The Moment My Eyes Were Opened
She had dark black bruises around both eyes. Her hair hung limply around her face. Her clothes were the indistinguishable black of every other New Yorker. She sat at the foot of the subway steps, with her back against the wall. Her son lie with his head down in her lap. I never saw his face. He was either asleep, or perhaps too tired or sick to sit up. In fact, if you walked by them fast enough, you would not have even known he was there. He was a small lump that could have passed for a rumpled-up blanket. Until you saw his shoes. His little sneakers gave him away.
It was this woman’s eyes that struck me. Those espresso-colored eyes with their awful bruises underneath. They glanced up at me with a look of utter exhaustion, as if even the slow movement of her eyeballs up toward me was painful. She didn’t have to speak to me—this look said more than her words ever could. She was despondent, hurt, defeated.
I stepped to her side, out of the continual flow of foot traffic up and down the subway stairs. I reached into my purse to pull out my wallet. I handed her a $5 bill and for a split second, her eyes lit up with the recognition that someone saw her. Someone stopped.
“God bless you. God bless you. God bless you,” she said to me.
I touched her hand. I nodded and gave her a small smile as I fought back tears.
I stepped away and walked up the stairs, ascending into a gorgeous fall evening in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in all of the city. No sooner did my feet hit the sidewalk before the tears came. Hot, wet crocodile tears streaming down my face.
I wept. I wept for this woman. For her son. For all the broken, the lost, the hungry. And for a few blocks, I couldn’t stop.
Streams of people continued all around me. I am sure someone saw me crying, but I let the tears flow freely. I realized I normally wouldn’t have even seen this woman, but on this night, she was put in my path. On this night, I had gotten off the subway at a different stop than my usual. I had planned to walk the rest of the way home while talking on the phone to my best friend.
As I began walking and dialed my friend’s number, the tears were still coming. I had a hard time catching my breath as I explained to her what had happened.
It’s okay; they’re good tears. Well, no, they’re really not good, but I’m okay. I’m sad.
There’s such brokenness in this world, Em. People are hurting. It is so hard, and I don’t know what to do.
A five-dollar bill created such a look of relief in this woman’s face. With five dollars, she and her son could each ride the subway one way. Or they could go to the McDonald’s down the street and buy two McDoubles, two sodas, and Chicken McNuggets off the Dollar Menu. But that’s it. Transportation or food. One or the other.
“Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.”
And yet she looked at me like I had given her the world.
Please hear me: This post is not my way of urging you to donate money, or to donate more money. This is not me patting myself on the back for helping this woman. This is me confessing how little I do to help. I don’t stop for each homeless person. I don’t volunteer at a shelter. I don’t often pray for them. I didn’t even understand the importance of tithing until recently. I am a good person, but I know I can do better. We can all do better.
Once I walked away from this woman, I immediately regretted not doing something more. Why didn’t I offer to take her to a women’s shelter, or take her to eat a real meal? I didn’t even tell her I would pray for her, or that she has a Father who loves her very much. Because when I looked in her eyes, all I could do was cry. Seeing my fellow human being in such a state really shook me.
It's so easy for me to complain about my life. I grumble about not feeling fulfilled in my career. I worry about my future and my finances. I stress about my social life and freelance work and finding time to fit it all in. Meanwhile the crestfallen and hopeless are literally lying at my feet.
It hurts to see a person in such brokenness because we are not meant to live like that. We weren’t designed for suffering. But we live in a fallen world, and suffering thrives.
“He raises up the poor from the dust, He lifts the needy from the ash heap to make them sit with princes and inherit a seat of honor. For the pillars of the earth are the Lord’s, and on them He has set the world.”
My hope rests in the new earth, a time when suffering will be no more, when peace and joy will reign throughout. I am so very grateful to our God who provides that and who has adopted us into His kingdom.
But while I’m still here, on this earth and in New York City, what can I do?
There are almost 60,000 homeless people in NYC alone. It’s overwhelming. I pray that the Lord would open my eyes to one person who I can help. To put one person in front of me. One person who I can have a relationship with, who I can pray for, and who I can extend more than a $5 bill.
Maybe this woman is my person.
In that moment, my eyes were opened. If I see her again, I will talk to her. I will let her know that she is not alone. I will do what I can to get her and her son to safety. Most importantly, I will pray. Whether I see her again or not, she is still out there, still wounded and hurting.
Father, protect her and her son. I pray that you provide food for them to eat and a safe, warm place to rest their heads. I pray they would know you and find hope in you. And Father, I ask that you cultivate a heart of gratitude in me. Help me respond to the plight of others around me in however you enable me to do so. Help me to take action. Make us a city of doers, Lord. A city that believes in spreading kindness and humanity toward our fellow neighbors. Give us your strength to fight for our brothers and sisters, God. Make us more like Your Son, and help us remember His love and His mercy knows no bounds. Thy will be done. I pray all these things through Jesus Christ. Amen.
Half-Birthdays Make You Think
This week marks my half-birthday. In six months, I'll be 26. I've always loved celebrating birthdays, and I've never had a problem with growing older. But this year I'm feeling a little more anxiety around it.
Twenty-six means I've crossed into my late twenties. Twenty-six means saying goodbye to being a post-grad and hello to being a full-on adult. Twenty-six means I'm old enough to get married and have kids. It means I only sometimes have to buy Ikea furniture and two-buck Chuck. It means I'm investing in a retirement account, while still dealing with the occasional acne. Perhaps most importantly, 26 means I definitely cannot get away with belting out Taylor Swift's "22" anymore.
When did that happen?
Ferris Bueller was right—life moves pretty fast. I think that’s especially so when you live in a high-energy city. But even if you don't, we Millennials thrive on a fast-paced lifestyle. There’s always something to do, some new goal to strive for, a new rung of the ladder to climb.
People ask me all the time how long I see myself living in New York City, what's next for me career-wise, when am I going to meet a man and settle down, etc. etc. etc. I don't have answers to these questions. And if I'm being honest, when I hear such questions I start to think about my age and my lack of answers and get a little scared. I begin to believe the lie that I need to have a fully detailed life plan. That I need to plot out exactly what I want, when I want it, and then I need to go after it. I need to just do it.
So I had to laugh when I re-read a Verily article of mine from January of this year. I wrote about embracing the new year—by doing exactly the opposite of what I now feel like I need to do. Case in point:
"I am excited to embrace the adventure in 2015—not by creating some five-year plan, but by instead enjoying the journey and trusting life will happen exactly as it should."
Oh. Hmm.
Not only did I write that, but I also wrote that if I were to make any new year's resolution, it would be to start a fresh relationship with myself. To take care of myself mind, body, and soul. To allow the adventure of the year ahead to unfold and to accept the mess that comes along with that.
My words from January ring true now more than ever. I’m at a point in my life where I don’t quite know what’s next. I’ve been striving for as long as I can remember. I’m always working toward a new goal or achievement. As a kid, I did everything I could to get straight As on my report card. I practiced every day to make the tennis team and then to win matches and tournaments. I maintained my GPA and tests scores to get into my first-choice college. I studied my butt off to graduate with a double major. I did the internships, the extracurriculars, the part-time jobs. And for a while, I also worked hard on my eating disorder. If you’ve already been following my blog, you know the story: I controlled my eating in an attempt to control my life and to truly “have it all.” Another goal added to the ever-growing list, another part of myself lost.
The cycle played itself out again when I relocated to New York City. I relapsed in my recovery and had to seek help for my eating disorder. Thankfully the Lord has provided health, healing, and a whole lot of refinement since then, and I praise Him for that.
Yet the striving continued to play itself out in other areas, especially work. I came to the city for work, and I landed my dream job. But it was a temp situation, so I constantly felt like I had to work harder to be brought on in a more permanent capacity. Eventually the promotion came. Later, a new gig with a bigger title, bigger responsibilities, and bigger dreams.
And let’s not forget relationships. Subconsciously I think I wanted to strive there, too. After moving to NYC, I entered into my first serious relationship. Almost two years later it ended, and not long after that I embarked on another.
Even church was a place to strive. I committed to friendships, community group, a women’s group, Bible studies, volunteer work.
Check, check, check.
You see, working toward a goal is easy for me. Setting my mind to something and going after it has never been a problem. I can look at my past and see God's hand in it. I really try to enjoy the present, and I trust in the future kingdom of heaven. It's that nearer future here on earth that is decidedly more difficult for more to embrace. Twenty-six, 27, 28, 29, and (gasp) 30—ten years ago, I thought those ages seemed so, well, old. Now I'm right there. And don't even get me started on all those lists about the 30 things every woman needs to do before age 30.
Today, at 25.5 years old, I am a single woman working in a steady job, with good friendships and a church community. I have absolutely have no idea when I will meet the right man and get married, or what my next career move will be, or how long I’ll live in New York City. It’s scary to admit that.
But what if I could be fully satisfied in those unknowns? What if I could, as I wrote, enjoy the journey and trust what happens along the way?
Life would probably be a lot more peaceful, and age would truly be nothing but a number.
The Lord gives us free will. We have the ability to make decisions every single day. We make plans and resolutions and goals. We choose how to live our lives, and we have to take an active role in them. At the same time, God knows the plans that He has for us, plans to give us hope and a future. Ultimately, He is the one who directs our steps.
“Many are the plans in the mind of a man, but it is the purpose of the Lord that will stand.”
I'm so grateful that I can make mistakes, and I can have no idea what is next for me—but I can still trust in the Lord in all of that. I can stand in His will and His goodness.
For the next six months, my goals aren’t to get promoted, to become a greater presence at church, or to land a boyfriend. My goal isn’t even to drive more traffic to this website. My goal instead is to surrender. Surrender my mind, my body, my soul to the one who has knit me since before I was born.
Twenty-six, get at me.
Water Instead Of Water
This week my dear friend Jess shared with me what she thinks of when she hears the word grace. She pointed me to this passage in missionary Amy Carmichael's book If, and it's become one of my favorite depictions of grace:
"Sometimes, when we are distressed by past failure and tormented by fear of failure in the future should we again set our faces toward Jerusalem, nothing helps so much as to give some familiar scripture time to enter into us and become part of our being.
The words 'Grace for grace' have been a help to me since I read in a little old book of Bishop Moule’s something that opened their meaning. (Till then I had not understood them.) He says 'for' means simply instead: 'The image is of a perpetual succession of supply; a displacement ever going on; ceaseless changes of need and demand.
'The picture before us is as of a river. Stand on its banks, and contemplate the flow of waters. A minutes passes, and another. Is it the same stream still? Yes. But is it the same water? No. The liquid mass that passed you a few seconds ago fills now another section of the channel; new water has displaced it, or if you please replaced it; water instead of water.
And so hour by hour, and year by year, and century by century, the process holds; one stream, other waters, living, not stagnant, because always in the great identity there is perpetual exchange. Grace takes the place of grace (and love takes the place of love); ever new, ever old, ever the same, ever fresh and young, for hour by hour, for year by year, through Christ.'"
Grace takes the place of grace, and love takes the place of love.
God is the rock; grace continually flows out of Him. We are the ones who change. I become fearful, anxious, worried, sad. I get mad at God. I question His plan and His goodness. My faith falters.
Yet He is there.
This passage reminds me of the story of the prodigal son. The father had utter compassion and care for his son, even after the son denied him and dishonored him in basically every way imaginable. Still the father forgives him, loves him, and celebrates his homecoming. I can't imagine being loved in such a radical way, but I am. You are, too.
The water never stops flowing. The waves of grace never stop washing over us.
My Story: A New Creation
I’ve struggled for years with anxiety, fear, control, approval, and perfectionism. At my worst, I almost died from an eating disorder. But God intervened. He opened my eyes, and He brought me healing. I’m now a wife and mom, and I honestly can’t believe all God has done in the past decade. He is the God of miracles. The God who saves. This is the story throughout Scripture; it’s my story, too.
Updated 2023
Tomorrow is Easter. Tomorrow we celebrate the resurrection of our Savior, Jesus Christ. Fully man, fully God. The Son of God, who took on the death that we sinful humans deserve. He exchanged His blood for our salvation. If we believe, we will be saved.
“If you confess with your mouth, “Jesus is Lord,” and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.”
Goodness, I love that truth! Hosanna to God in the highest and peace to His people on earth. He is good.
As I meditate on Christ’s death and resurrection, I remember my own personal redemption, when I decided to finally stop my striving and surrender to God. My story is one of God’s insurmountable grace and mercy, of His love and forgiveness at every turn.
Growing up, I attended church every Sunday with my mom, dad, and younger sister and brother. We read Bible stories, we prayed together, and I even went to the church young group throughout high school. But I don’t think I fully grasped what it meant to have a relationship with Jesus at that time. My priorities were getting good grades, hanging out with friends, playing on the tennis team, and having the love and approval of my family. By my senior year of high school, overwhelming perfectionism and an underlying sense of anxiety started to creep in.
When I was 18, I experienced what can only be called a total breakdown. I was fearful, nervous, and anxious about starting college, at a school where I knew no one. And after having a falling out with my best friends, I felt very alone. The best way I can describe my life is feeling out of control. I felt like I was drowning, and I didn’t know what to do. So I turned to the one thing I thought I could control—and that was food.
I didn’t stop eating entirely, but I stopped eating what my body needed. I cut back more and more food until I was eventually starving myself. I was good at hiding my disorder – in fact, I didn’t believe I even had one. My parents allowed me to go off to college, but within a few weeks, I was forced to withdraw from school for medical reasons.
I couldn’t hide anymore.
Back home, I signed myself into an inpatient treatment program. My diagnosis: anorexia nervosa. I learned I was so underweight and malnourished that if I didn’t make some serious changes very quickly, I would die.
Upon hearing that, I felt incredibly weak and helpless. I was disgusted with myself. Ashamed. Guilty. Afraid. I felt like my life was over.
Yet part of me was relieved.
I could finally stop pretending I was okay when I was so far from it.
After a few months in treatment, I was able to return to college, eventually graduating on time, summa cum laude, with a double major. (I told you I was a perfectionist.)
As my health stabilized, doctors told me I was a miracle. They included me in a research paper. For a long time, I gave myself all the credit for being alive.
But I can tell you today, I am alive because of God’s continued hand of grace and protection on me. He saved me in every way.
A few months after graduation, I landed my first real job in New York City. A friend of mine joined an Acts29 church in Dallas and told me how much she liked it, so I decided to look for an Acts29 church in NYC. Turns out there was one within a few blocks of my apartment.
I walked in alone on Super Bowl Sunday, 2013, and walked out with an invitation to a Super Bowl party that night. I met a woman who would go on to faithfully disciple me, to share the Good News with me, to stand by my side as I was baptized, and to eventually become one of my bridesmaids.
During my four years living in New York, God kept chipping away at my eating issues and my misplaced identity. Through Biblical counseling and many talks with my family and friends, I learned that my eating disorder had served as a way to cope with some much deeper issues in my life—this idea that I had to be somehow "perfect." For a long time, I believed I needed to have it all together – an impressive job, good friends, a relationship, to feel happy and fulfilled and look good while doing it. If I felt anxious or overwhelmed, I could at least control my food and my body. I could look perfect even if I didn't feel that way.
Yet, the more I read God’s Word, the more time I spent in community with other believers, the more I prayed and invested in my church body, and the more I confessed my struggles, the more God healed and redeemed me.
Like Paul, it was as if the scales finally fell off my eyes. I realized I had to stop living for myself and start living for the Lord. He’s the only One who defines me, and He calls me His daughter. He is the true healer, of my body, mind, and soul. He is authoring my story in the most beautiful way.
I was saved by grace through faith, and that’s a gift from God that doesn’t come from my own doing. (Ephesians 2:8)
Where there hard days? Oh yes. I think that’s a normal part of any recovery process. But by trusting Jesus, I finally experienced true freedom, hope, and healing. Since then, I’ve walked through seasons of counseling, participating in a support group, meeting with a dietitian, and also taking anti-depression and anti-anxiety medication.
Because accepting Jesus doesn’t mean I’ll never face trials. It does mean I have a great hope and my future is secure in Him. (Hebrews 6:19)
His spirit dwells within me now. I've asked Him to heal me time and time again, and heal me He does. He has slowly removed the guilt and shame. He’s given me joy and true worth. He brought me a godly man who became my husband, and He’s gifted us with two beautiful children. He's helping me to trust in Him and His plan because He is in control, not me.
Sometimes I think Jesus allows us to come to a place of finally crying out, I’m not okay, so that we can cry out to Him. To admit we need Him. Only He can sustain us. I fully believe God used that time in my life and my eating disorder to shape me into the woman I am today. He used that circumstance to draw me near to Him and allow me to fully surrender my life to Him. He’s given me a newfound sense of empathy for others who are struggling. I can look back at what I experienced and truly praise Him for it.
While I was still a sinner, Christ died for me. (Romans 5:8). For you.
God knows everything you’ve done. All the guilt and shame. The fear and anger. The sadness and doubt. He knows the person you once were, the person you are today, and the person you are becoming. He calls you His beloved son or daughter. Trust in Him—and the old self will be gone, while the new self remains.
“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!”
Easter—Resurrection Sunday—means a celebration of Christ as our risen Lord. He died the death that we sinners deserve. He rose from the dead, defeated sin and death, and sent Satan to the grave. His mercy knows no bounds.
He is the God of miracles, and He is still at work today! In my life and in yours. Truly, all things are possible with God (Matthew 19:26). Trust in Him.
