In my first LET’S GET REAL! post, I shared a photo with you…
This photo is at the heart of many of my issues… and let me tell you why.
I am not a small person. I am what would be considered “short” by most people, but that only makes my weight more visible. If I were six feet tall, the weight would be distributed very differently – but I am 5’4″.
God made me to be 5’4″ tall. I do not believe he made me to weigh over 300 pounds.
And therein lies the problem.
There are two elemental truths that I am reminded of constantly.
1. God made me – and He loves me.
2. Beauty is only skin deep.
However… there are deeper truths that must also be considered.
God made me – but I refuse to believe I was designed to weigh what I do. That makes no sense. I can hardly bend over to tie my shoes… I can’t sit on most chairs that have arms… I could go on and on and on but you get the idea. So it follows that there is some inconsistency. God loves the person UNDER the fat, yes, but – like sin – He did not intend for me to be buried under all of the excess so why would He love it?
Beauty may only be skin-deep but what kind of witness can I possibly be for GOD, looking like I do? I wear skirts all the time but the weight is what draws attention. And why would ANYONE come to Christ by my example if they think my size has anything to do with my love for GOD?
Yesterday I revealed some pretty difficult truths – I was unwanted…
I was both horrified and thrilled to discover some months ago that there are actually babies that survive the abortion process. Horrified because if that baby is born in any form, HOW can the doctors and nurses deny the truth! Thrilled because God clearly has a plan for those babies and His hand is mighty! Miracles truly are EVERYWHERE!
Watching/Listening to the testimonies of some of these people, you will discover that many of them struggle with depression and thoughts of suicide for much of their life. Why… because they were unwanted and because they were violently torn from their mothers. Even before clear memory, something remains of that in their subconscious.
It’s easy for people to relate to that. They cringe and they nod their heads sympathetically. They see how horrifying that would be for a child to discover.
But what if you weren’t dragged through anything so horrible…
What if you were born under normal circumstances, wanted desperately and rejoiced over by your mother but detested by your father…
Even now, at almost 36 years old, my father only calls me to complain, to fuss about things that I have no control over – because the rest of the family refuses to listen to him anymore. He only wants to visit so he can see his grandchildren. I have been a disappointment to him since the day I was born.
Why? Because he wanted boys and I was a girl – God created me to be a girl.
It took years for me to find a way to stand up for myself, and I did it in the most horrible way – I rebelled… I wore shorts. I read smutty romance novels. I detested church. I argued religion with him endlessly. I spent hours curled up in the corner of his couch, reading – and ignoring him – whenever we visited. And then… the unthinkable – I got divorced.
I honestly think that bothered him more than the wild streak that followed and he barely spoke to me for years afterwards. Nevermind that his only daughter had been deserted on the other side of the country with nothing – no money, no place to live, no friends, no family, and no way to contact my husband.
That was over 15 years ago and he still has not forgiven me for it. He hasn’t forgiven me for the second divorce either but I expected that. And again, it didn’t matter to him that I had no choice in it.
So here I sit, overweight, unwanted, trying desperately to find some way to move beyond it all. I have tried counseling. I have tried self-help books and far too many diets to name, but as far as I can tell, the only thing that’s going to get me through is prayer… lots and lots of prayer! I’m going to throw myself on God’s mercy and beg him to help me get through this… somehow!
I don’t really deserve a miracle but I’m hoping for one – and isn’t that what prayer is… hope?
© Rachel L. Miller 2015