The line for autographs was rather long this...

The line for autographs was rather long this particular night after my show with Michael W. Smith back in May. All sorts of ages, races, and genders waited at the merch table to get their copies of God Loves Ugly signed, some just wanting to say thank you for the concert and for making a stop in their small town. I signed a few books and CD’s, hugged a few necks, until the line produced a shorter woman with blond hair, tracks of tears pooling under her chin and dripping down onto shirt. Her exhausted blue eyes pleaded with me before one word had been spoken.

“Can I please talk to you,” she asked with quiet desperation. “Just 5 minutes of your time, after you get through signing?”

The line ended, the lobby cleared, and I walked over as she introduced herself, her husband, and the beautiful little girl held with fatherly concern in his arms wrapped tightly inside a blanket, hunched over like she carried the weight of the world on her young, bony frame.

“This is my daughter, Bethany,” the mother said as she choked back sobs. “She’s 9-years-old and we don’t know what to do anymore. She won’t eat. My baby is anorexic and,” she paused, trying to regain strength. “She’s dying.”

I tried to hide my immediate shock, but there was no way to conceal the uncomfortable knot rising in my throat like an inevitable ocean tide.

It’s happening all around us. 1 in 3 people in the US suffer from some form of an eating disorder. This epidemic, this disease, this life-killer is creeping it’s way into our families and latching onto our friends. It’s hitting below the belt, stealing the childhood of girls like Bethany before they ever have a chance to know what life really is.

And it must be stopped.

I remember the first time I binged, probably around the same age as Bethany. Late one night, I stumbled upon an HBO porn while spending the night down at a friends house. My friend lay fast asleep, but I sat frozen in the darkness, wide awake. The perverted images I mistakenly watched that night awakened a monster from my past—sexual abuse that had attacked my little heart like a dark cloud of shame for most of my early years. I ran to the kitchen as if on autopilot, shoveling football player amounts of food into my tiny belly.

I needed relief. I needed a fix. I needed to be in control of something, and at that age, food was all I had.

Most people think eating disorders are about feeling fat. Well, that’s definitely becomes a part of it, especially as society imposes its pressure of perfection on women, young and old. But believe me, at 8-years-old I wasn’t fat, and neither was sweet Bethany. My eating disorder was about control. It was about numbing a heart in constant pain. Controlling food was euphoric, it was like a drug, and it was the only drug I had access to.

For the next two decades of my life, my bulimia transferred to anorexia, then back to bulimia, then to anorexia—a constanT nightmarish rollercoaster that seemed to never run out of track.

I sat in front of this little family, wishing I had all the answers, and I longed for those answers to be quick enough to be administered within the 5 minutes I had with them. But I didn’t, and I couldn’t. I did the best I could, giving words of wisdom and testimonies of hope from years of experience walking out of this life-killer. But instead of trying to reason with death, instead of trying to outwit a monster, I did the most powerful thing I could do.

“Bethany, can I pray for you, honey?”

I know the darkness attached to this disease all too well. Believe whatever you want, but I’ve experienced blackness that comes along with it. And it’s tangible. I’ve felt its talons and I’ve known the stink of its breath. Angels, demons, God, the devil—I believe they are more real than the chair I’m sitting on and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that there’s nothing heavier than the gloom, hopelessness, and self-hatred attached to the cage of addiction and depression.

For me to believe in God, I must believe there’s a being opposing Him. There’s too much blackness in the world for God not to have an enemy. For me to believe in angels, I must believe that there’s something opposing them. And unfortunately, I’ve experienced the opposition. They’re murderers, they’re thieves, and they’re cunning.

To quote Kevin Spacey in The Usual Suspects, “The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist.”

If you are struggling with the slow murder of an eating disorder, or cutting, or depression, or hopelessness, let me pray over you today. Say it out loud, or just whisper it into the depths of your heart, but let me pray this prayer over your weary soul right now.

In the name of Jesus, I bless you with LIFE. Life abundantly. I bless your spirit, your soul, and your body with the life of God, with His healing power, with His unconditional love that heals every disease and mends every broken heart. I bless you with the power to overcome death, deception, hopelessness, addiction, and despair with His love, His joy, His peace, His kindness, His faithfulness, and His POWER. I bless your heart to receive, even in the places that have been so abused and so mangled, that you’re afraid to believe. I bless you with faith. I bless you with hope. I bless you with the truth—that no weapon that comes against you can win, that no plans of evil will prevail against you. I bless you with the knowledge that if God is for you, who can be against you? I bless you with freedom from any chains that bind you, and declare restoration and redemption from every hour that’s been stolen from your life. I release the peace that passes all understanding to guard your heart and mind in Christ Jesus.

I bless you to receive. I bless you to thrive. I bless you to live.

Life is precious, and you were made for it. (:

Xx, Christa