God of Miracles

My God is a God of miracles.

After reading the last few posts I have written, you are well acquainted with a good portion of my past history, struggles, and joys. Before I go any further however I want to dwell on the the power of the Lord. I hope this will encourage you today in whatever trails, or whatever bliss you face.

As a child my faith was new and I believed anything anyone would tell or show me. Sometimes I miss that naive, vulnerable, faith, sometimes I see the benefit in grown wisdom. Thus I strive to put into action both.

Faith like a child: 

"Then he said, 'I tell you the truth, unless you turn from your sins and become like little children, you will never enter into the Kingdom of Heaven." (Matthew 18:3)

Wisdom like the aged: 

"Is not wisdom found among the aged? Does not long life bring understanding?" (Job 12:12)

Throughout the days I have been present on this earth I have experienced countless works of the Lord. Living by faith, I continually see His hand in movement, and with knowledge I can discern the truths behind His hand.

The first time I remember really seeing a work of His was at the age of four. I had just been blessed with a beautiful baby sister, and my aunt was due in a few more months. As my birthday grew closer my excitement rose. I prayed that her little baby would be born on my birthday. That may sound like an incredible unimportant prayer, but I have learned nothing is too big, nor too small for the Lord. This was a request from my heart. I remember my parents getting the call on August 2nd, that my aunt was in labor. I started praying hard. Looking back I wonder at that prayer. The incredibility of little four year old me knowing the depth to even pray, begs the evidence of a greater Creator. I prayed fervently that this little baby would be born the next day on my birthday. Thirteen years later, David Pate Anglin, and I will celebrate our birthday together. Each year I remember that prayer. Each year I am blessed at the immense reminder that my God does answer prayers.

A Christmas miracle was the next work that stands out in my mind. Christmas is for many the best time of the year. Children count down the weeks until the celebration of Jesus' birth. The day of unwrapping gifts, singing carols, and reading the Christmas story. For those without money however, it is not a day that is looked forward to. It is a day dreaded for parents wanting to give their children everything, but having nothing. That is where we found ourselves in the winter of 2005.

My dad had found himself out of work for a while. He tried to pick up remolding jobs where he could, but his unemployment was going on three years. Financial problems were always looming during that time, and this year seemed worse then before. My parents made sure we were taken care of materially, as much as they could, and spiritually, with our walks with the Lord. At the age I was then I was concerned only with school, toys, and of course Christmas! I paid no attention to the disappearing food, or how the smell of fresh baked bread no longer filled our home.

The first time reality crashed in, was when the house my dad had been working at was broken into and all of his tools were stolen. This loss cost us over $1,500. It was a devastating hit. We trusted the Lord and prayed His will would be done, but I know this was a curve ball my parents would have rather missed. A few days later however a check came in the mail covering nearly all of Dad's losses. We had told no one, but God knew and He had seen to our provision.

As weeks until Christmas turned to mere days we still faced a dwindling pantry. In fact it was completely empty. What changed everything happened on a regular school day. Being young, I had an attention span of, well nothing. I was easily side tracked and as Mom kept instructing, I began to pay more and more attention to what was going on outside the schoolroom rather than within. Our schoolroom window overlooked the street and I began to notice a red truck driving by slowly. The truck did this several more times, and I was now not the only one whose focus was on the truck instead of Mom. My two older brothers and little sister were now watching it as well. My mother finally followed suite. We all crowded around the window to watch it drive by a few more times then proceed to pull into our driveway. Mom quickly called Dad who was home that day. We all followed Dad and Mom outside to offer a bombard of welcomes to this new stranger.

Out of the shiny, red, pick-up truck came a smiling, large, middle-aged, man with a white beard. He was in no costume but he looked uncannily like Santa Clause. He asked what our address was, and must have liked what we said, for he motioned us to the back of his truck, lifted off the cover, and there covering his entire bed were overflowing groceries! God had sent us an angel. We all began to unload and search through this plunder. He had bought exactly the same brands we used to get. He brought us Krispy Kreme doughnuts, just like my recently passed great-grandfather had brought with every visit. Yet the most amazing thing was when he pulled a huge barrel of wheat berries out. They were the exact same kind my mother used to make her bread. To understand the severity of what this meant, you must know that the only way to get this wheat was to order it online. This man had pre-ordered it for us. He told us God had told Him to give all of these things to us. My mom and dad began telling him the difficulties we had been having, and what this meant to us. As tears streamed down my mother's face we all thanked him. He would forever become known as our "Santa Clause."

Looking back I am brought to tears at not only the miracle of God's power, but the willingness of this man to listen to the Lord's voice, despite the oddity of it. Ever since that day I have been learning to pray boldly and believed with all my heart. Not that God is some fairy godmother who grants all wishes, but that He is my Father and He truly does love and love to care for His children. He cares for His sheep. He sent His son as the greatest miracle 2,000 years ago. God has offered to us the bread of life in which we will never grow hungry. I notice His hand often now and I try to listen to His voice, despite how absurd or unusual what He may ask seems to me. I know that He cares, that He loves us, and that His ways our higher then our own. He may allow us to walk through many difficult trails but He will never, ever, leave us nor forsake us.

Give Me // Your // Eyes ~ Anorexia

This is the hardest post I have ever written. I did not want to write it. In fact, I never wanted to write it because I never wanted it to happen, but it did and now, with the strength and grace of God, I am. 

We had never been so overjoyed then when my mother was healed. I don't think I could ever thank God enough that He chose to deliver her back to full, abundant, health. I have a wonderful relationship with her now and I love her very, very much. She is my role model. However, it did take a long time to get to where we are now. I always loved her, and I always will, but when she was first healed we butt heads and clashed all the time. I had been the caretaker of our little family for five years. When she came home she took over her rightful position. I was no longer needed to fill that position anymore. I was 14 and I had found out who I was and where I belonged. I was the cook, the cleaner, the encourager, the mother, the keeper of our little family beside my dad. In the blink of an eye, I was no longer that person, my mom was once again. I struggled deeply. I had to restart those years I had spent "finding myself." I was forced day after day to learn to become something I thought I was not. 

I threw off the life I had lived those five years, happy to forget the trial, but now I wanted to know who I was. Who was I? I had a mission for years, every day I woke up with armor on sword drawn, but there was no battle to fight anymore. When I looked at myself I only found flaws. I wanted validation. I wanted a place, confirmation that I was enough. "Love me!" My heart screamed, "Tell me I'm enough please," but it would be years before I would realize who had been telling me that all along. I no longer knew who I was in my family, with my friends, or even by myself. I looked for validation in the eyes of others and knew I came up lacking. I was not enough. I was not pretty enough. I wanted people to like me, but I only became disappointed. Why should they?  

I threw myself into dance. The one thing I thought had not and would never change in my life. I danced, but the more I threw myself, the more I fell short. I was not skilled enough. I was not talented enough. I was not thin enough. Three months before I did not even know what the word "fat" was, but now I knew it all too well. It raced around my head on repeat. The lengthy, bottomless pit, adolescent I had been, had filled out, a litlle too much in my mind.

At first, I tried to do things properly, to eat healthier, exercise more. I tried, but after a while I just became frustrated, it was not quick enough. Dress code in ballet changed and my image became the center of attention. It was the only thing at the barre that I saw when I looked in the mirror. It became of the utmost importance to me. I did what you probably could have guessed was coming. I stopped eating. At first, it was just one day a week, then I added one less meal, then one more, until I was swallowed up in a vicious cycle. As a disease does it spread and it took over. Day and night it controlled my thoughts. I did not want to admit I had a problem, but I did, and I did know it.

My desire to become accepted by others became a desire to become accepted by myself. I looked in the mirror and I hated who I saw. I got thinner and thinner, and yet still I saw something that needed to be changed. I got the compliments I had yearned for. People looked at me and envied me. The more looks, the more compliments, the more it fed my fire. This is what they had wanted to see, wasn't it? I had finally become who I wanted in the eyes of others, but I still did not meet my own approval. I pushed on. I no longer had real thoughts. I lost all except, "thinner = beauty = do not eat." It had consumed me from the very second I choose to skip that first meal. I lived to die. My skin changed color, my hair started falling out, my nails were brittle and chipping off, I was always cold, and I had no strength. Worst in all of this, my dream to become a better dancer, my desire to glorify God, wasted away because I no longer had the energy or strength to pursue it. I knew if I continued this dream would die, and I was terrified another would die as well, my dream to grow up and have a family. This is who I had chosen to become.



As I walked along the edge of this cliff, I could hear God calling my name. I would be lying if I said it was easy, but I did want so desperately to be free. This, the first real thought I had: Freedom. I turned back. I ran as fast as I could into the arms of Someone who would never change. Someone who saw who I was then, who saw who I was now, and loved me. He loved me every step of the way.

I wanted this nightmare to stop. I wanted to be rid of everything that had happened. Spring and Summer passed easily, and I remained unbound. As the fall semester loomed in front of me, my past did as well. I had been scarred, mentally and physically. When I walked into that dance room I would face not only the person looking back in the mirror but every other person in there. Judgment overwhelmed me. I could feel their thoughts penetrating me. I could feel them judging me, and I didn't want it. Betrayal quickly came. Betrayal to the thoughts that were true. It was an addiction, an addiction to be thin and "beautiful." Each day I fought with the words of God and the words in my mind taunting me. I wanted to be rid of myself. I quickly started my journey to the cliff's edge again. It was not drastic starvation I resorted to the time. I had other means. My confidence grew bigger, the smaller I got. Little did I know it was confidence built upon sand. What would happen if I lost my means of obtaining "thin"? I pushed on. Holding off until summer came, when I could once again grasp freedom, when I could once again run home to my Father, if only until Fall...
No more.
This cycle had to stop. I had to chose to stop it. The choice was mine. Here I had flesh or Father weighing in the balance. I had to choose to say no. And that's the truth, I had to choose to say no. As the Lord had placed Adam and Eve in the garden with a choice, so had He placed me, you, and every other human being on the planet with a choice. I had to say no. I will not say it was a quick victory. It wasn't. It has been a slow quiet journey to triumph. Some days easy, other days hard, but I knew Truth, I had tasted freedom. I did not want to be defined by this earthly struggle. I did not want to keep this act up. I hated it. As Paul wrote, "I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate, I do." (Romans 7:15) I had had enough, it had to stop. When I stood before the Lord's throne, I did not want this to be my accomplishment. I did not want this to be my life's story. That I spent all my days fighting for the world's trophy. When I stood before the Lord I did not want to say to Him this was the definition of my life, that I had chased and idolized what others thought of me, that I believed the word's of the devil over His own, that I spent the entirety of my days fighting for something that fades with the earth. To tell Him that He was not the focus of my entire life. That I had made no investment into eternity. What I was fighting for would disappear with the wind, is that what I wanted? To stand upon His heavenly court before Him and open my white clenched hands only to watch in shame and horror as sand shifted through my fingers to the floor. My life had to be worth more than this. I wanted Him to be the focus of my days, not myself. I wanted to believe Him because He was truth, He always would be.

No more do I live in a constant circle centered on myself. I have made wrong choices in the past, but that is what it is, past. I am no longer fighting against anorexia. I am clothed in the armour of the Lord and I share my testimony only to bring His name glory. He is the one who brought me away from the cliff and He is the one in whom I choose to believe now.

I am not proud of the years that have been swallowed running from the One Truth. Every day, even now, I struggle. The choice is mine. I have to choose to see myself the way God created me. I am enough because He is enough. He has made me enough. I do not need to look for it anywhere else. I do not need to be accepted, praised, complimented, by anyone. My validation is in Him. He has and continues, to show me what true beauty is. I am beautiful. I am fearfully and wonderfully made. There is nothing I could do to change that. No circumstance can change who I am. He has created every day of my life. Every breath I have taken, every breath I will take. He has made me beautiful, in Him. I am broken, I am scarred, but... I am not defined by my past, I am refined by His.  

//Father give me Your eyes so I can see//

I have chosen to see the beauty in God's creation. All of it.

A Road Less Traveled ~ Cancer & Depression

" 'For My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways, ' declares the Lord. 'As the heavens are higher than the earth so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts.' " ~Isaiah 55:8-9

We moved to North Carolina in the summer of 2006. We settled nicely into our new home, church, town, and my new faith in my eternal heavenly Daddy. We made friends and life was going well. We thought for sure that this would be where God would keep us for a very long time, however this would not be His plan...
We had been living in this new routine for almost a year. My dad had helped the church grow in many ways, my mom was leading a huge women's ministry, and my siblings and I were all growing close to our new friends. Like a sheep in wolves clothing so did they end up to us. The longer we were there, the more light was shed into the shadows. We soon found out that the pastor was doing many things which were not Biblically correct. My parents tried to help and guide him back, but he wanted only to follow his desires. He became deceitfully hateful. He began verbally attacking my mother saying the most spiteful and vicious things one could imagine. He tormented her and cut her down. He then proceeded to do the same to my dad. We had to leave yet another church and move again into yet another house. To nine year old me though, it could all fall under an adventure... Right?

Overnight our family crushed into our biggest trial yet. Mom suddenly went into severe major depression. All I could do was watch as she sunk into the deepest pit ever.

I was enrolled into dance. As I continued to dance, my mother continued to get worse. We found another church, but this time my father would not be the pastor. Dad found a job as a patient advocate at Duke Hospital. The years went by. Mother was in the hospital over and over again, she had treatment after treatment. She still schooled us from home, taking care of us the best she could, but there was no life in her. To be honest I quickly forgot who my mother had been before. My memories of who she once was slipped away. Her frail body was still with me but her spirit seemed gone. She would never be the same again. Who she was now was a cold block of stone, and if the Lord answered our desperate prayers, she would forever be changed. Changed for the worse, or for the better. She tried many ways to get out of this black hole, but despite our prayers God did not heal her.
I grew up quickly during that time, though I never like to admit it to my mom.

In August of 2011, right after my birthday, and on top of her depression, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. I was terrified our family would fall apart. That would we not be able to withstand the damage. That we would break, that my parents marriage would fall apart. I was terrified that this would be the end of any happily ever after I held on to. I lay beside my little sister many nights listening and comforting her as she cried, but holding back my own tears, I tried to be strong. 
My mother eventually had to leave us for ten weeks to try and get better. It was one of the hardest ten weeks of her life, and all I could do was pray. His ways are higher then our ways. Five years piles up quickly, but this was not just five years of pain and sorrow, it was five years of prayer. And with her gone fighting, fighting for us, for her life, we only prayed harder. Weeks later, all praise to the Lord, He answered our prayers, and I met my new mother. She was completely healed of any depression. After a five-year battle she had been set free, and after many surgeries following the next year she would be rid of her cancer as well.  A miracle. Truly a miracle from the Lord bestowed upon us.

  The easy part was supposed to be next. The stroll in the park, no longer fighting, no uphill climb. I thought this would be our victory party, and it was for a little while. You must understand however that the woman who came home to us was a stranger. I knew her not. I had grown to live with the sick woman before, and had taken on the role of “Mother”. That woman had died and my father seemed to have remarried. No longer was I taking care of our little family, dethroned if you must. She marched in vibrant, full of life, ready and wanting to re-live the past five years. Wanting to re-teach me all the lessons I knew, but she had not taught. She took my place, rightfully so, but that child that had grown up quicker then most was asked to become a child again. ...so I did.

Adoption

Who am I? If I told you all of my life's story at once, it would be difficult to comprehend. My years have been jam packed. So I will tell it slowly over the course of this blog, starting nearly at the beginning...

I grew up in a loving Christian home. With my Dad being a Pastor I knew what being a Christian was from the beginning, or at least so I thought...

{Little Baby Us}

I was born in Bristol, Tennessee, and I lived there for the first seven years of my life. It was at the age of seven that my parents decided it was best to move my three siblings and I to Burlington, North Carolina. I was terribly excited. My Dad was becoming the co-pastor of a large church there. This was not the first time he had pastored a church, but hopefully this would be where the Lord would keep us. As much as I was excited, I was also absolutely not. My little brain could see entirely no reason why this move was necessary. Everything I had come to know was in Tennessee; my house, my church, dance, my grandparents, close friends, literally everything. I was scared and it seemed as though I had no where to turn.

It came down to the last couple of weeks before we were to move. I lay in my bed like every other normal night, but this night would not be the same. Though I hardly dared to admit it to myself I knew something was going on, something that was out of my control. I could not fall asleep. I was filled with an overpowering fear. I thought I was going to die due to this effect, and what if I did? What then? My mind was racing. This matter could not wait until morning. Something had to be done this instant, before I had a heart attack and died. Questions swarmed through my mind, questions about God, and questions about how much trouble I would get in for getting up. I told myself this was worth it. I got out of bed and walked down the hall towards the den where voices drifted quietly through the doorway. I stood in the doorway unarmed and completely vulnerable. I was immediately met with the most dreadful eyes. They had heard me coming. I was scared out of my skin for a moment, but my parents invited me in and asked why I was up. It was as if they knew this night was the night I needed their reception the most. I told them I had some questions I was wondering about. I told them my thoughts, and they talked long and hard answering each and every question I had. They talked about the things Jesus had done for me, and why they were so important. I had a weight on me that was absolutely incomparable, it made me literally fear for my life. That night it was lifted, and I knew my life was eternal. That night I asked Jesus to forever be in my heart, to be my Lord and Savior. It was Him who I would follow all the days of my life. I was baptized by my daddy one week before we moved.

I have never been happier in my entire life.

It Is Well With My Soul

I felt the thought cross my mind, little did I know then how heavily the Lord would lay it upon my heart.
My dad had just finished his first day at a new job and it did not go too wonderfully. Stressful is what only could describe the entire day. He came home looking as if he had run a marathon and then some. He was exhausted, but we had church homegroup that night at our house as usual. He had to find strength to push through. The weight he came home carrying was quickly loaded onto the rest of us. The hour before homegroup was as if we were walking on a needle wide tightrope. I immediately got put in charge of music. My favorite task. My brother, who is our group worship leader, was not able to be there, so I combed through youtube looking for easy, but soul provoking, songs. I made my list of four, but still I did not feel like it was adequate enough. Something tugged at me to keep looking. The perfect song was out there, I just needed to find it.

Ten minutes before the clock struck seven, I ran across "It Is Well," a hymn penned by Horatio Spafford. I had heard it many times before, every time leaving me completely speechless, and unable to move in awe. Words crossed the screen telling of Spafford's life and how this song came to be. I had never heard of his life, but it immediately impacted mine. I knew right then and there this was the song, and his story needed to be shared that night. I doubt I have ever been as nervous to sing songs as I was then. My nerves were a ball of emotions, my breathing shallow and quick. Why? I could not tell you. I only hoped that this was what the Lord wanted me to share.

As we sang the words, "It is well with my soul," I became awestruck, and moved to tears. The words filled my heart, my soul. As the last note drew out my dad's voice filled the room. It was not the strong, steady one I had come to recognize. It was one broken and renewed. He prayed, voice breaking, head bowed, tears rolling down his cheek. I, like many others, cannot ever recall my dad crying before, yet there he was. At such a hard time in his life he had felt the Lord's reminder to him, His ways are higher. Faith. Trust. Relief washed over me. I looked around and saw the tears in the eyes of others as they shared what this song meant to them. These were people who had been weathered by the immense struggles and hardships in their life. Still they persist on. It is well, was the reminder that daily met us in the Lord, yet was so easily forgotten in the world.
I felt it then. The idea to write. Everyone's struggle is facing them, but perhaps by the testimony of God's work in my life someone else would come to know, whatever their lot, it is well.

As the week went on, God continued to bring to mind that He has made my soul well. It never left my mind. My parents brought it up, I would find the words on Pinterest and Facebook, one of my favorite artists covered the beautiful song and it showed up in my email. Loud and clear. Everywhere I looked the Lord was plastering it in front of my face until, finally I found myself sitting down to write.
May my testimony of the Lord's goodness, of His love, and of His faithfulness, be a living reminder that no matter what,
It Is Well With My Soul.