Piles of Sand

It's been a rough couple of weeks. Adjusting back to Nashville after a week in California with my family has proven to be a difficult task...and has been a constant reminder that life doesn't always turn out the way we think it will. As children we are told stories of adventure and love. The prince comes swiftly on his white horse to rescue us from the evil that impedes our magical lives. We are drawn towards the happy endings and joyful celebrations that the bad has gone, and the good has come. And as a believer I know that one day that eluding novelty will become a reality. Jesus will return and Satan will be silenced and heaven will reign on earth. However, until then, we remain in a fight that doesn't always give us the ending we were raised to expect.

I was watching the biggest loser this weekend, which may not be the most helpful show right now, I know. But the episode I was watching was one in which they had a challenge to dig through these piles of sand to find a big brass ring that had been buried. Once someone found the first ring the other people had to go start over on a brand new pile. It's just sand, right? How difficult could it be? Oh my gosh, it looked awful. The absolute worst part of it though was when someone found the buried ring and everyone else had to go and start all over on a brand new pile. I realized that most of the time that is exactly how I feel. I feel like I am sitting on top of this huge mound of sand and buried beneath me is years and years of baggage. Failures, losses, heart ache and every other deep emotion has been bubbling beneath the surface for years now, only being suppressed by this eating disorder.

I bury that which I want to hide, protect, or pretend doesn't exist...and sometimes something fits into all those categories at one time. So, when asked to begin digging for these buried "treasures" in the heat of day without the shovel you have used for all these years..is daunting to say the least. So I started digging. At first not having the heavy shovel was freeing...its weight wasn't holding me down. However, my hands got hot and the sand was burning and the smell of death was all consuming. That shovel would surly come in handy at this moment, right? I mean I don't even have to use it to bury things once again, I just want to use it to deal with the pain of the moment...after all, I wanted to hide it for a reason. It didn't take long to find these items under pounds of sand. I shamefully dusted them off and tried to avoid all eye contact...dreading all the more the things I knew were still buried underneath. I didn't expect the pain to be so intense. I didn't foresee that something so old and so worn could possibly evoke so much within me. Its over. Its not happening any more. End of story. Right? For all intensive purposes the size of my pile of sand could easily be put into different mounds to look through. But after I pulled that first thing out I wiped my sweat and kept digging. Sometimes things came faster. I would find pieces that fit into a puzzle all buried together, a foot or two apart. I was stunned. Though I knew of many of the pieces the ones that I didn't know struck me hard. How can you bury something you don't remember? I didn't want to keep digging. I was tired and hot and worn out...and emotionally overwhelmed. But things will no longer stay below the surface. The bubbling will erupt and spill over and will ooze of things rotting below. So what do you do? Get back out the shovel and start piling the sand on top, hoping the bubbling will suppress what its containing below? Or in your exhaustion do you keep digging with your burned hands and feet, chancing that you the next thing you find could have the potential to destroy you? Uncovering things you never knew were buried to begin with is terrifing. There is enough that I do know about...I don't want to know anymore. Those are the why moments for me. Why now? If I have forgotten it why do I really ever need to remember. How do I know I'm not making it up? How do I believe I'm not totally crazy? How do I keep searching?

I am exhausted. I am tired of finding things below the surface that I didn't know about. I am tired of the constant heat and pain and work...and I feel guilty for some days desiring to go back. I guess the motivation I use to keep going is the understanding that the things buried beneath me aren't going to go away. At some point the bubbling ooze will reach the surface level and the only way to keep it down will be to get further and further into my disorder...until I die. Because it will kill me. It will kill you. Its not a beauty pageant offering a prize to the thinnest contestant. It lures you in, steals your voice, and takes away your life...while simultaneously convincing you that you will die without it. And eating disorder is hell. The pain of a buried past won't remain silent. It can't be contained by suppression...because it has shaped you and will continue fighting to be acknowledged so it can be healed. I have been digging for far too long to go back. I have uncovered more then I ever expected, and I know I have a long way to go. But if I give up now it would all have been for nothing.

If I told you I was super motivated I would be lying. More than anything I want to just tell everyone that I have reached the bottom of my pile of sand and have made what was buried shiny and new. I want people to be able to see a difference in me...in my life. I want to be somewhere I'm not as I pretend to be someone I am not...but not at the cost of going back to a life that really gives me no life at all. People ask me why I keep going...ask me what is "making" me do it. The only answer I have is that there must be more than this...and there is only one way to find out. So, in pure exhaustion, with no pride left, I keep digging...