Letters Between Sundays

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  • The After Life

    ¨ It will happen in a moment, in the blink of an eye, when the last trumpet is blown. For when the trumpet sounds, those who have died will be raised to live forever. And we who are living will also be transformed.” – 1 Corinthians 15:52

    Today is September 23rd, and it’s been all over the internet this past week that today was going to be judgment day. People claim they know when He is coming and can’t wait so that we Christians will leave and they can make the earth a “better” place. This makes me feel so sad for those who don’t believe. Don’t they understand that on the day of judgment, they will be standing in front of God? What are they going to say to Him—that they still don’t believe? The amount of nasty and vulgar things I’ve seen online about God breaks my heart.

    For those reading this who don’t believe, I will be praying over you. I pray that your heart becomes soft to the Word of God. I pray that you can hear God calling you and that you go to Him. I pray that you understand that God loves you and is waiting for you. What can it hurt?

    “However, no one knows the day or hour when these things will happen, not even the angels in heaven or the Son himself. Only the Father knows.” – Matthew 24:36

    I remember when I was a little girl, I would cry to my mother and Nana at night because I didn’t want to die. Almost every night, as bedtime approached, I would overthink and panic about the afterlife. I remember praying over my family for what probably felt like hours, crying because I was scared. I would think about what happens when we die. I always imagined it as a vast pool of nothing, pitch-black space with only thoughts and nothing else. Even now, I still feel a little panicked thinking about the afterlife.

    Growing up, we weren’t disciples of God; we just believed that He existed. I was taught that everyone goes to heaven and that there’s a thing called reincarnation, where when we die, we could either stay in heaven or come back to earth as an animal of our choosing. As a kid, this sounded pretty cool, and I believed in it with my whole heart.

    When I began studying the Bible, my mentors started talking about heaven and how to get there. Then they hit me with the reality: “You know not everyone goes to heaven, right?” I instantly freaked out and began crying, probably because my Nana had just passed away, and I thought I would get a chance to see her again. It was hard for me to wrap my head around this for a long time and to change my belief in reincarnation.

    My mother told me that when Papa died, he turned into a yellow butterfly. I believed it because every single time our whole family was together, we would see a yellow butterfly. This summer, on our family vacation to the Outer Banks, we saw a yellow butterfly the entire time. Do I believe it was my grandfather? Not exactly. But I do believe that God sends us messages, and this could have been one from Papa. The same goes for Nana—when she passed, people thought she turned into a cardinal. Those who knew her and noticed the cardinal might believe it was her spirit.

    As I spend more time with Christ, reading the Word and committing my life to Him, I’m learning to live by the Bible—believing everything in it and not believing anything that isn’t from God.

    “You can enter God’s Kingdom only through the narrow gate. The highway to hell is broad, and its gate is wide for the many who choose that way.” – Matthew 7:13

    When I think about heaven, I always wonder what it will look like and what will be there. The Bible talks about how our treasures are stored in heaven and that we all have mansions. This is beautiful, but I wonder: Will there be seasons, snow to sled on, leaves to jump in, animals, rivers, and streams? What about the parts of creation we didn’t get to experience on Earth, like the rainforests or oceans? Where do all the animals go? Personally, I think treasures in heaven could include His creations. I love the animals and all the fun things God has created. I even wonder if there’s a racetrack up there so I can have my Challenger.

    I don’t think asking these questions is bad. The most important thing is that I will be praising the Lord for eternal life. What is your treasure?

    “Store your treasures in heaven, where moths and rust cannot destroy, and thieves do not break in and steal.” – Matthew 6:20

  • M.I.A

    How can this be a daily blog if I’ve been M.I.A. the last two weeks? Well, I can tell you—I’ve been making a lot of excuses for why I haven’t been writing.

    What does M.I.A. stand for? It means Missing in Action. But was I really missing, or was I just making excuses?

    When I decided to stop writing my daily blogs, I told myself it was for God. I’ve been going through some things, and I know that fasting can help you hear Him more clearly, draw closer to Him, and ultimately help change your heart and mind. So, I told myself I would fast from my blog.

    In the Bible, fasting is often about food, but if you have health issues or take medication that requires food, you can fast from other things. Ultimately, you can fast from anything you enjoy, anything that comes before God, or anything that brings you discomfort. For me, giving up TV wasn’t a big deal—I could live without it. But fasting from one of my hobbies, something I’ve poured time into—like this blog—that was tough. It’s not that blogging is bad, but fasting means showing God you’re willing to lay down anything and everything to grow closer to Him.

    But as the days went on, I wasn’t spending time in prayer or in my Bible during this “fast.” I started to wonder: why am I even doing this? Then it hit me—I’ve been struggling with a lot: my thoughts, my eating, people-pleasing, self-hatred, and most of all, depression. And instead of being honest with myself, I used “fasting” as a way to cover up the fact that I wasn’t keeping up with my writing. That way, I didn’t have to feel guilty.

    I didn’t realize this until last week, and when I did, I felt awful. But it also made me think: do I have too much on my plate right now? Am I expecting more from myself than I can realistically handle? It was a lot to process.

    I realized I’ve been putting too much pressure on myself, setting deadlines I couldn’t keep up with on top of life. So from now on, with this blog, I’m choosing peace. I’ll decide each day whether I’m going to write or not. Who knows—maybe it’ll be last minute, like this post. – goodnight

  • The Soundtrack of My Season

    Here is a list of songs, ive been listening to lately. My life in music.

    • Gratitude – Brandon Lake
    • Funeral – Lukas Graham
    • Good Old Days – Macklemore Ft. Kesha
    • If you want love – NF
    • Hold on – Chord Overstreet
    • Little do you know – Alex & Sierra
    • Mercy – Shawn Mendes
    • Unsteady – X Ambassadors
    • The Prodigal – Josiah Queen
    • Leave a Light On – Tom Walker
    • Water Fountain – Alec Benjamin
    • Let Her Go – A Thousand Years
    • What An Awesome God – Phil Wickham
    • Gone, Gone, Gone – Phillip Phillips
    • Jar Of Hearts – Christina Perri
    • House Of The Lord – Phil Wickham
    • Counting Stars – OneRepublic
    • I will Wait – Mumford & Sons
    • This Is How I Think The Lord – Solomon Powell
    • My Promise Land – Josiah Queen
    • 21 Guns – Green Day

  • Out Of Control

    Am I in the driver seat or is God?

    “Trust in the Lord with all your heart; do not depend on your own understanding.” – Proverbs 3:5

    Do you know the feeling of not having control? The panic sets in, the anxiety builds, and you start scrambling for another way to grab control back — sometimes in faster, more destructive ways. Whether it hurts you or others, it feels like the only way to regain authority over your own life.

    I was diagnosed with OCD when I was five years old. My mother took me to a pediatric psychologist after noticing I sorted my toys rather than playing with them. I would line them up by color, shape, or type, and I did the same with my brother’s toys. By nine, I had Bratz and Monster High dolls. I never played pretend with them — I sorted their clothes and shoes, created outfits in a strict order, dressed them, and put them away.

    As a teenager, my OCD shifted into food rituals. I would sort my food, or color-code the days of the week with certain meals. As I grew older, it became more repetitive behaviors: turning the door handle a certain number of times, flicking the lights on and off, or believing if I didn’t cover my mouth while sleeping, I would die in my sleep. The intrusive thoughts grew worse with age.

    On the outside, people saw me as perfect: blonde hair, blue eyes, a 3.8 GPA, a university student, active in clubs and sports, running an online bakery, never in “trouble.” But inside, I was falling apart. OCD often looks like control — like everything has to be done a certain way or something bad will happen. But really, it’s anxiety disguised as control. What was I trying to control?

    In many ways, my mother planned my life for me. I don’t hold anger toward her — I believe she thought she was doing what was best. But it often felt like someone else was doing the thinking, and I just had to act the part. I had to look, perform, and be perfect. And since I wasn’t perfect inside, I grasped at control through destructive habits — self-harm and disordered eating.

    Self-harm doesn’t always mean cutting. It can look like sleeping too long, picking at your skin, biting your lips, neglecting food, avoiding showers, or mentally blocking yourself from healthy choices. All of it is a form of control — or at least the illusion of it.

    “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord. “Plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.” – Jeremiah 29:11

    I think most people struggle with control in some way. It’s human nature. But when I came into the church, I had to learn what it really meant to let go of control and surrender it to God. At first, it sounded crazy — and honestly, it still does some days. But I’ve seen the fruit of it.

    Surrendering isn’t just about school or work. It’s about everything: how we think, how we act, how we see ourselves, our insecurities, relationships, money, time, even food. Some areas are harder than others. This year, giving my eating habits over to God was one of the most freeing things I’ve ever done. I also had to surrender school, jobs, living situations, friendships, and relationships. Only then did I realize how much I was trying to control on my own. And when I was in control, everything fell apart. But when I gave it to God, things worked out in ways I could never plan.

    “We can make our plans, but the Lord determines our steps.” – Proverbs 16:9

    Of course, I still wrestle with this daily. This past month, I felt myself slipping back. My roommate situation, not getting into the nursing program, my stalker resurfacing, being single, not having a clear plan for the future — I panicked. I started applying for new jobs even though I already had one, looking at other schools, making five-year plans, over-exercising, and letting old habits creep back in. I tried to take control instead of asking God what He wanted me to do with my time.

    Eventually, I had to stop running and talk to Him. I confessed that I was spiraling. I felt guilty, like a bad disciple, and the enemy whispered that I didn’t belong here. But when I finally sat still, prayed, and listened, God reminded me of the truth: He is in control, not me. My role is to keep trusting Him, stay vulnerable with my sisters, and invite Him into every decision.

    Now, instead of clinging to destructive habits, I focus on what I do have control over: how I treat myself, how I treat others, what I eat for breakfast, and what I wear for the day. The little choices. When I give God the big things, and focus on the small things within my reach, I feel peace.

    I am His daughter, and He will always provide. He can’t work in my life unless I hand Him the tools.

    “Commit everything you do to the Lord. Trust Him, and He will help you.” – Psalm 37:5

  • Work hard get money?

    Lazy people are soon poor; hard workers get rich. – Proverbs 10:4

    Since I was a little kid, I knew what hard work was and why we do it. I saw my mother and nana work hard their whole lives. My mom was a single mom raising two kids on her own, working and taking care of a home. Nana lived next door, and she was the most independent woman I’ve ever known. I would come over, and at the age of 68 she was cutting her own grass, pulling weeds, and putting down mulch in her backyard. Nana was a worker—she had to be. She grew up in Detroit as a foster kid, worked hard all her life, and raised her daughter to be the same way. My mom then raised me that way too. Do you see the pattern? It’s all women who do all the work.

    Growing up, my brother and I had very different childhoods. He was the baby of the family and didn’t have to do much. He was defiant, talked back, and usually got what he wanted. We both had chores, but he didn’t really have to do his. I, on the other hand, was taught that the women did everything while the man sat around and did nothing. It was normal in our family. I did the dishes, helped Mom with dinner, cleaned up after, took the trash out, and did both inside and outside work. On top of helping my mom, I also had to help Nana next door. When I was little, I didn’t have a choice. As I got older, I had a little more say, but the work never really went away.

    My first job was when I was twelve. I worked a newspaper route for the Daily Telegram. My brother Payton also got a route, but after a month of me doing his work, he quit—and my mom made me keep doing his route anyway. I hated it. I didn’t even want to do my own route, but as the girl, I had to take it on.

    My second job was landscaping around our neighborhood. That job was better since I got paid in cash and only worked a few hours a week during the summers.

    At that point in my life, I was already juggling sports, clubs, social events, and helping my mom and Nana. I became stressed and a nervous wreck if I ever had a moment where I wasn’t doing something. I thrived on being busy, stressed, and working.

    “Be still, and know that I am God.” – Psalm 46:10

    I’ve been working nonstop for the past nine years. I haven’t gone a single year without having a job or a side hustle. I’ve never truly been at rest.

    When I first came into the church, this weighed heavy on me. Everyone had jobs and seemed to love working and making money. But then we started a book club, and the book we read was called The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry. It talked about how sometimes we need to slow down, be still, and find rest in God. I’ll be honest—I didn’t even read the first chapter. But now, I think I need to, because I’m struggling with whether I should be working right now or not.

    My whole life, I’ve thought about my future: how to get there, how much money I’ll need. I’ve always dreamed of a big house in the country with a little farm and a lot of kids. And I know you need money for that. But what I never factored in is that my husband would also have a job and provide for me. That thought used to make my skin crawl, because my mom taught me never to rely on a man. But now? I’ve given my life to One. Jesus. I rely on Him for everything. When I think about my money situation, I realize He’s never failed to provide.

    So, would I be okay if I didn’t work? Would God provide? I think He would. I think with the jobs I have now, I’m doing good things, but I still wonder if this is truly the work He wants me to be doing.

    “Seek the Kingdom of God above all else, and live righteously, and He will give you everything you need.” – Matthew 6:33

    As an independent woman, reading the Bible and learning that men are meant to provide, protect, and love me like how christ loves the church, I was shocked. I didn’t know how to act knowing I don’t have to carry it all. It both frightens and reassures me.

    I’ll admit—I’m tired of working. That doesn’t mean I’m lazy. I have my online bakery, and I’m writing a book, which will both, in time, become ways to provide income. But right now, I’m realizing that maybe God is calling me to rest, to slow down, and to trust Him more.

    There are a lot of questions I still need to ask myself. But if God is putting this on my heart, then maybe the real question isn’t should I work or not? Maybe the real question is: will I trust Him enough to listen?

  • Questions in life right now

    Do You Have the Answers to My Questions?

    Recently, I have been thinking about a lot of questions—some good, some bad, and some just plain stupid. I know I’m a girl, but I’m also a disciple of God, and when trying to form answers for these questions, these two sides of me bump heads. As a Christian, I feel like we are always being pulled in two different directions—not in everything, but in certain parts of our lives. For me, it’s boys.

    A lot of these questions aren’t about the boy I like. They’re more about the brothers in the church—how I treat them, view them, talk to them, and so on.

    I wouldn’t say I’m “one of the boys,” because I’m not. I LOVE being a girl. We get to wear cute outfits, cute shoes, paint our fingernails, do our makeup, and just be girls!! I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Even though we go through a week of torment every month, we still get some great moments in that week. For example, calories don’t count when you’re on your period. Also, you can lounge and be comfy, and we can be as emotional as we want to be. It’s great!

    Being a girl has its ups and downs, but I think God knew what He was doing. He’s definitely a girl dad.

    The one thing I do struggle with is opening up to the girls in the church. It’s something I’m working on, and that’s okay. But I was having a conversation with a particular brother tonight, and we were talking about how it’s easier for us to open up to the opposite gender. We even considered ourselves best friends at one point because of how close we got—sharing personal details about what we were going through and how we felt.

    Not to mention, with the other brothers, we banter back and forth, talk in person, play fight, and I feel like I can be myself around them. Last weekend I literally did a push-up contest with one of them… I failed. But I’ve had people talk to me about this—how I need to set boundaries with the brothers and be more like this with the sisters.

    My past self would have been stubborn and prideful, thinking, “This is stupid,” or “I don’t see anything wrong here.” But now I can see why this can be concerning.

    So here are the questions I wrestle with:

    • Am I leading some of the brothers on?
    • Am I protecting their hearts?
    • What does this say about me as a person of Christ?

    This past week, I’ve been doing a lot of growing in my relationship with the sisters—working on not being reactive and trying to get in touch with my emotions. Those are good things. But what I’m not adding to the equation is stopping everything with the brothers.

    I think to myself, “The sisters wouldn’t get it,” or “Every time I want to open up with them it’s awkward. The guys are just different.”

    But if the sisters are good listeners, if they talk to me, answer my questions, and are there for me, then why do I still go to the brothers?

    Is it for attention or validation? Is it because they just listen and let me hear what I want to hear?

    I’ve really been thinking about these questions. I thought about the whole attention thing because of my past, but I feel secure in God now. I don’t feel like I’m seeking validation from men—I feel like I’ve learned to get that from Him. I think with the brothers, I simply look at them as brothers, so I treat them like family.

    There’s one brother I’ve recently gotten closer with. I realized we had a lot in common growing up—stress, school, parents, and trying to be #1. It’s nice to know that someone understands and has gone through the same things. I’m also close with his mom; I see her as a mother figure. She gives really good advice and support.

    Last week, I made plans to hangout with one of the brothers and some other people, I wasn’t thinking anything of it. Today, he told me it’s just going to be the two of us.

    Now, if you’re reading this and you’re from the world, you’d think this is fine. But as a disciple, there are a lot of questions you need to consider:

    • Is it wise to be alone with a brother?
    • If the brother likes me, am I protecting his heart?
    • How do I act around him when we’re alone versus in a group setting?
    • How should I think about this situation?
    • Should I get advice?
    • Should I cancel?
    • Should I talk to him about boundaries?

    There’s a lot to ask yourself in this type of situation. And honestly, I know the answers to a lot of these. I just don’t want to listen to myself, because I want to do what my flesh wants and not what’s godly.

    By writing this blog, I’ve already started to come up with the conclusion to this problem—so thank you.

    At the end of the day, there are always going to be questions. For me, this area is with guys. For you, it might be something completely different. But being wise, looking ahead, and getting advice is worth it in the end. Because if you’re like me, you’ll do something stupid and either ruin something or make things complicated. I’ve done this a lot.

    But here’s what I’m learning: it’s not wrong to have questions. It’s about where you go for the answers. I don’t want to just trust my feelings or my flesh. I want to trust God, protect hearts—including my own—and grow into the woman He’s calling me to be.

  • Highlight or Lowlights?

    It’s been two weeks since I started my senior year of college, and I’m already stressed—in the greatest way possible. I’m taking ballet, and all my other classes are online. I’ve had time to start a blog, share my faith, watch Gilmore Girls, bake for the church welcome table, spend time with friends, and make it to every campus ministry event.

    The last two weeks have flown by. Yes, it’s good to be busy, but you also need rest. Even Jesus rested when He needed to. Sometimes I forget to live in the moment because I’m so focused on the past or the future.

    This semester is already jam-packed with both highlights and lowlights. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. What I do know is that making memories and sharing these moments with friends is once in a lifetime. Honestly, I wish I had done it sooner. If I could go back, I would choose more joy, appreciate traffic as a chance to look at the sunset, and stress less about school. Coming to Jesus has taught me to shift my perspective for the greater good.

    Every time I hung out with friends this week, I stepped back and looked at what God has given me. In those moments, I felt so much gratitude. Watching people laugh and talk and truly enjoy themselves puts me at peace. That’s what memories are about—not taking pictures every second, not having a phone in someone’s face, but actually being in the moment.

    Being in your 20s goes by fast. I’m about to turn 22, and sometimes I feel like I’ve wasted too much time scrolling my phone or sleeping life away.

    Highlights so far:

    • Started a daily blog
    • Learned what a tendu was in ballet
    • Baked with my roommate (and set off the fire alarm)
    • Shared my faith with over 200 people (lots of no’s, but some yes’s)
    • Watched my friend drop her chicken in a parking lot
    • Took a stranger to the grocery store
    • Picked on the brothers in church
    • Tried making donuts (and failed completely)
    • Started running in the mornings
    • Took pictures of a sunset
    • Haven’t worked in two weeks
    • Saw a butterfly on a 3rd-story building
    • Helped a bug flip over
    • Loved the pretty lights in downtown Ann Arbor at night
    • Met twins in class (first time I’ve ever seen twins in person!)
    • Pulled out my heated blanket

    Sometimes the joy in life is right in front of us, but we miss it. With my memory issues, I forget little moments, but even the ones I remember remind me that we often focus on the bad so much that we let the good slip away.

    Lowlights so far:

    • Got a roommate I wasn’t supposed to have (but I love her now)
    • Fought with my brother
    • Miss my little sister
    • Miss my dog
    • Had a serious talk with the sisters in church (but it turned out great)
    • Had to accept that a boy might not like me back (and that’s okay)
    • Struggled with depression and suicidal thoughts
    • Panic attacks came back
    • Felt like God didn’t love me
    • Realized I need to work on my anger
    • Spent too much money on school
    • Dealing with a school balance
    • Had to talk to cops on campus
    • Broke down about my grandma passing
    • Cried every day last week

    There are more highlights than lowlights—but only by one. If I didn’t share the lowlights, it might look like everything was fine. The truth is, I had some really hard moments. But even in those hard moments, I still remember the good, and that’s what keeps me going.

    There will always be more good moments than bad. Just because you had a bad minute in a day doesn’t mean the whole day is ruined.

    Be grateful for both the good and the bad. The good will keep you going, and the bad will keep you growing. That’s life. Live in the present, and let future you worry about the future.

    Make a list of highlights and lowlights every week. And if you find yourself with more lowlights, challenge yourself to create more highlights the next week. Make your life the way you want it—and let God tweak it and guide you.

  • Anger Issues

    “Understand this, my dear brothers and sisters: You must all be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to get angry.” – James 1:19

    I don’t know if I get my anger issues from my mom or from my absent father. What I know about him is that he was a woman-beater and took his anger out on my mother. There is a possibility that I got it from him.

    My mother’s anger came out in words—being passive aggressive and playing mind games—a different type of anger. Maybe I have both kinds of anger. We’ll see by the end of this blog.

    If you know me as a person, I hated school. I didn’t hate the learning part as much as I hated the bullying. I started my period early, at 9 years old, and with most periods, you gain weight. I was a heavy-set girl in 4th grade—the biggest girl in the class.

    I will never forget the first day I got bullied. The teachers didn’t do anything, no one was listening to me, and I was getting blamed for my own bullying. I had built up so much sadness and anger that I started becoming a bully myself. Of course, when I started to bully, I got suspended, and it just escalated from there.

    I became rebellious because of my anger. I would lie, cheat, steal, and just became an awful kid. Mind you, I was only 10 years old in 4th grade. Every time I got bullied, I saw red and didn’t know what else to do besides bully other kids, so at least someone knew how I felt.

    When middle school hit, I was getting into fights every other week, getting suspended, and getting in-school suspension. I was still getting bullied—food was thrown at me, boys would rip my clothing, kids would tell me to go kill myself and that I was worthless. Not only did I take my anger out on other people, I took it out on myself. I started believing what they were saying and was self-harming.

    By 7th grade I was smoking weed, skipping class, mouthing off to teachers, and just didn’t care anymore. I suppressed my emotions so much that I couldn’t tell you what I felt besides anger.

    At home, I would say our family had a lot of aggression in the way we talked. My mother called it “passion.” If we weren’t screaming when we were talking, nothing was getting thrown, or no one was getting hit, then something was really wrong. That’s just how life was. If you were angry, you hit someone or something. If you were pissed off, you cussed up a storm and started hating on people. If someone did something to you, you did it right back—or something worse. There was a lot of hatred in my heart.

    “Don’t sin by letting anger control you. Don’t let the sun go down while you are still angry.” – Ephesians 4:26

    When I got to high school, the bullying was still happening, even though I lost weight. Instead of the guys saying mean comments, they started cat-calling and harassing me. We had mean girls and mean teachers who didn’t talk to you if you didn’t have a specific last name or weren’t loaded.

    By freshman year of high school, I was drinking, smoking, and popping pills to suppress my emotions—the anger, the sadness, and the hurt from the past 9 years of my life. I also played sports, which helped me release a lot of my anger in a healthy way. I just wanted someone to see my pain, to see that I was hurting.

    I’ve had conversations with girls who literally told me, “Wow, you’re really nice! I would never talk to you because I was scared of you.” Is that what I wanted? For people to be scared of me?

    “Get rid of all bitterness, rage, anger, harsh words, and slander, as well as all types of evil behavior.” – Ephesians 4:31

    When I came into the church and started my Bible studies, I had a hard time opening up. I avoided emotions like they were the plague. It would take me about a week to figure out what I was feeling toward a specific scripture in the Bible, or how I was feeling about what my discipler was telling me.

    The only feelings I understood were anger and sadness, and I didn’t really show the sad part. Still to this day, when I’m trying to open up, I literally laugh and hide behind sunglasses when I’m about to cry.

    Once I started reading scripture about anger, I saw how much damage I had done in the past—to others and to my own heart. I felt instant guilt and shame, and a little bit of relief, knowing that I don’t have to live this way, and that someone (Jesus) knew everything I was feeling. In this moment I felt great, like there wasn’t anything left for me to do. But this was not the case. I had, and still have, a long way to go.

    I struggled not just opening up to my friends, but also to God. Even though He knew how I felt, He still wanted me to be open. Why was it hard? Maybe because I didn’t want to look weak. Maybe I was scared of my own feelings. Maybe I wouldn’t know how to feel or act after opening up.

    I wrestled with this for a very long time. Before opening up, I felt a distance between me and God. I was discouraged that I was putting this barrier between us. I also didn’t know how to regulate my emotions, nor did I know how to show them. Looking back on it, I was a mess!

    I had a lot of work to do, and that meant I had to change my heart. I needed, and still need, convictions. Going through all of this—trying not to have outbursts, having patience, being more calm—I was still living at home, where all we did was fight and scream, throw anger at each other, and be passive aggressive. I felt like I was going through a war battle, not just spiritually either.

    My problem was, I thought it was going to change overnight. But it takes patience and effort.

    Over the past couple of months, I would say I’ve simmered down a little bit. I started being open with God and working through my emotions—how to feel them and be okay with that. I also had to grow in talking about my emotions with the sisters in the church, and become more gentle and sensitive.

    This helped me because I just learned this week that the girls don’t come to me because they’re scared of how I would react—aggressively. When I heard this, I knew I could be a little passionate when I’m talking. But when learning about my own behavior from other people, I realized I’m very intense and passive aggressive with my words, and my facial expressions and body language don’t help.

    When I heard this, I was stubborn. I thought I was fine with how I responded to things. I make little jokes and comments to reflect what I’m truly feeling. But I’m not gonna lie—it hurt to know they can’t come to me, because of me.

    I knew there was going to be a lot of repenting going on. I realized it’s the sarcasm, the words I choose to call people, my little hits when I’m talking, or just how plain mean I can be. This is a turning point for me, because I thought it was just my personality. But I realize now that the way I act, treat people, and express my emotions are all coping mechanisms from trauma and insecurity. I didn’t realize how deep this goes—and it probably goes deeper.

    I’m not saying I’m perfect, or that I have all of this figured out, or that I even have a plan—because I don’t. This is a lot of information for a girl who didn’t even think she had emotions.

    What counts is that I am trying. I’m talking about it with God, and I’m choosing to repent.

    Being angry controls everything you do. When I’m angry on the road, I drive recklessly and have road rage. When I’m angry with my mom, I take it out on my brother or my sister—or myself. I have a lot of work to do, but I’m doing it for God.

    I don’t want to have a hard heart and treat the people around me like they don’t matter. I don’t want to scream, or think about ways to be passive aggressive, or how to start an argument.

    I didn’t like being called out, but I’m glad the sisters did it, so I can change my ways and bear fruit!

    “Instead, be kind to each other, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, just as God through Christ has forgiven you.” – Ephesians 4:32

  • Grocery list

    Grocery List: A Reflection on Faith and Healing

    Regular Grocery List:
    Eggs, Bread, Bananas, Apples, Cheese, Cottage Cheese, Carrots, Chicken, Rice, Pancake Mix

    Bulimic Grocery List:
    Chocolate double fudge cake, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, Glazed Donuts, Nutella, Marshmallows, Chocolate Chip Cookies, Pizza, Garlic Bread, Bread, Peanut Butter, Chips, Tacos, Waffles, Water

    Anorexic Grocery List:
    Rice cakes, Gum, Suckers, Tea, Coffee, Saltine Crackers, Salad, Oranges

    Ana and Mia is a love-hate relationship. As a disciple of God, I struggle daily not to go back to habits that feel good but are harmful. Not only do you control what goes in and out of your body, but you can also learn to love yourself. I don’t talk about my eating disorders much, because as a Christian, this is a sin I wrestle with weekly. People think it’s easy to eat well and live for God in His body, but some days are good, and others are a real struggle.

    “Don’t you realize that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit, who lives in you and was given to you by God? You do not belong to yourself, for God bought you with a high price. So you must honor God with your body.” – 1 Corinthians 6:19-20

    Scripture has been key in helping me navigate my eating disorder. Reading it once won’t fix everything. Reading it twenty times won’t automatically make life easier. But reading it consistently, having faith, and putting God before my looks makes bad days more manageable.

    Being a woman comes with ever-changing beauty standards: one year thin lips, no boobs, big butt, blonde hair, brown eyes; the next year, big lips, no boobs, curvy body, curly hair, blue eyes. Models and influencers dominate social media. Men judge women. Generations pass down harmful food habits: this food is bad, that food is good. I lived in the world hating myself, obsessing over calories, and working out three times a day to reach “perfection.”

    “He forgives all my sins and heals all my diseases.” – Psalms 103:3

    When I came into God’s kingdom, I died to my old life and began living for Jesus. My body isn’t mine—it belongs to Him. I received the Holy Spirit and needed to care for the body God gave me. The guilt from starving or purging was overwhelming. I had shame and hatred for myself and stayed away from God for a long time.

    During my sophomore year of college, after purging, I started having panic attacks that lasted hours. I prayed, promising God I would stop if He removed the panic, dissociation, and depersonalization. The next day, I felt His love. I began eating without restriction and gained weight—from 115 to 140 lbs in four months. I donated all my XS and S clothes, embraced my body, and didn’t deny food. My body stored everything because it was in fight-or-flight mode.

    That summer, I was baptized, but a week later, I returned to old habits. I went from 140 lbs to 105 lbs in three months. For the last eight months, it’s been cycles of eating, not eating, and purging.

    “I am beautifully and wonderfully made.” – Psalms 139:14

    For three months, I’ve been free from eating disorder habits. The thoughts are still there, but with Jesus, I can fuel my body, enjoy food, and pray over meals. Some days are easy, others hard. Scripture, prayer, and the support of my sisters keep me grounded.

    Becoming a disciple doesn’t erase struggles; sometimes it intensifies them. Satan attacks our vulnerabilities, and mine has been my appearance. Eating disorders come with body dysmorphia—your mind deceives you about your body. Putting God first, even with these thoughts, is a daily challenge.

    Recently, I’ve noticed old habits creeping back: body checks, worrying about puffiness, burning calories, ensuring clothes fit. Making sure my fingers touch around my wrist. I know I’m putting my body above God right now and need to rely on Him.

    “Charm is deceptive, and beauty does not last; but a woman who fears the Lord will be greatly praised.” – Proverbs 31:30

    Beauty doesn’t measure how much we praise God. I am His daughter and beautiful no matter my size. I can’t compare myself to the world. As a disciple, I dress for the Lord, eat and exercise normally, and care for my body—because that’s honoring Him.

    Don’t give up. There’s always hope, and there’s always Jesus.

  • Letter to Heaven

    Dear Heaven,

    Is she up there? Is she at peace? Lord, I know you don’t have to tell me, but I wish you would. I wish you could tell me why you took my nana away from me—why you took my best friend. Lord, maybe you took her not to hurt me but to get her out of pain. Maybe you took her because you knew I could never put you first if she was here.

    Every day I am reminded that I don’t have grandparents. Every day I’m reminded that my support system is only my mom. Every day I’m reminded of the pain, of the disappointment from my mom when leaving for college. I’m reminded of the fact I picked being bulimic over seeing Nana in the hospital. I would do it differently if I had another chance.

    Nana, I hope you’re reading this. I hope that when you got to the gates, God saw how much you did love Him. I know we called ourselves Christians, but we weren’t disciples of God. I know you got baptized, but I don’t know if that was enough, Nana. You will never be forgotten. I don’t go a day without thinking of you. You were my second mom, you took care of me and loved me. You made me stronger, you taught me morals and values and how to be a woman. You put in all this work, Nana, and you didn’t even get to see the end result of me being an adult.

    Before you died, you saw me dying with you. Being 89 pounds in the hospital, not eating, throwing up, and having no life in my body. Nana, that’s not who I am.

    My friend moved into her new apartment—yesterday her grandma came to visit. I was happy that she had a grandma to call. I can’t do that. When moving into college, grandparents came and helped move their grandchildren in—you couldn’t do that. My friend called her grandma for her birthday last month. Hearing her grandma’s voice reminded me of you. Reminded me that I haven’t heard your voice in three years. Reminded me that I can’t pick up my phone and call you.

    Every time I bake, I think of you, Nana. You were baking with me since I was little. Donuts, cupcakes, cakes, pastries—you did it all with me. Nana, I have an online bakery because of you. We were supposed to open it up together, but now I’m opening it up in memory of you. I hope you can see what I’m doing, Nana. I hope you’re proud of me.

    You died on freshman year move-in. You told me to go even if something happened to you. I wish I didn’t go. I wish I stayed in the hospital with you and never crawled out of your hospital bed. I wish the doctors found out what was wrong and fixed it. You would be here watching me, helping me, and turning me into a young adult. Nana, you were my best friend. You were everything.

    Remember us playing cards? We would play Rummy and Thirteen. Every time you went to the bathroom you would yell, “Don’t cheat, Paris,” and I would have to reshuffle because I cheated. When you got sick, we stopped playing. Remember our tea parties? I loved that you did these. Mom is still doing them.

    I will never stop going to the tea parties. I still wear your jewelry, your perfume. I have your clothes and hope they still smell like you. Nana, I’m just like you. I scrapbook, cook, bake, I’ve been using your sewing machine. You got everything ready and then left before you could even use it. Everything reminds me of you. Some days I can’t even do it anymore.

    Nana, I think about what you have missed being gone for three years. I would want to think you would be proud of me. I’m in my senior year of college and I’m about to graduate. With what degree? I don’t know, but I’m graduating. I gave my life to Christ. I have a loving community and a family that loves me. I would want to think that you would’ve come to church with me every Sunday.

    I’m writing a book—it’s about my stalker, and I think that would’ve given you a heart attack. I bake every week. Yesterday I baked donuts for the first time, and every step, every measuring, I thought of you. I have a job, I have a lot of friends, and I help Mom out with Abijoy. You should see her, Nana—she’s so smart. No husband or kids yet, but I wish I would’ve had kids in my teens so you could meet my children. They would’ve loved you.

    My sadness turns into anger, and I don’t know how to hold onto this anymore. It feels like I’m in a dream and every day it replays in my head. Sometimes I wish we didn’t joke about your death. Three months before you died, Nana, I knew what was coming. I sensed it. I don’t know what it was, but I would cry to Mom that you were dying. I made a joke saying, “Don’t kick the bucket until I graduate.” Sometimes I wish I would’ve said college graduation.

    I’m very lucky that I had you. I need to be grateful for the time I did get with you. I think Mom blames me for your death. She makes these comments that just stab me. I don’t blame her. She’s your daughter, and she lost her momma. She left you in the hospital to die, so she could move me into college. I took her from you. I’m very sorry about that.

    Nana, I miss making your tea for you. I miss going camping and kayaking with you. I miss going to Flavor Farm and pumpkin picking. I miss your voice and you holding me. You knew everything, and you were prepared for everything. I don’t think you were prepared for this. No one was. You were the glue to this family, and when you left things fell apart… for the better, I think.

    Nana, I’m twenty-one years old and I dress like you. I find myself wearing gym shoes that match my socks and your earrings. I’ll have on a baseball cap and shorts and a t-shirt that match the socks. We have a song down here for you, Nana—it’s called “Supermarket Flowers.” You liked Ed Sheeran. He’s singing about his grandma. This song hits home.

    Nana, every time I listen to Bruno Mars I cry. You wanted to go see him in concert. You thought he was cute. You would giggle and blush a little when talking about him.

    We took our first family trip without you, Nana. We went to the Outer Banks. You would’ve loved it. I wish you could’ve gotten to go. You loved the ocean. I sprinkled some of your ashes in the ocean before we left. It’s hard to do new things without you.

    When cleaning out your house, everything smelled like you. You had presents ready for birthdays and Christmas. You were ready to go. Taking back the jewelry that I gave to you was hard. Taking back everything I gave you was hard. When you left, I would text you every day, telling you what happened and how I was feeling. I don’t know why I stopped. I think for a little bit I was distracted with my feelings.

    I go back and re-read our conversations and the abbreviations you would use. FF = fat fingers—you would text this when you misspelled something. I wish you could answer me back. When you left, your phone was still activated. To help with coping, Mom and I texted people from your phone. We thought it was funny. They did not.

    Looking at pictures is hard and comforting at the same time. You’re on my walls at college, Nana. My roommate sophomore year had a problem with the little section I gave you in my dorm. She called it a “shrine.” I don’t think it was. It had pictures of us, candles, letters for you, a feather, and hummingbirds. No one understands how hard this was for me.

    You advocated for me. You made me feel seen and heard when I didn’t get along with Mom. You didn’t take it easy on me, and I was grateful for that. It made me strong, taught me how to work, and how to keep moving forward. When getting ready for college, Mom came across a notebook that you were going to give me. It was “College Survival 101.” You put gift cards in it and wrote advice in the book. You didn’t get to finish it, but the first rule you put in there was to have the buddy system.

    When writing this letter, I couldn’t get through a paragraph without crying.

    Nana, every day I hope I can make you proud. I will never forget you, Nana. I love you.

    “You were an angel in the shape of my mom.”

    Sincerely,
    Your Favorite