My first day in the hospital left my body exhausted and my spirit obliterated. Infuriated and hopeless would have been words far too kind to describe the state I'd been left in. Worst of all, I was most angry at the one who saved me: God.
Why would you put me in this prison cell?
Don't you know how painful it is when they stuff my stomach with these fattening foods?
Don't you know how terrified and lost this makes me feel?
I had it under control!
I was giving my body what it deserved!
You abandoned me!
Where are you?
These venomous thoughts circulated in my mind over and over, dancing about in a vicious cycle, like the winds of a tornado churning within my heart creating wreckage with every moment it gained speed.
Longing for distraction, I decided to strike up a conversation with the 24-hour nurse they had watching my every move to make sure I did not try to throw up the food they gave me, or do anything else to harm myself. She was Ana, this tiny, sweet Dominican woman; the grandmotherly kind who seemed to be made to be a caregiver.
I mentioned my church, and her eyes lit up immediately. She was a Christian too, and once that avenue was opened for our conversation, there was no turning back; my soul would be revived in a way that has touched me and changed my life ever since.
Ana let Jesus' message of love flow from her. "God loves you SO much," she said, the tone of her voice so fervent with faith I had to believe it. "You must believe, my daughter. Believe that He has great plans for you, because I can already see that He does."
She told me to praise Him always. She told me that when I sat and stared at my meals, ready to cry, which I had done at every meal since entering the hospital, to lift my head to Him and simply say in my heart, "Hallelujah! Praise!" She told me that I already had the victory, because I knew Jesus. She told me I had already won the battle I was fighting.
She broke through the walls that the eating disorder tried to construct around my heart, and truth and light and joy flooded in. "Child, we are going to pray. Talk to your Father in Heaven who loved you so much He died for you. He wants to hear your voice again." It was as if she saw right through me, and knew that I had not prayed in days, out of anger at God for my state, blaming Him for my deteriorating body and seemingly hopeless existence.
She held my hands in her beautiful, aged hands. Hands that I knew had held many others in prayer, in love. Hands that brought me to Jesus again as she encouraged me to pray with her. It was as if Jesus were hugging me with each word she spoke. God told me in that moment I was still His. She encouraged me with a squeeze of my hands that it was my turn to pray, and I could not hold back. "Let me be your princess again!" I begged, eyes flooded with tears, heart surrendering, "Heal me! Please, just heal me! I am so sorry, Lord. Please have me back."
We finished and she smiled with tears welling up at the corner of her eyes, and spoke some of the most lovely words I had heard in a long time, "He already took you back, my child. You have already won because He is in your heart. You are already healed." I knew in that moment that it was true, and there was nothing more beautiful and freeing. God did not take me back; He had me the whole time. I just refused to have Him. And how perfect and wonderful it was when I realized that He never abandoned me, even when I denied Him.
As I drifted off to sleep, Ana sang me lullabies in the form of old hymns, her sweet voice serenading me in celebration of my new found hope. After she had gone, and I awoke the next morning, I found a set of Bible verses to read every day, scribbled out on a napkin, hidden within the pages of my Bible.
She was like an angel; she was a miracle-- the kind of incredible one-time interaction that changes your life that you know could only come from God's grace.
Ana's reminder made Hallelujiah, or "high praise," one of my favorite words. She reminded me that I am the daughter of a King, and rather than drop my head in sorrow when the recovery process seems like more than I can bear, I am to lift my head, my heart, my life in praise to God. Without that powerful prayer, just praising Him and nothing else, I would not have survived.
So, Ana, wherever you are, I hope you know that you saved a life that night. The doctors could only do so much, but without you inspiring me to believe again, and to accept God's courage and love and hope, I could not have survived. I could not have found life again. Thank you.
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