to tell my parents about my struggle.

Well... it took me about two weeks, I think, before I finally got the courage to tell my mom. I was literally paralyzed by fear. I was afraid of how hurt she would be. I was afraid of her losing her trust. In my shortsightedness, I pictured this confessional scene with tears and screaming and anger. God, however, is so, so merciful.

I walked into my mother's room one night when my sisters were all asleep, and showed her something I wrote a while back, when I was still held down by my struggle. When she finished reading, I told her everything. Everything. I told her about skipping meals, about lying to her about what I ate, about feeling worthless and ugly and disgusting. And - God is so good! - she listened. She listened to everything I had to say. She asked questions and genuinely tried to understand. I felt God's peace in that room that night, and was so, so grateful for it.

God wasn't done, however. Even after I told my mom (and she later told my dad), I still felt like there was more to be done. More confessing to be done, to be more precise. I wanted to be completely free to share my story one-on-one without being afraid of it reaching the wrong ears. The days went by, and this idea started nagging at my mind... this idea of starting a blog.

And here we are. [I am resisting the strong urge to insert a smiley here, as it might look immature. So just know I'm smiling as I write this, I guess...]

God blessed me so much with this blog from Day 1. It was a very scary thing I must say, publishing my deep, dark secret for anyone to see. But God brought some very Godly people to encourage me and pray for me, and for that I am deeply grateful.

God wasn't done here, either! Soon, He made it clear He wanted me to share my story with my youth group.

Now, this was scary. I'm a very impulsive person. So, at first, I was like, "Yeah! I'm gonna do this and God, You're going to do so many awesome thigns with this and it's going to be incredible!" So I talked to Mr. Roberts and told him everything about my struggle and wanting to speak to the youth group about it.

Just three weeks later, I found myself facing one of the scariest moments of my life. All of a sudden, standing there in the youth building as people walked in, I wasn't sure if I could do it. I was so nervous, aand the mocha frappe coffee thingy Jesse got me from Mickey D's didn't help the jitteriness...

I don't know if I was delirious with nervousness or what, but I actually got up on stage while the worship band was practicing and decided I was going to sing with them that night. Most people probably do not understand how CRAZY this is. I would have never done that in a million years. Never ever ever. Any other day, I would have been terrified of standing up there. But God works in awesome and strange ways...

Well, Mr. Roberts started the service with prayer, and then told the youth group that I had something to share. I got up there, feeling all funny and shaky and sick inside, but joyful, nonetheless. I knew God was with me, and I knew God was in control.

I didn't even ease the poor kids into it... I just kind of, said it, "For the past several years, I struggled with something called an EDNOS, or eating disorder not otherwise specified." (The name is ridiculous. I think I'm going to try to come up with something that is easier to say.) I felt bad for just jumping in like that, but I didn't really know how else to do it. I mean, seriously, is there any proper way to bring these things up? I don't know. Probably. Good thing is, God worked in spite of my tactlessness. I'm not sure of half the things I said. Once I start talking about girls and beauty and perfection and truth, I get so passionate that it's hard for me to curb my speech.

I know, though, that God did awesome things that night.

Why? Because after I finished talking and I sang with the band, I got this weird feeling all over me. I felt peace like I hadn't known in what seemed like forever. I remember thinking, "Wow. So this is what it's like to be truly alive..."

I loved it. It was wonderful. God was awesome that night. He showed me love greater than I've ever known. He comforted me and supported me through my friends. Especially Deyaun and Yasmine. I love those girls.

It's kind of late, and my writing is losing what little coherence it started out with. Hopefully, since I am in fact on summer break, I can be more consistent with these posts.

Thanks everyone for your love and prayers and just dang awesomeness.

Love,

Ana

The semester has come to an end for me, and I must say I am bitterly disappointed.

My grades are not what I wanted them to be, and the same little chant repeats itself in my head over and over, "I could have done better... I could have tried harder." And, truth is, I probably could have done better, tried harder. Unfortunately, I didn't. I messed up. I blew it.

Again.

Story of my life.

I'd always heard that people who struggle with EDs are often perfectionists by nature. I have never considered myself a perfectionist. Recently, however, I have come to the conclusion that I am the worst kind of perfectionist. The kind that is disturbed and troubled by imperfection but rarely does anything about it, just lets the annoyance and dissatisfaction storm and simmer in her mind till it drives her mad. When she does take action, it is in the most ridiculous, "easy-way-out-fad-diet" way - and I'm not just talking about eating here.

The thing is, I go from one extreme to the other. I'll go for long periods of time understanding that there are things I can't control. All the while, however, imperfection will be nagging at my patience at the back of my mind. Eventually it gets to the point where I explode and I'll do anything just to feel like I'm in control - like I've done my part in perfecting my imperfections.

Now, why the bipolarity of my nature?

Because I fail to seek God first.

Over, and over, and over.

I rely on my own strength. Why? I don't know. It doesn't make any sense to me. I see the very obvious benefits of having the All-Powerful, All-Knowing, Ever-Merciful, Ever-Loving God of the universe backing me up in my Truth-seeking endeavors. Yet, I still choose to do things on my wimpy own.

That's another thing! This is my search for TRUTH. "I am the Way, and the TRUTH, and the Life," says my Jesus. But I ignore Him.

A few nights ago I was lying in bed, almost in tears, asking God why things were becoming so hard in this search, why old temptations and fears kept coming back after years of silence.

Because I cannot do this on my own.

I need to leave my fleshly, power-hungry, control-addict ways.

God give me humility, show me how small I am compared to You, come make me weak.

I love you guys. Thanks for your love and prayers.
You all are awesome.
God has blessed me enormously through each and every one of you.

"I need you to make me weak
I have made my world my own
I've made it my own
And I have never, ever been so alone"

Too many things have happened since my last post, and I'm a little too busy/emotionally drained for a full post.

So this is all I want to say for now.

Romans 8:28
"And we know that God causes all things to work together for good for those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose."

Love you all tons.
Thanks for your prayers.
I've been needing them.

prom dresses and my [not so] fun dates with satan

First of all, thank you guys for your commitment to pray for me and back me up. You guys are great. All of yesterday and today I've been caught in a whirlwind of emotions - I'm feeling giddy with excitement about what God's going to do with this, nervous about what it's gonna take to get to Truth, lost as to how to go about this search for Truth, and oh-so-suicidal. This whole thing totally goes against any instincts of self-preservation I may have.

So, again - thank you SO much. You guys are crazy awesome.

Yesterday was a crazy day. Jesse and I were out all day looking for a dress I could wear to prom. Maybe you don't understand just how mind-blowing this is. . . Three years ago it was hard for me to eat in front of other people, especially my boyfriend. There was no way that I would have allowed Jesse to come dress-shopping with me three years ago. There would have been junkload of anxiety and lies going through my head (What if I have buy a bigger size? What if I look fat in the dress? Etc, etc.). But there was none of that yesterday... God has really pulled me through...

Our first stop was the mall, just because there's so many stores there - I thought I was bound to find something. We looked through several stores, but to no avail. I had vowed to boycott Charlotte Russe because of their ridiculously strange sizes, but as we passed the store. . . I reasoned that since I only had a few hours to find a dress before I had to go to prom, a trip to Charlotte Russe might be necessary.

But of course, the first dress I picked up and looked at sent me on a spiel of outrage. I honestly don't even remember what it looked like anymore. All I can remember is a '9' on the tag of a dress that looked like a '5' or a '3'. Not that being a 9 is wrong. Lying is wrong. I remember the first time I shopped at Charlotte Russe. It was a while back, when my weaknesses were weaker. I was trying on a dress of my usual size, but had to get a size or two larger because my usual size didn't fit. It doesn't seem like a big deal to me right now, but back then... it was like Satan was standing there in that dressing room with me, sneering at the ugly girl in the mirror.

So needless to say, I stormed out of the store, ranting off on how jerk this world is to girls, with poor Jesse trying to keep me in a rational state of mind.

Later that day, I thought I had finally found a dress at Penney's. It was beautiful, kind of sixties prom dress but shorter and with a fuller skirt. Jesse decided that the print looked Japanese, and I added that maybe more like Japanese pop art. Point is - I fell in love with the dress, and decided it was the one. So I went into the dressing rooms to try it on, happy that I'd found the dress with enough time to get ready. As soon as I stepped out and looked in the mirror, I felt myself falling in this deep, dark pit. I did not like what I saw in the mirror. I felt gross and dirty and ugly and unworthy. Satan was there again.

Thankfully, the dress was also not-so-modest when I put it on, so I was able to use that as my reason for not buying the dress. When Satan went on and on about how pathetic and disgusting it was that I couldn't look good in such a lovely dress, I shoved in his face that the dress was immodest and, thus, not so lovely.

I don't know if my ranting today made any sense to you all. Like I said, yesterday was a crazy day, filled with a lot of good but draining conversations about beauty and modesty and girls and EDs, so some of yesterday's ideas and revelations are kind of mashed up in my head.

I think I'll recap what I think are the two main points of today's rant:

- Dressing rooms are ideal sites for Satan and I to go on fun little dates.
- You need to be wary of stores like Charlotte Russe. Remember that the thing on the tag is just a number. If it fits - good. If it doesn't - good, look for something else.

I'd like to end with a question.

Have you ever had experiences similar to my dressing room experiences? It may be with a different struggle, but I'd like to know. And I'd like to know what you did to focus on Truth, if you did anything at all, and what that Truth was. Comment your response below, or email me (anachapa@live.com).

Take care. Praying for you. I love you guys tons.