At This Table

Early in life I developed an eating disorder that expressed itself in many ways. When I realized my dieting was becoming dangerous and my control was out of control, I decided to get help. When I met with my first counselor, my denial system was pretty strong, and I told him I didn't think my disorder was impacting my family. The counselor smiled and explained that if he were doing family counseling with us, the first things he would do is ask my children to draw the family dinner table. He then asked what I thought they would draw. After a long pause, I admitted that they would have drawn the table with my place either empty or with a drink only. I realized in that session the dinner table could be as much about interaction as it was about food. I soon became fascinated by Bible passages that dealt with food and meals.

I had struggled with shame because of my crazy relationship with food. I hated how often my thoughts were consumed with food, dieting, the number on the scale, or the dress size I was wearing. I was also ashamed that food itself was the source of my struggle. As I searched the Bible for answers, I realized the very first sin ever committed was centered around food and that Adam and Eve's choice to eat the fruit was more about what Satan promised than the fruit itself. I also realized Satan's temptation stirred in them a desire the fruit didn't fulfill, and they ended up miserable as they longed for their redemption to be complete. 

I could relate to Adam and Eve as I turned to food, mistaking relational or spiritual hunger for physical hunger. At times I searched frantically for the perfect food to satisfy a craving I couldn't even identify or satisfy. I could relate to them when I thought I would be happier if only I had something more--more pounds lost, more power over life or broken relationships, more freedom from besetting sin, more peace in the face of my perfection and anxious thoughts. Oh, there were momentary feelings of the "more's satisfied," only to awaken to the same cravings again and again.  

I heard a sermon taught by Louis Giglio, called don't give the enemy a seat at your table. He developed the sermon from Psalm 23 and talked about how God prepares us a table in the presence of our enemies and explained that we can choose to give the enemy a seat or we can focus on the Lord and dine with Him, while ignoring the enemy and his plans. I realized food has never been the enemy, but Satan was as he whispered temptation after temptation in my ear. I didn't have to give into his voice, tempting me to starve or binge. I could accept each meal as a gift and focus on the Giver. When I did that, eating no longer felt like a shameful act and I could eat with a grateful heart, praising God for His provision. I could even walk with Him through disordered thoughts and temptations and see God's strength in my weakness. 

A few years into my recovery I was in a freak accident that left me with a noticeable limp. Over time I came to terms with the limp by embracing the story of Mephibosheth who was Jonathon's son and Saul's grandson. It would have been customary for Jonathon to become king when Saul died, but God appointed David instead. David faithfully served Saul as he waited his turn, but Saul became consumed with jealousy over David's God-given abilities, future kingship, and David's victory over Goliath. In that state of jealous rage, he tried to kill David and David realized he needed to leave because the king viewed him as an enemy. This grieved Jonathon and David who were close friends. Jonathon helped David escape, and David vowed to show Jonathon and his family mercy when he became king.

When Saul and Jonathon were killed, Jonathon's son's nurse fled with the young boy. She fell, injuring both of his legs, leaving him crippled. After David established his kingdom, he called a servant to find out if anyone from Saul's house was alive to which he could show mercy. The servant told him about the young, crippled Mephibosheth and David sent for him. I imagine Mephibosheth was filled with fear when he was called to face the king his grandfather had tried to kill, and he humbly bowed before King David. David told him not to be afraid because he had summoned him to show him mercy. Mephibosheth offered himself as a servant, but David gave him a seat at his own table, which meant that he considered Mephibosheth a son. David gave him land so his servants could work and provide all that he needed, which gave the crippled Mephibosheth back his dignity. 

Because of my limp, I love this story and the invitation to eat at the king's table. Each one of us is Mephibosheth. We were born enemies of God and have been crippled by sin that we have committed and by sin perpetrated against us. Since the fall we have been crippled by all sorts of trauma, causing us to be crippled in our ability to do good, to manage emotions, to discern truth from lies, to love well, and in our ability to worship and honor God. Yet, like Mephibosheth, we have been invited to the palace of the King of kings and we come...limping to God's table with nothing to offer, finding mercy in Jesus just as Mephibosheth found in David. 

There are times my ankle gets sore and stiff, and my limp becomes more pronounced. There are times that something happens to trigger feelings of past trauma and I find myself walking with an invisible "limp" that feels as awkward and uncomfortable as my physical one. There are times I experience stress and old eating disordered thoughts and I find myself "limping" awkwardly through the day barely holding on to what is healthy and good, and I know I can either get frustrated and give in or I can choose to remember Mephibosheth, who came to the king's table, and cling to the truth that I, who was once God's enemy, am now seated at His table, forever belonging to His family. I am also reminded that through His divine power He has given me everything I need for a godly life through the knowledge of Him who has called us out of His goodness. 

The music group Selah just released the most beautiful song for Christmas titled, "At this Table!" (At This Table by Selah on Amazon Music - Amazon.com) The song, written by Idina Menzer, has such powerful words and I have listened to several times this week. Each time I am filled with peace and stand in awe of God's infinite kindness. How I long for my table to reflect the table of this song--a table where everyone is welcome, everyone is seen, and everyone matters. A table where everyone is noticed, no one is judged, and everyone is free to speak. A place where everyone is forgiven, no one is invisible, and everyone feels like they belong. 

I hope, as God's crippled children, we remember each one of us comes hobbling to the table and yet we are met with lavish mercy and grace that we did nothing to earn. I hope we try our best to extend that to others for at His table we are forever covered with a love shown through Christ's brutal death and resurrection. Maybe, just maybe this is the holiday season that we can reflect that to others.

The Great Clothing Exchange

The Great Clothing Exchange

During Lent I started reading Max Lucado's book, He Chose the Nails. As always, Lucado gave me a lot to think about. In this book he shares how the Scriptures often describes our behavior as the clothes we wear. The epistles even tell us to take off certain behaviors and to put on godly behaviors. As a woman I've always liked the clothing analogies because we can get caught up in the external, thinking our clothing will make a difference in how people perceive us. But, the truth is when we come face to face with overt behavior, either good or bad, we are more apt to remember the behavior than the clothes worn. When I've had someone tell me a boldfaced lie, I don't remember the cute shirt they were wearing. I remember the lie they told. When I've had someone betray me, I didn't remember the outfit worn by them, I remember the painful betrayal. When I've had hateful words spewed at me, I don't remember the pretty sweater worn by the speaker, just the sound of the hateful words being hurled at me.  

After my third baby was born, I was struggling with postpartum depression. I went to the store early one morning to buy milk for the kids' breakfast. I was barely physically functioning and my mind was in a dull fog. I sat the milk on the counter and looked in my wallet and realized I didn't have enough cash, so I put my wallet back and pulled out my checkbook. In the fog of depression, I couldn't remember the name of the store and had to ask. Then I had to ask the clerk to repeat the amount I owed a couple of times. I knew I was taking too long, but I couldn't muster up enough energy to speed up. The clerk saw the line growing behind me and he sighed impatiently as if to let me know I was holding things up. The pressure of that added to the stress I was already feeling. Frustrated with me, the clerk said, "I've never seen anyone take so long to write a check." My face grew hot and tears slid down my face from the shame his words evoked--shame of not having it "all together" and shame from feeling defective for not being able to function adequately enough write a check quickly enough to satisfy the social norms. I don't remember the clothing the clerk wore, but I do remember his impatience. He might as well have embroidered the word, "IMPATIENT" boldly across his shirt pocket.

Years later, I was working as a volunteer youth worker in a small church. One year we were without a youth director so another couple, and my husband and I, filled in and loved it. Then came the news the church had hired a youth director and along with the news came a few unkind remarks that triggered insecurity and grief for all of four of us. The man who was ultimately in charge asked me to prepare something for the midweek group time, but when I walked in that night, he said he had changed his mind and he did something different. He could tell I was hurt and offered to talk, but I was too shut down to share what I was feeling and what I was thinking. I ran into him Sunday morning and right before church, and right before He had to go on stage to help with worship, I confronted him harshly.  I then avoided him, believing our relationship was over. He called that week and my husband handed me the phone, saying "You two need to talk." I apologized and he asked me what I was apologizing for. I thought a moment and told him I realized I didn't take the opportunity to deal with the hurt, that he had given me, and that my timing was horrible and my words were biting. He told me he accepted that apology. He explained that though the timing was bad and the words harsh, he agreed with the content of the confrontation. He also told me he still considered me his friend and told me what he believed I contributed to the group. Believe me, I didn't deserve the grace he showed in the face of my anger. Nor did I deserve the kind words he spoke in the face of my unkind ones. When I remember him, I don't think of the shirts he wore or the belt that bore his name, I remember the grace, the humility, and the kindness he displayed in seeking to reconcile the relationship I had broken. It was the first time in my life that I had experienced such blatant grace.

I find it interesting that the Bible seldom talks about Jesus' clothes. Maybe that was so we would remember His character--and by His character He was clothed in perfect obedience, sacrificial love, deep compassion, moral perfection, and indescribable strength. When He went to the cross, He was stripped of clothing and as Lucado put it "all that he wore was the indignity of nakedness, the indignity of failure, and the indignity of our sin He bore in His body." Because He bore our sin, He also bore the shame of the one who murders, the one who abuses his power, the one who commits adultery, and the one who views pornography. He also bears the disgrace of one who lies, one who cheats, one who steals, and one who mistreats others.

What we sometimes forget is that on the cross Jesus exchanged our dirty, disgusting clothing woven of the sinful choices we've made, the unkind, hurtful words we've spoken, and the prideful, greedy, selfish attitudes we display for a garment of salvation woven with threads of purity, honesty, perfect love, goodness, fairness, truth, mercy and grace.