Guest Post with Rachel Meigs King: We Are Created in His Image

Like most women, I’ve spent many mornings looking in the mirror and not liking what I see. And like most women, I have taken extreme measures thinking that if I was “skinny” then I would finally feel good about myself. My journey to positive body image has not exactly been an easy one. It has been full of twists and turns with several bumps in the road, but it has been through this journey that my faith in God has grown by leaps and bounds. And it is through this journey that I discovered a major calling and purpose for my life.

I have always struggled with being overweight, even as a child. I grew up in the south, where the fried food is abundant and we celebrate everything with casseroles and apple pies. When I graduated from high school, I took a job as a receptionist where I worked twelve-hour weekend shifts. Most of the time, we would grab pizza and soft drinks to get us through the long days. At the same time, I was in college studying for my accounting degree, so every moment I wasn’t at work, I was busy working hard on papers and studying for final exams. I was exhausted, running on very little sleep, and fueling my body with junk food and “emotional” eating. I realized that my clothes were beginning to get snug and I had to go up a few sizes when I went shopping for clothes, but my mind still did not seem to notice that my body had a problem.

One day, I went in for a routine exam at my doctor’s office. She took my blood pressure and noticed that it was elevated. She asked if I had been experiencing any problems, and I told her about the constant headaches I had been having but had always assumed were due to the stress of my college career. She then proceeded to tell me – at the young age of 21 – that I had hypertension and would need to begin taking blood pressure medication. My doctor told me it was probably genetics, but deep down I knew better. After further research, I confirmed what I already knew -  my issues were most likely due to being overweight. Here I was, 21 years old and already on medication for life. That was the breaking point when I made the decision to take back control of my life before it got completely out of hand.

I started my health and fitness journey by going down the same roads I had tried in the past: counting calories, low carb diets, wraps, diet pills, cleanses, fad diets…and again, I was left frustrated. I came to a hard realization that I had been going at this all wrong. I had been depending on myself, when in fact, I needed to turn this over to God. I had sinned in my gluttony and I needed God’s help to overcome it. I began to learn about clean eating and how to fuel my body with whole foods. I stopped eating “low fat” and “low carb” and just ate more lean protein, whole grains, fruits, and vegetables. I cut out processed foods and artificial sweeteners. I learned how to prep my meals in advance so I would not be tempted to grab fast food in a time crunch. I also learned how to portion my food so that I was not overeating. I made workouts a top priority.

I was able to lose 45 pounds and come off blood pressure medication. I was elated that I had finally seemed to overcome this thing that had plagued me for so long.  But then something unexpected happened...I became obsessed. In fact, I became so obsessed that I made sure I only ate between 1,000 - 1,200 calories a day. I told myself I had to work out every single day, and if for some reason I missed a day, I felt guilty and would punish myself by limiting my calories even more. I purposely did not go to certain social functions where I knew there would be junk food. My hair started to thin. My face was sunken in, which made me look so much older. I was under-nourished and over-exercised. Once again - even though it was on the complete opposite end of the spectrum, I was unhealthy and had stopped treating my body as the temple that God had given me.

Oh friends, if we could only see ourselves the way God sees us! Then maybe - just maybe - we could learn to love ourselves just the way we are. We would be intentional about taking care of ourselves, not for vanity, but for our health’s sake - so we can be better moms and wives and take care of our families to the best of our ability. Thank God that He was able to get a hold of me, once and for all, just before I met my husband back in 2015.

 My “why” for this health and fitness journey is about so much more than a number on the scale now. It is about my relationship with the Lord – taking care of the precious gift He has given me while using it for His glory. Yes, my journey resulted in a physical transformation, but more importantly, it resulted in a transformation of the heart. I am grateful that the Lord used this part of my story to help me discover one of my callings – to encourage and support others along their faith and fitness journey.

Just recently, I was faced with a new body image challenge - pregnancy.

It may seem like a somewhat taboo topic, but I think every new mom goes through the thought process that she is never going to look like her old self again. Don’t get me wrong: I am eternally grateful for this precious gift that God has given me. He has fully equipped me to carry this baby, and all of the healthy diet and lifestyle changes I have made over the years have prepared me to be strong and ready to give birth. And although I know ALL of this, the devil tries to nag me with those old thoughts when I look in the mirror. He tries to get me down and tell me that this is the new me and I will never look fit again. He gets in my head during my workouts when I can’t lift as much as I could just a few short months ago and tells me that I should just give up. Thank God for saving me from the days where I dwelled on the thoughts that I was “less than.” Thank God that I know that He will be right by my side during the postpartum period, and He will run the faith race with me...and I will be stronger and healthier than ever. And then - more than ever - I will have a reason to be the best version of myself - to set a good example of positive body image for my son.

It is true that God has given us the gift of physical attraction. I believe we have a responsibility to take care of our bodies for our health and to honor our spouse. And when I am overly critical of my appearance, I dishonor God’s creation, insult my husband’s taste, and make my spirit less attractive. Instead, I should remember that I am “fearfully and wonderfully made.”

We are God’s masterpieces. Not His sketches and not His rough drafts. If God sees us as His priceless creations and His works of art, why would we want to change our appearances? Why would we want to be any different than we are? You are a masterpiece. You are beautiful. God loves you. You aren’t supposed to be like anyone else.

For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago. Ephesians 2:10

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Guest Post with Rachel Meigs King: We Are Created in His Image

Guest Post with Andrea Glenn: Try Growing Flowers Without Dirt

I was asked to write this post two years ago. I currently have three different versions of this story saved on my desktop. Each deeply meaningful, reflective, and inspirational, yet none of these have I been able to share.  To each story I will read and reflect, but there are conflicts within me, holding me back.

My self-talk sounds a little bit like this:

 "These aren’t good enough."

"I need to proof read one more time."

"No, that version is too dark. Too deep. These people really don’t deserve to be exposed to what’s in my head."

Then there is the one that hurts the most. The only one I should listen to. The one that says, "That is not your story."

My story is this: I suffer with depression. This September was the ten year anniversary of my first date with depression. For those of you who do not understand depression and how one cannot just "get out of it," let me explain. Depression is a bad boyfriend. He makes you feel unique. He is warm and comforting. He understands you like no one else and with him you feel at home. By the time you can look up and see that he isn’t good for you, your life has become so intertwined with him that the fight to leave is more exhausting and intimidating than the ability to deal with it and keep going. You know you are strong, you can handle it. So you stay.

I don’t choose to be depressed. Nothing historically life changing has happened to make it acceptable to be depressed. I haven’t lost a child. I haven’t lost a parent. I haven’t experienced a traumatic event. There is no medical reason to be depressed, I just am. I try daily to view inside myself to see if I can pinpoint the cause. I think for me, my depression stems from being a creative...from knowing that I feel and see the world differently. With that, there is also a burden: The burden of knowing I should share the way I see the world, yet feeling so vulnerable when I do.

So, in being true to myself, and at risk of feeling judged, I would like to share a story.

One fall I was given a box of buttercup bulbs. Flowers are something I love. I can always judge the level of darkness I have by my willingness to go outside and dig in the dirt. I love dirt. I love the smell, and I love planting flowers. I love that something beautiful can grow from something ugly, dirty, and unwanted like dirt. When I cannot motivate myself to plant something, I know the darkness is bad. Buttercups have always been a symbol for me, too. I would begin to look for them at the end of winter as they signified a new beginning and an end to the cold, to the deadness of winter, to the darkness. To the end of a depression of sorts, and so I knew them well.    And so yes, because of my current state,The box of bulbs lived on the back porch, unattended for two weeks… maybe more. I’m not sure. The box was there long enough that the cat decided to turn it in to a bed, and the bulbs were sprouting from his body heat. Finally, out of respect of the sweet soul who gifted me with them, I stepped out of my home, and I reluctantly started planting.

I set across our yard carefully selecting the different areas where I wanted the buttercups to make an appearance. Around the mailbox, the flower beds, the rusty old pump house.  I took the time to select a spot, dig a hole, and plant each bulb. The task took several hours. For a while, I was beginning to think the box was bottomless. I planted the last of the bulbs around the chicken coop, then made my way back inside. I was ready to melt back into my darkness like the bulbs, tucked away under the earth, in their own little cold, dark world...To be forgotten.

The following spring was a hard one. I was still in a depression at that time, but I was working my way out. I knew I would be getting busy with work soon. The sun would start shining again, and that would be better. Things were looking up, but that particular spring things were a little harder than usual. I went to the mailbox one day, and I saw that the bulbs I had reluctantly planted in the fall were starting to break ground.

I felt joy.

My message here is this. Depression is like dirt. We don’t want anyone to walk into our home and see it. We are embarrassed by it. We try our best to sweep it up and throw it out the door, only for it to make its appearance again tomorrow. However, dirt has a purpose. It has a place. From dirt can grow the most beautiful things that can cultivate joy and hope.

I am tired of trying to sweep up the depression. There is far too much inside me that can bring joy and beauty to the world. Today I choose to tell my story and allow those bulbs that have been dormant inside of me to grow.

My hope is this: I hope that if you are reading this today and you are coming from a place that is blessed with a little more darkness than others, I hope that you can learn to cultivate it. Water it. Let the light in. Go outside. Dance, sing, be free and love yourself. Create your art, sing songs, take the time to nurture your soul while you are in that darkness. 

Spring will come, I promise. 

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Guest Post with Andrea Glenn: Try Growing Flowers Without Dirt

Guest Post with Amber Miller Comeens: God Has Heard

Life teaches us many lessons, doesn’t it? I think back to the girl I was at 18 and almost chuckle. You see, back then I had my whole life planned out. I would get married by 20 to my high school sweetheart, get my RN degree, and start my family at 25 years old. I never could have imagined that I didn’t have control over all of those things. I soon found out what little control I had.

I married Bradly just shy of 20 years old, check. I finished my RN degree at age 22, check. On to the next goal, becoming a mom. I always knew I wanted to be a mother. I wanted nothing more. After 7 months of trying with no results I knew something wasn’t right. I scheduled an appointment with an OB-GYN. This began the many doctor appointments, labs, tests, surgeries, fertility treatments, and meticulous tracking of ovulation. After 2 years and 2 doctors the only thing I held was a broken heart. Then, during a break between treatments we found out why I had been feeling a little off. We were expecting. Oh, the plans we made for that sweet baby in the first 2 hours we knew about him/her. However, the joy was short lived. We had to go every 2 days to have blood work done due to low hormone levels. The hope was that the levels would double each visit. The first 2 times they did, but the third visit was not a charm and we found out we were losing our baby. I already knew it before those results. I felt the change in my body. I prayed I was wrong; I pleaded with God for my baby. But, it wasn’t His will. I had never experienced sorrow to that depth before. I felt as if the searing tears were burning straight from my soul. Getting out of bed was a daily struggle. I had to pray for the strength to simply survive when I all wanted was to wake up in heaven with my baby.

The months dragged on, but we found happiness in our church, family, and friends. I found happiness in my career as a nurse. We began seeing a new doctor months after our loss. We obtained more answers as to why we were having difficulty conceiving and found out we had essentially less than a 50% chance of conceiving naturally. It was overwhelming, and we needed a break financially and mentally. This journey is hard on a marriage. As time passed we grew apart very subtly until the divide was a large one. Just as we were deciding to stay together to make it through the holidays or go ahead and separate then, we got another surprise. That surprise is now named Reid. 
During the pregnancy, we began working hard at fixing what was so broken and God restored our marriage just as He promised He would. I don’t know why God made us wait 5 years after we began trying or 3 years after our terrible loss, but I do know He sent Reid when we needed him the most.

God is so faithful. No matter how far we go, how broken we become, he can redeem and make all things new. We always prayed, "Just one, Lord, just one". While I’m writing this, I am nursing a sweet 7 week old with a 23 month old hanging over my shoulder rubbing my arm and watching a 4 year old play across the room. Let that sink in for a minute. 
We went from 5 long years of tears, loss, and brokenness to joy, fruitfulness, and wholeness. Isn’t that what God does, though? God took a less than 50% chance and gave us 3 boys on natural cycles, which means no meds, no treatments. Our 3 boys all came at the most inopportune times, yet the most perfect. Judah Samuel is boy number 3. Judah means "praised." Samuel means "God has heard." His name was in my heart from the time that Gunnar (boy number 2) was born even though we didn’t plan on having any more children. God certainly heard and has been so faithful. We give Him all the praise.

I can’t help but think of the lyrics to "Jesus Paid it All" written by Elvina Hall when I think of our lives: "I hear the Savior say, thy strength indeed is small/ Child of weakness watch and pray, find in me thine all in all/ Jesus paid it all, all to Him I owe/ Sin had left a crimson stain, He washed it white as snow."

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Guest Post with Amber Miller Comeens: God Has Heard