Vulnerability

It's rare that fingers are beginning to moisten with nervousness as I type a blog post.
But God called for vulnerability this morning. 

His exquisite words at the end of a quiet time would push a pulse to race just a bit faster and stomach feeling just a bit more uneasy but would set a soul on a concrete foundation and lips upturn into a euphoric half-grin:
 

In my recovery God has taken me far, but He has blessed me with reminder after reminder that it is not over yet and I will never stop needing Him worse than air, with a thirst greater than any thirst for water and with a hunger greater than any hunger for sustenance this body will ever know.

In a doctor's office a demand is too much to ask at first:
Five more pounds.
The look of the words is not welcome to these eyes.
I don't even look like I need to gain weight! a disordered mind begins to rationalize. All the same excuses not to get better creep in.
But God has a beautiful way of turning off the venomous whisper of lies that my disorder likes to let echo throughout the mind.
That is the beautiful thing about this disease: I get to witness God conquering the world within my own mind and soul and body.

The truth sets in: more weight is needed for bones to become dense, and for the body organs to begin working again, and for recovery so God's plan can commence.
To go to college. To have a career. To have a family someday. if God wills.

To be healthy, finally.

Like so many times before, I crumble like a sandcastle consumed by an ocean wave, thinking I stood so strong and mighty, and in an instant things change and here we go again, playing with more food and more ice cream and more calories and more and more until numbers are sufficient.

No.
Not "here we go again."
 It did not replay.
It was not a catastrophe.
Tears were shed, but louder than my pain was the repeating of my strength from the second book of Corinthians: "I am badly hurt at times but I AM NOT DEFEATED! I am troubled but I AM NOT CRUSHED! I am in doubt but NEVER IN DESPAIR!"

And in a car camped in traffic on the way home, I shout to my Lord.
 I turn to Him and give Him a new surrender.
There is nothing sweeter than surrender renewed.
There is nothing sweeter than knowing this time is going to be different.
 That in my continued recovery, I am falling more and more in love with a Savior. 

And so I can know what those crazed men writing my beloved book meant when they said God calls us to rejoice in trial.
 Now I am with them. Now I can know.
And simultaneously not know yet. There is still so much to be known, and that is utmost loveliness. 

My trial is no different than yours, my friend. 

Trial after trial, clinging to Him, having a new longing to be drenched in His word, to eat and eat of His promises until beyond fullness and still crave more. To fall in love recklessly, passionately, becoming foolish in adoration for a Savior who does not fail, who becomes more and more real to this clouded earthly view as tribulations come and He conquers without fail.

He makes all things new. Surrendering to become the living proof. Today, and everyday, I pray.