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Now I Know Why God Created A Sabbath

July 18, 2016 Maggie Getz

I spent the past four blissful days in remote Vermont. No cell service. No Internet. No TV. No iPad. No social media. It was glorious.

As a girl who's utterly always connected, going cold turkey and removing myself from all of those outlets made me feel like a million bucks. The camp where we stayed was remote, surrounded by nature and separate from all the distractions that usually take over. I sometimes feel chained to my phone. But without service, I had no use for it. The phone stayed in my bag, and I stayed outside enjoying the beauty around me.

The photo above doesn’t do the place justice. I stood on the dock that morning, overlooking the unreal splendor of the pond and sky in front of me, and listened to my breath. Inhale. Exhale. Just listening. I'm fairly certain my heart was pumping slower than it has in three and a half years.

The peace and tranquility of that moment felt like a dream. I finally understood why God created a sabbath.

“And on the seventh day God finished his work that he had done, and he rested on the seventh day from all his work that he had done.”
— Genesis 2:2

God Himself rested. After Vermont, it was evident to me that He commands us to rest for a reason.

It's rare that I slow down enough to sit with my own thoughts. To rest and to appreciate the stillness. I'm a multi-tasker, and I prefer to stay busy. I treat productivity like a virtue. Even as I write this post, I have seven other tabs open in my browser, waiting for me should I need a quick distraction or think of something else I need to read or do. At some point, stopping, sitting, and resting became equal to failure in my book. Stillness is a challenge for me. (Is it any surprise I live in New York City?)

Take for example a recent yoga class I attended. We were practicing chair pose, as I’ve practiced a hundred times before. Yet on this particular day, for whatever reason, my thighs were shaking. Not the normal burning like you’d expect, but legitimately shaking and telling me to stop. We’re always instructed in yoga to take a child’s pose, the resting pose, at any point in class if we need to. I never do. I want to keep flowing, keep moving, keep progressing and getting better. For the first time, I took a child’s pose. My fellow yogis were sitting in their chair poses while I stretched on my mat. 

I heard an onslaught of lies that I’m not strong enough or fit enough—that I need to work harder. I tried to figure out why I needed to rest. I drank plenty of water that day, I ate a snack before I came to class, I had a good night’s sleep. Why couldn’t I fix this? Why was I failing?

But I wasn’t failing. I was becoming stronger by listening to my body. Stronger by surrender to Him.

So I sat there in silence as I said a little prayer. I prayed against those lies. I reflected on how God give us rest. His yoke is easy and His burden is light.  

Sometimes all we can do is take a child’s pose. We can take a second to breathe and rest. Let your body flop, your eyebrows lower, your jaw loosen, and your belly expand. We’re so tightly wound we forget what rest looks like. We think we have to “do it all” and that by expertly shaping our days, we become good and just. Let me tell you, though, God doesn’t care what our circumstances or our experiences are. He doesn't care how packed our calendars are. He cares about the state of our hearts and whether we're spending time with Him. Whether we're living for Him.

A few days after this yoga class, I heard a sermon from our associate pastor on Galatians. (Side note: I highly recommend Galatians if you’re looking for a solid introduction to Scripture. It’s short, but it’s beautiful and impactful.) The pastor preached on walking in the power of the Spirit.

Paul says to the Galatians, “Did you receive the spirit by works or by faith? Does He who supplies the spirit to you and works among you do so by works of the law, or by hearing by faith?”

In other words, “Are you now trying to obtain your goal by human effort?”

I knew my answer was one hundred percent, yes. I thought I needed more water, stretching, strength training, and sheer willpower in order to successfully sit in that chair pose. What I really needed was to stop striving. I had to stop trusting in my own efforts. I needed to let go and let God, and to remind myself that my achievements have no bearing on my standing with God.

The next time I went to yoga, I nailed the chair pose. I sat lower than I had previously. My legs seemed stronger. And I didn’t do anything different except to not do anything. I talked to God, and I surrendered my body to Him. It’s a lesson that applies to more than yoga practice.

I trust in my job, my bank account, my relationships, my physical appearance. I trust in my perceived ability to control my life. As my pastor said, because of brokenness, we’re designed to want to complete ourselves. This means I end up trusting in myself and my own desires more than I trust in Him.

"If I'm busy, that means I have worth and value and significance. If my calendar's full, then my heart will be full as well. I'm also busy because I don't trust in God's power and God's timing in my life. I feel that I need to take control because God is not working fast enough. I want progress to happen at my own pace, and that pace is usually different from God's plans."

Busyness and constant movement do not lead to a full heart. Instagram likes and Facebook invites most certainly do not. Pushing, planning, and striving are not the way to Heaven. God calls us to work hard for Him and His kingdom. The other stuff is just periphery.

How would life change if every day I woke up thinking of how I could best serve God today?

Serving him comes in many forms—including rest and prayer. I’m pretty sure I’m not serving Him when I’m pushing my body past its point of ability, or when I’m so tuned in to my phone that I have a more active relationship with Siri than I have with Him. God continues to show me the inherent value of rest and a Sabbath. He gave me time in Vermont to further illuminate how important stillness is in my walk with Him.

We walk in the power of the Holy Spirit through faith and faith alone. That’s a hard concept for me to grasp, but God’s grace makes it all possible. I’m working on being more still and more prayerful. I’m creating space between me, my phone, and my social media platforms. We need some time apart to refresh my soul. I may not be writing on this blog as much, but I hope to be writing more in my journal and in my prayers to God. I’m praying for faith and trust in Him above all. I pray for rich quiet time in His presence. Those other things of this world can all be put on hold. Ultimately, they do not matter. I pray He would be my deepest love and greatest joy. Let’s give Him room to work and to use us how He best sees fit. I have a feeling He will show us even more of His glory, bless others through us, and make us increasingly more like Him when we do.


If you want to talk more about Jesus Christ and faith and what-the-heck-is-all-this-stuff, shoot me a message. I love meeting new people, whether virtually or in person, and gabbing about life. 

And if you'd like to know more of my story, you can read my testimony here.

Truly, He makes beautiful things.

In work Tags rest, stillness, sabbath, vermont, vacation
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Courage, Dear Heart

June 28, 2016 Maggie Getz

I got a tattoo.

Yes, me, Maggie. The girl who loves puppies and watching Parenthood on a Friday night. I got a tattoo. It may be the smallest tattoo known to mankind, but it is there and it is real. Sometimes I look down at it, and I rub my index finger across it as if to test that it’s still permanent. (It is.)

I have been wanting this tattoo for more than a year, often drawing it on my wrist to confirm that I like it. On multiple occasions, I was asked by people if my Sharpie doodle was a real tattoo. After months and months, I realized I still liked it and wanted to make it happen.

So after grocery shopping recently, I decided to pop into my local tattoo parlor. The tattoo artists told me they had plenty of availability that evening. Cash only, and we’ll see you tonight, they said. I headed back a few hours later with my sweet friend, Katie. (Thanks, Katie!) I was in and out in about 20 minutes. Needles don’t really scare me, and the process wasn’t painful. I practically blinked and it was over.

I walked out of the tattoo shop beaming and excited about my new ink. I did it. I was officially tatted UP.

My tattoo is three small dots on my inner wrist—representing the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, with me always.

The number three shows up a lot in the Bible. See faith, hope, and love, a series of three. The three times Paul pleaded for the thorn to be removed from his flesh. And, of course, Jesus’ rising from the dead on the third day. I’m also one of three kids. The tattoo is a reminder to me of all of these things, as well as a physical declaration of my identity.

Since getting tattooed, I’ve had four or five strangers notice it and ask me what it means. I’ve told them honestly: I’m a Christian and it’s for the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. So far everyone’s response has been, Oh that’s cool. Or, I really like it. Or, that’s awesome. None of these strangers are Believers. They might be replying like this simply because they’re surprised and don’t know what else to say. Or they might truly think it's cool. I believe a lot more people in this world are searching for God and the truth found in Jesus Christ than may outwardly admit it. 

These three dots remind me to be courageous.

I have no problem enduring a bit of pain from a needle. And I am happy to tell total strangers about my faith when they ask me about the tattoo. God’s given me the courage to do that. But the courage to abandon my desire to control and follow him wholeheartedly? That courage sometimes still alludes me. Sometimes I’d rather cling to my schedule, my plans, and my busyness than courageously surrender to Him. Okay, most of the time.

You feel me?

It takes courage to say no to my own plans and follow His. It takes courage to stop revering my favorite bloggers and start revering Him. It takes courage to pray for the drunk guy on the street when all I want to do is judge.

God keeps bringing up this idea of courage to me.

I sat on the subway last week while a young man preached the Gospel. As in the legitimate, John 3:16 Gospel. He spoke aloud to the whole train, clear as day, even when a woman rolled her eyes and said, “Alright, already! Oh my God.” He continued talking, explaining everything from Adam and Eve to our sin to Jesus’ dying and rising again. He put it all out there. That takes courage.

I just so happened to be listening to a sermon podcast on courage at the same time.

And when I went to counseling the same night, my counselor suggested I pray for courage.

Courage is a theme for me. Ever since I was a kid, I wanted to be courageous. I remember reading through the Harry Potter series, hoping I, too, would have been called a Gryffindor because of my bravery. I want to be bold and unafraid.

This blog is a product of that desire. I talk so often about bringing things into the light. I believe we were made to let others into our messes, and, even more so, to let God into them. He already knows all about it anyway—and still He loves us. So I strive to let Him work in the mess and refine my heart in the process.

Theologian John Piper writes,

"Christian courage is the willingness to say and do the right thing regardless of the earthly cost, because God promises to help you and save you on account of Christ. An act takes courage if it will likely be painful. The pain may be physical, as in war and rescue operations. Or the pain may be mental as in confrontation and controversy."

It will likely be painful. And probably more painful than the I’m-going-to-ink-three-dots-on-your-wrist sort of pain.

Right now, I’m in a season of my life where I need courage to press into the uncomfortable. God’s been doing a whole lot of healing in me, physically, mentally, and spiritually. He’s renewed me in so many ways. I’m not the same woman I was five, three, or even one year ago. I’ve talked openly about my struggle with an eating disorder—and God has brought significant healing into that area of my life! His work has been slow and gradual, but it has been persistent. Even when I’ve taken steps back, He has propelled me two steps forward. That is a huge praise.

Now it’s going to take some work on my end to continue God’s healing and restoration. He will do it, of this I am confident. But I must be a ready and willing participant. I can finally say I’m ready. I want to live wild and free, not tethered to anxiety, insecurity, or disordered thinking. Those thoughts will come and go, but I know they don’t control me anymore. I’ve tasted the sweet fruit of freedom, and I want more.

The book of Josuha contains my favorite word on courage:

“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go. ”
— Joshua 1:9

I am going into the unknown. That’s scary and uncomfortable. For me, full freedom means kicking any old habits to the curb. Like an annoying ex-boyfriend who just won’t quit: They’ve got to go. Full freedom looks less like having a perfectly scheduled calendar and a five-year plan, and more like days full of space for Him to breath into. Full freedom starts where preconceived notions of what a good Christian life looks like end. And if I’m being honest (as I always want to do with you), full freedom for me means living with a few more pounds on me than I have right now. As a woman who is healthy, full, whole. A woman who values The Lord more than a particular dress size or the way her abs look. A woman who willingly walks as God designed her to, even if it’s scary, unfamiliar, or anxiety-provoking.

Because He looks at me—as He looks at you—and calls us good.

We have to trust in God's declaration and know it's truth that holds more weight than anything we're afraid of. It matters more than our feelings.

It’s going to take me significant courage to push through feelings of instability. What awaits me on the other side of the uncomfortableness and the unfamiliar is good and beautiful. Throughout my life, the things I’ve been most afraid of, whether that was rappelling, traveling internationally, or interning in New York City, ended up being the most worth it. Pushing through the fear was the best thing I could have done. The Lord was with me every step of the way.

He is in all of it. He is with us wherever we go.

Like the tattoo on my wrist, He is there no matter what. Nothing is too big or too small for Him to work in. We cannot scare Him away. As we continue to accept His love and His truth, His Spirit dwells within us. He’s not only a part of our lives, but He is truly the past, the present, and the future lives we live. Rest secure in that.


If you want to talk more about Jesus Christ and faith and what-the-heck-is-all-this-stuff, shoot me a message. I love meeting new people, whether virtually or in person, and gabbing about life. 

And if you'd like to know more of my story, you can read my testimony here.

Truly, He makes beautiful things.

In faith Tags courage, c.s. lewis, tattoo, evangelism, blogging
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You Learn A Lot About Your Heart When You Don't Have A Closet

June 16, 2016 Maggie Getz
Not my actual apartment, but it sure is dreamy.

Not my actual apartment, but it sure is dreamy.

Last month marked my fifth move in New York City, and I’ve only lived here for a little more than three years. Moving is never a fun experience, but moving apartments in NYC is enough to make one run away and give up everything to live in a hut on the beach.

In New York City, apartments come and go every day—usually your best bet for finding one is a mere two weeks out. You can’t really plan, and you don’t have a lot of control over your options.

I felt sick with the stress of finding my latest place, affording movers, and coordinating the whole moving process. Moving is one of those things that makes me truly anxious.

I had been checking apartment listings every hour of every day. I was so afraid that I would miss something great and regret it later. My counselor suggested I take a step back. She reminded me that I was not going to be homeless. The Lord abundantly provided during all of my moves, and He was clearly working. My family would have a place for me should I need it, and I had plenty of community around me to support me in the process, too.

After talking to her, I set up filters and email notifications on a few apartment rental websites. Then I stopped checking and let the websites do the work for me.

Just as soon as I quit freaking out, my roommate (not me!) received an email listing for a great spot. She and I saw the place the first day it went on the market. That day was the same day the rental company lower the rent to be within our budget and removed the broker fee. My roomie and I applied that day, and the apartment was ours within forty-eight hours.

If that's not a God thing, I don't know what is.

The situation was yet another that showed me the value in letting go. Loosening up, relaxing the grip on my life, and giving God the space to enter in.

Try as we may, sometimes we just have to let go a little. Moving so often, and under such tenuous city circumstances, taught me to let go of my need to control everything, but in a broader sense it taught me to let go of other things in life that weren’t necessary. Moving has been a grand adventure in learning to simplify my life and let go of the rest.

Here’s the thing: We live in a world full of stuff. It’s tempting to want more and more. During my latest move, my roommate and I discovered we had three SodaStreams. Three! And our new apartment is a sixth-floor walkup. Without closets.

Moving so often really forced me to think about my approach to life. When something suddenly becomes an extra five pounds that must be boxed, carried up six-plus flights of stairs, and stowed in a 900-square-foot space, you really start to examine what it adds to your life.

So I have to ask myself: “Can I find pleasure in a simple glass of tap water and avoid the clunky, costly presence of a 21st-century bubble infuser?”

Yes. Yes, I can.

It’s a lesson in moving, but it’s a lesson in life just the same.

Quality over quantity—that simple lesson has helped me redefine my life overall. I don’t have time to go to every event or see every friend, colleague, or former classmate who comes into town. I make time for the friends who also make time for me—the people I know will bring me life by being around them. When I’m seeing fewer people overall, I allow the relationships I do have to grow stronger, and our time together becomes that much higher quality.

Even more than quality over quantity, I'm learning what true quality really is. True quality means faith and provisions from God. You can't buy that kind of quality. I'm starting to understand why Jesus told us not store up for myself treasures on earth. Earthly treasures are just things. Just things. They are replaceable. As fun or as pretty as they might be, they don't add to my existence.

“But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”
— Matthew 6:20-21

Moving to an apartment without closets revealed all the junk I'd been storing up—not just in my closet (and under my bed and in random drawers) but in my heart. It's so easy to store things away, never really addressing them until they're forced to the surface. If I can hide it under the bed, then it doesn't really exist.  

Let me tell you: Cleaning out the closet is good.

Clear out the junk. Organize the mess. Put everything on display and bring it into the light.

Your heart—and your apartment—will be happier when you do.

Oh, and those moving woes I had? Definitely #firstworldproblems. I live and work in the most expensive city in the country. I’m grateful to be able to make a living here in the Big Apple. These moves have shown me that I don’t need to control and plan out everything in my life. For a planner like me, it’s hard to come to grips with the fact that I can’t look for an apartment until the month before I need to move. But there’s such value in being able to let go and trust that everything will work out. It might not look the way you envisioned in your head, but it will work out according to His greater plan. This I know to be true.

Even when I think I’m not going to land an apartment, or not be able to afford moving fees, or not be able to find a roommate, I am pleasantly surprised with ample provision. When I think I can’t get rid of something because someday I’ll want it, I always find that isn’t the case. I’m happy to be free of it, and I can focus more on the things I have that I love. Being intentional about my approach to life and things makes me that much more thankful for it all.

Home is where the heart is. My apartment is my oasis. I rely on good food, good friends, and good music filling the space to make it feel like home. Lots of decorations and knickknacks no longer have a place in my space. They take up room, they’re hard to pack and move, and they ultimately end up collecting dust. Buying fresh flowers on the street after work or picking up a candle from the sale section at Marshalls are two indulgences that make my apartment cozy and comfortable. The rest of my focus is on the peace of my home and love of those I have in it.

I would never have chosen to move five times in the past three and a half years, but looking back on it, I’m grateful for the changes. I’ve learned to not sweat the small stuff and to give up the things I don’t truly need. To let go of control and surrender to Him. Now I understand that at the end of the day, possessions aren’t what makes a house a home. People, experiences, and the presence of God are. My life is so much fuller because of it.


If you want to talk more about Jesus Christ and faith and what-the-heck-is-all-this-stuff, shoot me a message. I love meeting new people, whether virtually or in person, and gabbing about life. 

And if you'd like to know more of my story, you can read my testimony here.

Truly, He makes beautiful things.

In faith Tags moving, apartment, closet, nyc, new york city
1 Comment

Let's Honor Our Bodies And Enjoy Food As The Gift It Is

June 3, 2016 Maggie Getz

A version of this post originally appeared on Verilymag.com.

Juice cleanses. Detox diets. Meatless Mondays. All these food trends seem to be ushering in not only pithy magazine cover lines about carbs and abs but also an age when food consciousness has become the focal point of many of our lives. "Clean eating" has become an industry all its own. We cling to paleo and gluten-free lifestyles almost like religions.

If that meant we were all adapting healthier, happier lifestyles, maybe these eating fads would be great. And maybe for some people it is a helpful way to eat healthfully. But for many others, and particularly for young women, good health isn't the result. In fact, 50 percent of teenage girls use unhealthy weight control measures, such as skipping meals, fasting, vomiting, and taking laxatives. And on into young adulthood, 25 percent of college women engage in bingeing and purging, and 91 percent of women surveyed on college campuses try to control their weight through dieting. For many women, an acute food focus becomes downright dangerous. 

I should know. It happened to me. 

I've written about this before, but I really don't think eating disorders and our obsession with food can be talked about enough. For me, the desire to eat healthier was the beginning of what led me to develop a life-threatening eating disorder. As a high school varsity tennis player, I ate whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. I was strong and healthy. I was able to clearly listen to my body’s hunger and fullness signals. I ate everything from broccoli to burgers, and my body knew exactly what I needed. I was what you would call an intuitive eater. Taking care of myself was simple.

But things got complicated. Or I should say, I overcomplicated them.

By the end of my senior year of high school, I was no longer playing tennis for three hours a day. I was busy finishing my studies, working part-time, and preparing for college. My friends started talking about the dreaded “Freshman 15” weight gain that was sure to hit all of us come fall, and it seemed like every girl around me was dieting in order to look fabulous in her prom dress that spring.

I decided to drink more water and to cut out the two or three Chips Ahoy chocolate chip cookies from my lunch every day. I figured I wasn’t an athlete anymore and now I needed to watch what I ate.

As an aspiring magazine journalist, I was very tuned in to the media, often reading headlines and articles about health and wellness. Twelve hundred calories a day to get a bikini body? No dairy or gluten to ensure flat abs? Sixty minutes of cardio a day to stay in shape? I soaked up the information like a sponge, absorbing diet tips, “healthy eating” strategies, and fitness advice.

All my life, I was praised for my body. Genetically tall and thin, I was often told I should be a model and affirmed for the way I looked. “You’re so skinny! I wish I looked like you," people would say. “What’s your secret?”

Subconsciously, I fed on that affirmation. What would happen if I couldn’t maintain this figure? What would I think of myself?

I had developed a sense of pride in my appearance. I had also developed a deep fear of losing it. The fears grew stronger and then the voice in my head changed from me wanting to be “healthy,” to me wanting approval, to me wanting control. 

I was incredibly stressed about starting college at a school where I knew no one and where I would be enrolled in a rigorous program. I was scared I wouldn’t measure up. My long-term friendships were changing—we were drifting apart as the prospect of college loomed closer and closer. I had recently broken things off with a guy I liked, and I was feeling extra-lonely as a result. My life was going through a natural transition. But for me, an 18-year-old perfectionist not used to change or failure, life felt out of control. Nothing felt normal. 

But food? Food I could control. If I could manage my food intake, then I could feel better, I thought.

It was the perfect storm of factors: a desire to eat healthy, fear of failure, stress about my body, longing for affirmation, isolation from my friends, and a great memory for calories/nutritional information/diet tips. Before I knew it, “healthy eating” became restriction and then full-blown anorexia nervosa.

The eating disorder took root and grew during that summer. Calorie counting became my way of life. My thoughts were consumed by food. I pulled away from my friends so that they wouldn't really know what was going on. My parents took me to see my pediatrician who had known me since I was a toddler. He said that while I had lost weight, it was perfectly normal to do so under stress and that they shouldn't worry. Later my parents drove me to an eating disorder treatment center. The psychiatrist there wanted to admit me immediately. I continued to deny having a problem. And my restricting rapidly worsened.

I still went off to college―but three weeks into my first semester, I had to withdraw for medical reasons. I was no longer stable enough to stay in school. Anorexia was destroying my life, and if I didn’t do something serious (and soon), I was going to die. Eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of any mental illness. And 5 to 20 percent of those who suffer from anorexia will die. That's upward of one in five.

Thank God this is not where my story ends. Let me be clear: I did not save myself. I could not have escaped this devastating downward spiral of sin and destruction on my own. I was saved by The Lord, whose hand of protection was on me through it all. He saved me physically and spiritually. I got help from doctors and psychologists, and slowly but surely, I regained my health and my strength. My family carried me through it all, and I was given a second chance at life. I went back to school, graduated on time, and took a full-time job within a few months after graduation.

Today, seven years later, I am fully in recovery. I am happy and healthy. I meet with a counselor and nutritionist on a regular basis. I have an amazing community around me that watches out for me and that I can talk to when things get hard. Because, I have to be honest, sometimes life does get hard. 

I think of anorexia (or any eating disorder) like alcoholism. Both are diseases; both stem from nature and nurture. Genetics, upbringing, and choices. Alcoholics usually call themselves alcoholics for the rest of their lives, even when they have not touched a drink in ten years. Similarly, I will always say I am “in recovery” from my eating disorder, even though my life looks drastically different than it used to. I am grateful for every single day, and I live life to the fullest.

I am also now highly aware of the world of “healthy eating,” diet, and fitness. We are tempted every day by magazines and websites promising happiness if we can just fix ourselves. If we can eat clean, if we can do more strength training, if we can work a bit harder to get those flat abs/strong arms/skinny waist/perky butt, we can achieve fulfillment. We can be happy.

Except those things will never fulfill us. Food, control, affirmation from others―those things will never fulfill us because only Christ can. It’s taken me years and plenty of struggle to realize that.

Everyone’s body, everyone’s health, is completely individual. What might be healthy for one person is totally different for someone else. I know that, for me, I could not survive on 1,500 calories a day like an unnamed women’s wellness magazine prescribes as necessary for weight maintenance and optimal health. If I did that with 60 minutes of cardio exercise a day, I would not be healthy. I would be sick and run down. And, for me, desserts and other sweet treats are a necessary part of my life. They equal food freedom! I’d like lots of freedom, please.

As my friend, fellow blogger, and dietician and nurse Robyn says so wisely:

“I am not anyone else except ME. Which means the person sitting next to me has different nutritional needs than I do, so comparing myself to them is pointless—the only person I need to focus on with food and exercise is myself.

Health is about trends and consistency—just like one day of ‘dieting’ and exercise doesn’t cause a person to lose weight, eating out of routine for a short time and enjoying foods that allow you to fully experience life and nourish your soul will not make you gain weight. Health is all about the big picture, not a snapshot.

[Food] is meant for nourishment and to be enjoyed and it has nothing to do with how self-disciplined you are, or how much willpower you have, and it certainly has nothing to do with your identity and worth.”

Amen, sister. 

Food is for health, for pleasure, for experience—and all of those things together. 

Think of how food shows up in the Bible: It brings people together. God uses it to bless us and reveal Himself to us. God gives us the gift of food to experience in community. We break bread and drink wine. Food is a gift, a way we can connect with one another.

God gave the Israelites manna in the wilderness, to humble and test them so that it would do them good (Deuteronomy 8:16). He gives us bread from heaven to show us that He is God (Exodus 16:12).

Food is not meant to be overly complicated. My nutritionist often reminds me: Your body is the best indicator of what you need and when you need it. If you’re hungry and your stomach is growling, it’s because your body needs food―regardless of whether you ate two slices of pizza an hour ago or just drank a green juice. The latest diet trends are always changing, but your body is with you for the long haul. Listen to it.

Hyper-analyzing and focusing on food―or anything for that matter―turns it into an idol. It becomes the thing we glorify. It replaces God in our hearts, and ultimately, destroys our lives.

If we’re obsessed with eating perfectly, eating better than the person next to us, or looking good, we are the ones who end up losing. Being so concerned with what’s “healthy” and what’s not means we miss out on the simple joy of food. We miss out on the amazing gift our bodies are. We miss out on the whole life God has given us. He wants us to enjoy these things to glorify Him! 

So eat the kale. Eat the cupcake. Listen to your body, not your fears. Let Jesus ―not food―reign in your heart. And enjoy the full life He has set out for you. 


If you want to talk more about Jesus Christ and faith and what-the-heck-is-all-this-stuff, shoot me a message. I love meeting new people, whether virtually or in person, and gabbing about life. 

And if you'd like to know more of my story, you can read my testimony here.

Truly, He makes beautiful things.

In body image + beauty Tags food, eating disorder, clean eating, anorexia, orthorexia, recovery, food freedom, body image
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