The December the Good Father Held Me

White fluff blanketed the earth, hot cocoa season was awakening, and eighteen birthday candles awaited me in the very near future.

It was my freshman year of college and the month of December – the month when Love rescued me from an eating disorder. After years of keeping my struggle a secret, the One who is Love offered me a way out of the dark.

Stomach turning, I picked up the bright blue phone, dialed the numbers crystal clear in my memory, and anticipated my mom’s hello. All that I had stuffed down deep for years began to find a voice — and as the words left my mouth they felt strange. So there in the basement laundry room of my dorm building, I spoke my honest heart.

And the Good Father held me.

I came home and told other family and a few friends. It was the beginning of my wounds finding healing and the beginning of a healthier life—

But I was awful scared and I felt awful exposed.

Wet drops poured out as I sat on my bedroom floor, completely broken open, feeling ashamed and like a failure. I was known as the nice, quiet girl who made good choices — but now everyone knew I was flawed. Little girl wounds taught me that love and acceptance were earned through perfection, so for years I wore the mask of I’m doing just fine. But as I sat on the floor with pain streaming down my face in a mess of imperfect – I came undone.

And the Good Father held me.

Right in the middle of the season of celebrating the coming of Christ, I beheld the sacredness of new life awakening in me. For so long I felt like no one got me, but for the first time I understood that Jesus did. Every drop of pain mixed with His love, and by His wounds I found healing.

I stepped foot in a counselor’s office for the first time and sat down on a soft couch, terrified of spilling my story to a complete stranger. But she was gentle and kind. She listened, talked some, and I talked more. There’s something freeing about speaking your story after years of keeping it locked up in the dark. I sat on that couch for months, a little braver each time to reach deeper and let my scars find relief.

And the Good Father held me.

A family dear to my heart invited me to their church. Brick walls guarded my heart because past experiences told me that church wasn’t safe. But I went anyways, and the pastor ministered to my soul in a way that no pastor ever had. He radiated the love of Jesus and words of grace saturated his messages. Sunday after Sunday, I sat and listened, truth penetrating my thirsty soul.

And the Good Father held me.

For years I cried out in anger to a God I didn’t understand, and yet I longed to understand. I thought He was a God of rules who would only love me if I did good things – lived perfect. But in December of the year I turned eighteen, everything changed.

The Good Father held me in my darkest hour and for the first time ever, I felt the unconditional, undeserved, unstoppable love of a father – of the Good Father. I cried and He held me. I screamed my confusion and He held me. I shook in fear of facing my past and He held me.

The Good Father held me and whispered Love in my ear, and the lies ringing in my mind were replaced with the tune of peace.

Fifteen years later, a chill in the air welcomes December once again – and I will never forget. I will never forget how my life changed that December and how the Good Father held me and continues to hold me.

I forever have a Good Father, a Heavenly Father who loves me regardless of my successes or failures. The victory is His, every drop of glory goes to Him, and I will forever tell of His Love.

One year ago in this very month of December, I put on my brave shoes and made a decision to openly share my story by launching this blog. For an entire year I prayed and wrestled with the idea of being vulnerable with my story – a story that is hard to share and a topic that is unpopular to talk about. And I felt incredibly unqualified.

But you are never unqualified when your Father is a King.

He equips His children to do work for His kingdom. He simply wants our yes and a willing heart is like gold to Him. And sometimes, often times, He calls us to step out into the uncomfortable spaces – to do the very thing that scares us the very most.

And so the quiet girl with a fragile heart who barely said a peep in junior high and didn’t dare raise her hand in school out of fear that she would say the wrong thing, became a 32-year-old woman who decided to do the thing that scared her the very most – to speak her story for the glory of His kingdom.

I type these words and see beauty rising from ashes — brushstrokes of beauty everywhere. White lights hang on trees and garland, reminding me that The Light entered the world as a baby in the most humble of conditions. My lungs breathe free and hope fills my soul all because He lit my path and ushered me out the darkness.

And there’s someone—a lot of someone’s who need this Light—desperately need this Light I now have. There are women of all ages, and men too, who live in bondage to an eating disorder like I once did. There are souls desperate for freedom who need to know that it’s okay to talk about these things, and need their honest hearts to be received with grace — and without judgement. Because judgement only deepens the wounds, but love has a way of healing. 

While sometimes I grow weary, I press on and pray these words shine Light and help captives discover freedom. I press on and hear the Good Father saying that He will continue to redeem every shattered piece of my story. Let the redeemed of the Lord tell their story (Psalm 107:2), and so I share — I write.

It’s hot cocoa season again and miracle child catches snowflakes. I inhale this moment remembering how different life was 15 years ago. And today I know joy—

All because the Good Father held me, wrapping me in His Blanket of Love.