Tag Archives: healing

Why Prayer Doesn't Work

 

lightstock_4807_xsmall_leanne_

Prayer is not an ointment. You don’t just rub it on when something is wrong.

Prayer is not a perfume. You don’t put it on to make the aroma of Christian life sweeter and more pleasing.

Prayer doesn’t “work” because it isn’t an application for problem solving or an item on a checklist for “proper function.”

Prayer is, rather, like the life-line for a complete blood transfusion. It’s an internally-intense, delicate, and aggressive means to changing life entirely. It’s an intentional practice of surrendering the body, spirit, and mind so the power of God can flow through to clear out infection and refill the emptiness with the blood of Life.

I don’t always feel like I know how to pray. Like the intravenous tube, so thin, tiny, and narrow, that carries blood into the body, my words typically feel feeble–small, thin, insignificant–carrying my prayers up to God. In fact, sometimes I don’t even know what words to pray, and I pray from a book–either straight from the Bible or from Germaine Copeland’s Prayers that Avail Much. Most times, my prayers dribble out like a rocky stream of consciousness, resembling the disjointed yet impassioned monologue of a four-year-old.

Thank God, though, it isn’t words that give power to prayer. It’s faith. I genuinely believe that God can and will answer me because my heart seeks to align with His. My words might be feeble, but it’s the power of my heart that pumps the power of God through the wordy life-line and into whomever or whatever I pray for in my devotion. How does that power work? I don’t know. It’s supernatural. The Holy Spirit, God in spirit form, lives inside my heart. When I drop my (natural) human control and trust the “thing” beyond my humanness to take over, that’s when the power of prayer takes place.

///

There is not a prayer too petty or prayer too challenging to lay before God.  At the risk of making you squirmy, I am going to tell you a story.

Not too long ago I had a friend who was suicidal and had turned away from God. I was terrified for her physical life, and I was mourning the loss of her connection with Christ, because that spiritual life-line was imperative to keeping her alive. I prayed everyday that God would please show up in an obvious way to remind her that He was/is indeed with her and that she has purpose through Him.

IMG_20150511_091132 One day, I sat down with my Copeland prayer book, and I prayed for her deliverance from Satan and his demonic forces (that topic needs a separate post on another day. If spiritual warfare makes you squirmy, I know. Just hang with me a minute, okay?) Praying against the dark forces is deep and dangerous. I soaked myself and my family and friends with prayers of protection. Then I stepped into the gap between my friend and God and prayed. I didn’t just say the words; I held up the words with the power of my heart–like a sword. I seethed against the dark dark forces that cloaked my friend’s view of God, and I used God’s Word–from the Bible–to fill my friend and protect her, to lift her back into the safety of the Lord’s hands and restore her faith. It was an intimate, intense, intercessory prayer time.

As the week wore on, my friend’s faith continued to wane. I confess: at times I wondered if my prayer would even “work”; I am human, so my natural tendency is to think that this spiritual stuff is all about me and my efforts. It isn’t. The second I would think that thought, a stronger sense came through, “I trust you, Lord. I know You will bring her back.”

He did.

Last Friday, my friend called me. She told me about the profound, intimate time she had with God that very day, which was humbling and powerful for her. She had been done with Him; she had been angry that people were even praying for her. That all changed on Friday, and the connection with Christ has been reforged. It had nothing to do with me and everything to do with God.

 

Is she all better? No. She is still grieving, battling mental illness, and enduring the journey of deep healing. But the Life-line is reconnected and the process of spiritual transfusion can continue!

Did I do a happy dance and say, “My prayer worked! My prayer worked!” Nope. I got down on my knees and I prayed a tearful and joyful prayer of thanks–“Thank you for saving her, Lord. Thank you for catching her. Strengthen her bond with You. Thank you for answering my pleas. Thank you for answering her family’s pleas. You are faithful and miraculous. Wow!”

Prayer is not an ointment. We don’t apply it on our life to stop the itch of things uncomfortable. Prayer is the infusion line by which God’s power is pumped into our lives. It’s internal, delicate, and aggressive. Prayer doesn’t merely work; it’s literally the supernatural pathway for God to hear and respond into our lives .

This is the confidence we have in approaching God: that if we ask anything according to his will, he hears us.” John 5:14

“Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you.” Jeremiah 29:12

“Devote yourselves to prayer, being watchful and thankful.” Colossians 4:2

 

 

 

 

What anorexia intervention feels like

IMG_20140117_090116She doesn’t want help because she thinks treatment will make her fat. 

What?! No. No one was allowed to know this. This was something I kept so hidden that I barely acknowledged it was there. How dare this woman know the ugly that lived in the mired muck of my soul. How dare she expose it! How. Dare. She.

I felt betrayed. Exposed. Hurt. Unsafe. Violated. Undermined. Angry.  Intervention feels like crap.

I was a wreck. The dam holding back my anxiety crumbled. I was crying and hyperventilating and angry and shooting evil-eye laser darts at my beloved husband, who, I felt somehow, had betrayed me. I hated him for calling the counseling center (on speaker phone) and answering all the questions honestly. I couldn’t believe the audacity of the woman on the phone who called me out:

  • Your wife needs help.
  • She’s on the cusp of needing hospitalization; her bmi is on the edge.
  • We wouldn’t put her in a support group until she was ready.
  • She doesn’t want help because she thinks treatment will make her fat.
  • She’s terrified; deep down she wants help.
  • She will be okay but she needs intervention now.
  • Tamara would be a great counselor for her.
  • We have a dietitian that can work with her dietary needs and food fears.

I can’t remember the rest of the afternoon. I do remember one thing, though. I was left with a choice: Do I accept the intervention and say yes to help, or do I say no?

The next day I felt exhausted and scared. I picked up the phone and dialed the number. Intervention lady answered.
“Um. Yeah. This is Leanne Sype. My husband called yesterday.” I started to cry.
“Hi, Leanne, yes. I remember. How can I help you?”
Through tears I said, “You said I didn’t want help because I think treatment will make me fat. Well, you’re right. And the fact that you know that makes me want to punch you in the face. You’re not supposed to know. But the fact that you know also tells me that maybe you can actually help me. I’d like to make an appointment.”
“You’re going to be okay. We can help you.”
I went into treatment the following Monday on November 3, 2014.
///

What saying “yes” to intervention feels like

Ladybug
Have you ever rescued a ladybug? You know when you see a ladybug in danger, you so carefully lead the ladybug onto your hand or you even gingerly pick it up, so careful not to hurt it. And then you let it rest in your hand while you carry it over to place a safety?

Think about how scary that must be for the ladybug–to be lifted and carried by a giant hand, not knowing or understanding what is happening or where it is going. That little ladybug has zero control. How helpless it must feel!

I felt like that ladybug. I was resting in God’s hand while He carried me to a place of safety. While I knew the Hand that carried me was God’s, I was terrified as to where we were going. I had zero control. I could have lifted my wings and flew away, and trust me, in those days of waiting for Monday to arrive, my wings fluttered. But I wanted to be obedient and I wanted to let myself, for once, trust–to let God have control and let myself be carried.

I wish I could tell you that it felt like a glorious ride through the breeze. It wasn’t. I was a nervous wreck. If there was sand covering the floors of my house, you would have seen a well worn path in a giant circle from my front entry, through my dining room and into my living room where I had paced and paced. Yet, I had a sense of peace in being completely surrendered. I was so tired and ready to be carried–and to finally land in a place where I didn’t have to worry about food anymore.

I am six months into recovery now. I don’t worry about food. I am no longer in danger. Am I completely healed? Not yet. But I am happy and alive and hopeful and back to living life without anorexia as my main focus anymore.

So if you’re reading this, scared to see what help might mean, I can tell you the Hand that carries you has a destination of peace, safety, and healing for you. Healing is hard and uncomfortable. I’m not going to lie. However, as you heal there is freedom… from fear, from food,from pain, from uncertainty. I promise.

And if you are the one who is thinking about an intervention for someone you love… do it. It’s not going to feel good. Should your loved on say “yes,” know that it will be a hard road to healing and they’re going to need your patience, grace, and love. But it’s going to be worth the journey when they come back to life. I promise.

Why I am afraid of "fat"

I’m still afraid of looking fat.

This is where the bulk of my shame lives as I continue my recovery from anorexia. Nearly six months into my treatment, I am happy to say:

1) that I am up to a healthy weight (though I don’t know what that weight is and don’t care to know).

2) my metabolism is healed (did you know dieting and starving destroy your metabolism? I didn’t.).

3) my body cues are functioning on their own (meaning I know–for real–when I am hungry and when I’m full; when something sounds good and when it doesn’t).

4) I am eating intuitively, which means I eat according to when and what my body tells me in terms of what it needs and what it wants. No rules; no invitation for others to have a say.

These are huge leaps of restorative progress that have happened in a relatively short amount of time, considering I have had anorexia for 13+ years.

Yet, I still have an eating disorder. If you have ever looked at a skinny girl and said, “Dang, she needs some meat on her bones. Give that girl a cheeseburger,” I am here to tell you this disease has nothing to do with food or weight–and please, I kindly request, do all of us “skinny” girls a solid and stay quiet because those words just feed our disorder.

All of my progress is in long-term danger because I still fear “looking fat.” This is perplexing to me because on December 6, 2014, I wrote the following in my journal:

“I fear being ugly and invalid; society says fat is invalid and ugly. Therefore I cannot be this way. I have fallen ill by playing into society’s definition of fat. I bet “fat” isn’t even in God’s dictionary. I can’t define “fat” on my own because I am stuck between two worlds–> God’s and this fallen earthly place. I know God sees people beyond their size. Size literally does not matter to God. The condition of my heart matters; right now my heart is infected. I see it now from God’s world. Yet,God still sees me as valuable and lovable.

IMG_20150419_082316In my fallen world, infected minds have determined that size does matter and it reflects how good or not good we are (“skinny” is beautiful which makes skinny marketable, profitable, desirable–valuable. If you’re not skinny, then you’re not valuable).

This completely contradicts God’s perspective. 

I must decide who I will trust. Will I continue trying to define a word that simply doesn’t exist in God’s world? Will I keep striving to appeal to a definition outlined by infected hearts and minds? Or, instead, will I throw this word away entirely and focus only on the things of which affect–grow, purify, honor–the condition of my heart?”

Well, given my progress in health, we can see what I chose, right? But I confess to you, dear reader, I still fear looking fat. I feel ashamed by this. And frustrated. Why can’t my eyes see beauty when I look in the mirror? Why can’t my spirit feel confidence when I dress in the morning? Why can’t I let go of “fat” and “skinny” when I know these ideas don’t exist in God’s kingdom?

Idolatry.

God, the Father in Heaven, the Son in Jesus, and the Holy Spirit in my heart, is no doubt my God. Yet, He isn’t my only only god because I still idolize my body. Part of me still stands with the cultural ideal, IMG_20150419_105452worshiping beauty and perfection as defined by a society that places value on what we manufacture for our physical body. I can’t let go of “fat” and “skinny” because I still place more value on my body image rather than God’s image. This is a hard dose of humility to swallow today.

I am not manufactured. I am created. . . uniquely created by a perfect God who made me in His image. I believe this, but clearly not with all of my heart because I still worry about “looking fat” and thus having little to no value (interest,validity, etc.) to other people. This is a dark depth that still needs transformation. I surrender to this truth today.

I can’t fix this today. I can’t fix this, period. God has to. My own self-efforts for change lead to manufacturing something that doesn’t align with what God has already created in and for me. He will heal this broken part of me; I got down on my knees in tears asking for forgiveness and asking Him to take this part of me and change it. He will. And when He does, the danger of relapsing into anorexia will become less of a threat. Cheeseburger or no, my eating disorder does not hinge upon food but rather the belief and deep understanding of where my value lies.