A Morning with my Best Friend

Morning. Not stupid early, but not late morning, it’s 8:30am and your eyelids open after a solid, undisturbed 8 hour sleep. You smile to yourself, feeling that euphoric, passionate, life-is-good-because-God-is-good emotion that translates to excitement to spend time with Jesus. You know He’s going to meet you where you are– which happens to be your little student bedroom in Waterloo, warm under the perfect duvet, that perfect warm that is practically impossible to crawl out of.

You roll over just far enough to grab your Bible, and open it to where you left off. Psalms.

Psalm 41. 

Blessed are those who have regard for the weak;

the Lord delivers them in times of trouble.
The Lord protects and preserves them—
they are counted among the blessed in the land—
he does not give them over to the desire of their foes.
The Lord sustains them on their sickbed
and restores them from their bed of illness.

You spend enough time with Jesus to know that you are certainly not perfect at “regarding the weak,” but also to know that He has already forgiven you for it. He instructs you, though, and He makes you better. That simple time calling on His name and seeing His face, His very body, sitting on your bed, nowhere else to be but with you because that’s how much He loves you– whaaat— He tells you to lift your weary head and stop dwelling. He makes you aware of a coping mechanism that you go to when you’d be much better off turning to Him.

But that’s just it.

In the valleys He reminds you of His faithfulness.

If it weren’t for the coping mechanisms and failures and misgivings and faults, you wouldn’t know how much you need Him. That’s not to give any credit to the faults. No, it’s to weaken them, because it’s kind of sad to know that humans need them sometimes in order to know Him. 

But oh, there is grace. Oh, there is so much love. Oh, He is forever and always forgiving and unbudging. Oh, how this God Jesus just wants to befriend you, be above everything else in your life because He knows it’s what’s best for you.

He is, after all, your Father.

 

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Waffle Triangles (Or Just Waffles)

Hey all!!

Tonight at the youth group I help lead, we are talking about the fruit of the Holy Spirit that is patience. This art that our Lord is perfect in is something only He, therefore, can administer perfectly through us.

I thought about patience this morning when I went to make waffles for breakfast.

Having seen what I thought was a waffle maker in the back of a cupboard at my place, I thought this was an appliance of Beth’s. When I took it out this morning, I realized it was actually a sandwich press. Bahahaha.

Now excited about waffles, though, I decided to whip up a recipe on the spot and try putting the batter in the triangle indents in the sandwich press. And I came up with these little triangles!

This recipe will probably yield one or two big waffles if you make them in a real waffle maker. But, if you have a sandwich press, I suggest giving this a try. These triangles were too much fun.

(Also, I recognize that this is a very minor example of patience coming in to play😉)

I also made these today with half oat flour and half white flour but I’m gonna write the recipe with just white flour.

Ingredients

1/4 c flour

1/2 tsp baking powder

1/4 tsp baking soda

pinch salt

2 T coconut yogurt (or regular yogurt)

2 T vanilla almond milk (or any milk)

1 egg

1 tsp lemon juice

2 tsps sugar

1/2 T creamy peanut butter, melted

1. Preheat waffle iron (or sandwich press!) In medium bowl, combine flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.

2. In separate bowl, mix yogurt, milk, egg, lemon juice, sugar, and peanut butter.

3. Add the dry ingredients to the wet and mix until just combined; don’t over mix.

4. Pour about half the batter onto waffle maker and close. Cook 2-3 minutes only for perfect, floppy waffles; more if you prefer a hard, crunchy waffle. Continue with remaining batter.

5. Serve with desired toppings– I had the triangles with coconut yogurt, sliced apple and banana, and cacao nibs, and they were delicious!

MEDITATION MONDAY: Taking Jesus at His Word and Deed

My mom makes the best spaghetti in the world. Who would also agree that their mom has a dish that is the best in the world? The smell of my mom’s spaghetti on the cooking on the stove when I came home from school was the best smell, and made homework exciting because i got to look forward to a family meal and a big plate of spaghetti. I don’t know all her secrets, but I know it’s the best. Enough that I would want it over anything else. If it were up to me at that age, I would gladly eat Mom’s spaghetti every night. But, Mom knows we weren’t designed to eat the same meal night after night, and as much as I doubted it, I would have probably gotten sick of it if we did.

Indeed, what is best for us, and for the greater good, isn’t always the thing we think we want. 

I speak the truth in Christ—I am not lying, my conscience confirms it through the Holy Spirit— I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart. For I could wish that I myself were cursed and cut off from Christ for the sake of my people, those of my own race, the people of Israel. Theirs is the adoption to sonship; theirs the divine glory, the covenants, the receiving of the law, the temple worship and the promises. Theirs are the patriarchs, and from them is traced the human ancestry of the Messiah, who is God over all, forever praised! ROMANS 9:1-5

We hear from Paul here that his conviction in Jesus being all in all was enough for him to cut himself from the goodness of Christ in order that others would understand their place in Him. Not only does Paul exemplify Christ in this expression of immense selflessness, but the Word boldly proclaims God to be the source of all goodness. We feel his anguish and understand its importance.

We see time and time again in the Gospels what seems to be a natural doubt.

When Jesus heard what had happened, he withdrew by boat privately to a solitary place. Hearing of this, the crowds followed him on foot from the towns. When Jesus landed and saw a large crowd, he had compassion on them and healed their sick.

 As evening approached, the disciples came to him and said, “This is a remote place, and it’s already getting late. Send the crowds away, so they can go to the villages and buy themselves some food.”

Jesus replied, “They do not need to go away. You give them something to eat.”

“We have here only five loaves of bread and two fish,” they answered.

“Bring them here to me,” he said. And he directed the people to sit down on the grass. Taking the five loaves and the two fish and looking up to heaven, he gave thanks and broke the loaves. Then he gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the people. They all ate and were satisfied, and the disciples picked up twelve basketfuls of broken pieces that were left over. The number of those who ate was about five thousand men, besides women and children. MATTHEW 14:13-21

In this story, we watch the disciples come to Jesus– as if He could ever need any sort of reminder about the care of His own creation– concerned that there would be nothing to feed everyone. And although bread and fish may not have been the most delicious meal, the Lord fulfilled the disciples’ need to be fed without dwelling on it, so that they could get on with more important matters. Jesus was the answer. And the best thing the disciples could have done in this situation was trust that He would provide, as He promises to always. Trust that by leaning on Him, they would be filled. Maybe they had visions of going into town to get spaghetti, but the physical need itself wasn’t what mattered– how they got to it did.

This involved a faith in that Jesus is who He says He is.

If we believe in Jesus Christ, that He died for our sins and rose again in order that His Holy Spirit would come afresh upon us and make us new, then we believe that, period. He is the One God, whose same Spirit performs miracles today as He did with the loaves and the fishes, and if we believe that, then we BELIEVE IT, and we invest in relationship with Him. We believe and know that Jesus COULD HAVE actually turned those loaves and fishes into a gourmet spaghetti dinner, better than Mom’s– sorry, Mom, only Jesus could do it better. But He wasn’t concerned with the earthly thing– Jesus reminds us we need only be concerned with HIM, and in the process He fills in the earthly things that He does want us to ENJOY. It is only when those things become the centre of our lust and attention, rather than a tool that we allow the Spirit to work through, that we run into problems.   

Of course, experience of Jesus’ working miracles is helpful here. That can start with trusting and believing the miracles He has worked, then allowing Him to fill us with His Truth that He IS forgiveness, IS grace, and is LOVE. Rather than the food being the relevant concern, then, for the disciples, Jesus became the focal point; the disciples concerned themselves with JESUS’ will, and, WHEN food became the afterthought, their baskets were full as Jesus perfectly saw fit.

My boyfriend and I have been dating for going on two years. We met at Laurier, and Johnny decided a year ago that he would be transferring to a school just outside of Winnipeg. For the second semester of our long distance relationship, Johnny and I prayerfully decided our only form of communication would be via letter. No texting, Skyping, or phone calls. It was an emotional thing to enter, but our provision in prayer was that the Lord would teach us the discipline of sitting down to write to each other, and become bigger in each of us as we had to trust God with each other, and in each other. I learned so much about prayer and the blessing of communication in this time, and Johnny and I will forever hold time together dear. As difficult as it initially seemed to take this leap of faith, Johnny and I couldn’t have done this without the Spirit; if our trust had been in each other, we would have failed each other. And we have failed each other, of course. But clinging to Jesus and trusting Him, we have reaped rewards in our relationships with each other and the Lord. Believing that He can do it, and that He always is who He says He is, I have witnessed both in the Word and my own life the way even good things entrusted to the Lord, placed on the altar for Him to tender, are never, ever, ever returned for the worse.

Again, Jesus is JOY, and does not condemn. Rather than randomly making such decisions of faith, our Lord delights in our prayer and relationship with Him.

Martin Luther famously said, “To be a Christian without prayer is no more possible than to be alive without breathing.” Believing that this Jesus created us and is who He says He is and is alive today for our good and our purpose means being in conversation with Him. When the disciples expressed their concern to Him, Matthew’s Gospel clearly states that the Lord worked out of COMPASSION; out of COMPASSION He worked to serve FIVE THOUSAND MEN with five loaves, and two fish. THIS IS AMAZING! This Is the same Lord who is in our midst today and invites us into conversation. Who is anguished when we push Him away. Who KNOWS all our sins and worries no matter what, so thus delights when we bring them to Him willingly. And whether His work is what we may have envisioned as our answer, we trust that HE is the answer, and grow in faith in the one who was our beginning, is our present, and is our end. Sometimes this comes with sacrifice and suffering, but as Jesus sacrificed His LIFE so that we might have it, we glimpse eternity and pure joy when we put our faith and our lives in the will of the One who never fades.

 

TASTEFUL THURSDAY: Velvety Mashed Potatoes

Hey guys!

A couple evenings ago, I made dinner for Johnny and I. It was a simple meal of crispy chicken thighs, steamed broccoli, and mashed potatoes for him but rice for me, as I can’t eat dairy.

I wanted to make the potatoes a la Cassie, but they ended up too soft and liquidy. Johnny still approved them, so the recipe you are getting is a scaled down version to ensure they’re the thicker, but still fluffy, soft, and buttery texture you want.

If you make these, let me know!

Velvety Mashed Potatoes

Recipe serves 1

Ingredients

2 Tbsp butter

2 Tbsp chopped onion

1 clove garlic, diced

1 large potato, peeled and cubed

1 cup chicken stock

salt and pepper to taste

3-4 Tbsp heavy cream

chives

Method

  1. Heat the butter over medium-high heat in medium skillet; add the onion and garlic. Cook gently for 3-5 minutes, or until onions start to turn translucent.
  2. Add potato chunks to the pan and cook for a few minutes, stirring occasionally.
  3. Add the chicken stock and salt and pepper; bring mixture to a boil. Reduce the heat and cover the pan just partly, so the sides still release some steam.
  4. Simmer until the potato chunks are soft and easily pricked with a fork, about 30-40 minutes.
  5. Place contents of saucepan in blender or food processor; add cream. Process until smooth, and no chunks remain. Season if needed, to taste.
  6. Serve hot with melted butter and garnished with chives.

TASTEFUL THURSDAY: Dairy-Free Mac & Cheese

Hey All!

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This past weekend, we had a little GNO for one of my dear friends from dance, to celebrate her 21st birthday. For the occasion, I whipped up a dairy-free mac and cheese, only hoping it would come out tasting good… and it DID, so much so that it’s making the blog’s cut!

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I used these fun shell shapes instead of typical elbow noodles, and Daiya Mozzarella Shreds. A little disclaimer is that I am certainly not a fan of Daiya cheese– I wish I could say otherwise! I just don’t like the taste. But, in this pasta, with the cashews, it was perfect. Of course, you could sub regular cheese!

Vegan Mac & Cheese

serves 6

Ingredients

1 1/4 cups almond milk

1/4 cup raw cashews

pinch nutmeg

1/2 tsp salt

1/2 tsp pepper

2 tsp grapeseed oil

2 Tbsp flour

1/2 cup Daiya Mozzarella Shreds, plus more for topping

6 servings (about 4 1/2 cups dry) shell or elbow noodles

  1. In blender, combine almond milk, cashews, nutmeg, salt, and pepper, and blend on high speed until no lumps of cashews remain.
  2. In large saucepan over medium heat, combine oil and flour. Whisk quickly, until mixture *just* begins to brown; slowly pour almond milk mixture into roux.
  3. Whisk mixture constantly over high heat, until it begins to boil. Boil and stir about 30 seconds; reduce heat to low. Add cheese, and stir well. Allow to simmer, whisking occasionally, about 5 minutes, or until cheese is fully melted.
  4. Cook pasta according to package; drain. Add pasta to saucepan, and stir well with a wooden spoon to evenly coat noodles with cheese sauce.
  5. Spoon into individual dishes and top with additional shredded cheese. Broil dishes about 1 minute, or until added cheese is bubbly, if desired.

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MEDITATION MONDAY: My Story, His Glory

I have for some time now been meaning to document the story of how an eating disorder was overcome in my life for God’s glory and that perhaps it might resonate with anyone struggling. Previous documentations have not included the victory that God has evidently had over the disorder, and I do believe the story belongs on this blog.

Also linking up with lovely Naomi for Monday’s Musings.

My Story, His Glory

 “Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit who gives life has set you free from the law of sin and death.” ROMANS 8:1-2

I was young when the law of sin and death began entreating upon my life.

I loved, and understood my life’s purpose of serving Jesus Christ, as a little girl. However, I put a lot of weight on the promise of order and structure.

I was born on October 17, 1997, to two loving, wonderful parents, and with a beautiful one-year-old big sister, who was, at first, not thrilled by my existence. We have both heard the stories of her tormenting me, though I have little memory of them. My mom has often recapped the story of Krystal instructing me, yelling at me, to say her name correctly. I had been calling her Kittle, and she had apparently sat me down, pointing a finger at me, and yelled, “It’s not Kittle, it’s KRYS-tal. Say it!” I was barely a year old, and confidently, finally, said her name: “Krystal.”
I do, however, remember wanting nothing but to please Krystal, which perhaps stemmed from times like this. I remember planning what I would do for her birthdays so early in advance. I always let her pick the games we’d play, never even considering the option of my having a say. I was very content to do whatever made her happy.

Krystal had elaborate structures within her life of planning and rules. She had a rulebook in which she wrote what her outfits and hairstyles would be each day, from the age of five. I remember fits in which she would cry, feeling so inadequate if something “messed up” these plans, such as my mom not having time to style her hair in the morning. Sometimes, she would ask me to pick out her outfit based on certain selections, because she had to know it was “random.” When we played with our Barbies or Polly Pocket Dolls, we spent hours beforehand appointing the dolls names, ages, and who would act the role of each doll based on certain deciding factors that Krystal would come up with. When our younger sister, Courtney, was born, she quickly joined in our games, but her spontaneous approach often rattled and frustrated Krystal. I remember feeling conflicting. Parts of me loved the “safety” of the structures and order that Krystal had always implemented, while parts wanted to feel the freedom from rules that Courtney exhibited. I wanted both of sisters to be happy.

We know that something terrible happened to Krystal when she was not even a year old, at her babysitters’ one day. My mom recalls picking her up, and Krystal shaking, refusing to speak. She’d spoken to the babysitter, who rebuked any idea of suffering Krystal may have endured. This quite possibly may have been the leeway for the entrance of a spirit of law and order to enter in to her life, and also have its way with me.

Much of my childhood with my sisters, when I reflect, I remember as being fraught with these games of sequence and structure and rule, with Courtney rebuking the rule, Krystal strongly enforcing it, and me somewhere in the middle, confused by it all. I continued, though, to follow in Krystal’s footsteps. We shared a bedroom until I was seven years old; I began taking dance lessons after I saw her enjoying them so much; I also took singing lessons with her, and wanted to do Girl Guides after she began. Soon, I also began making lists and plans of my outfits and hairstyles, conforming more to order and rule, less like the spontaneous nature of my little sister, which was feeling more and more scary and foreign.


Now, some of these outfits that I wore to school ended up being quite strange. But I would feel stressed and out of place if I wasn’t wearing the outfit I had appointed for that day. In middle school, I recognized my peers’ reactions to my outfits, and knew that I was not very popular. I remember deciding that if I wasn’t going to be the pretty and popular one, I would just have to be perfect at everything else. I was a straight-A student, on every club and extra-curricular team thinkable (besides sports), I loved God, and I focused on being kind. Of course, the latter two are wonderful things intrinsically, but at this time, both focuses were muddled by a towering idol: that of law, order, and control.

The stress of focusing my own time and energy on obtaining perfection in all that I did, believing that my physical appearance would never fit that perfection, I needed a comfort for the stress; another area to allow myself not to be “perfect” in. When I was twelve years old, I binged on food for the first time. I woke up in the middle of the night and felt compelled to eat an enormous amount of food. I ate multiple loaves of bread and handfuls of pasta, mayonnaise, cookies, chocolates. I ate until my insides ached, and I was breathing heavily. I cried myself to sleep.

The next morning, I decided that no one would know about the binge. I ate normally all day, meals and snacks, but something in me had already decided that the binge was going to occur again. And these binge episodes happened a few times weekly over the course of the next few years, and I didn’t tell a single person.


A few months into the binges, I decided that I would learn how to diet. I became “perfect” at calorie counting. I knew the calorie, carb, fat, and protein counts in literally every food one could imagine. I began measuring my food, avoiding oil and sugar in coffee and “banning” certain foods. I began to regret the binges, but felt I couldn’t control them, and as I began restricting food intake during the day, the binges only got worse.

I was binge-restricting for over a year before I finally told my mom. I asked my mom if we could please see my doctor, and he began to talk to me about the importance of “knowing everything I put in my body.” I felt angry with him, because for the past year, I obsessed over every last thing I put in my body– excluding those things during a binge.

My mom could see that my doctor didn’t understand, and so I began to go to a therapist. I did a lot of cognitive behavioural therapy with her, and it certainly helped my behaviours. Midway through my tenth grade year, I went one month with zero binges, and I stopped seeing my therapist.

However, with the pause on therapy came the urge to binge again. And this time, the guilt and condemnation I felt afterward was unbearable– or so I thought at the time, at least. This time, I forced myself to throw up the food. I binge-purged only a handful of times over the next few months, before the day of the school semi-formal on April 18th.

I woke up really late that day, and ran out the door without breakfast or packing a lunch. After school, I went straight to my friend’s house to get ready, and remember feeling like I really did not want to eat. But I ate two eggs and some strawberries and we went to semi and danced the night away. When I came home I ate a bell pepper.

That night, I realized how proud I felt of myself for eating so little for a whole day. You deserve to feel huger for all your gluttony, something within said. And so, for the next several months, I barely ate anything. My daily regimen became a bite of banana in the morning, half a protein bar or a handful of nuts midday, and a few forkfuls of spinach and, a couple times a week, a bite of chicken breast for “dinner.” I was diagnosed with anorexia nervosa on May 31st, 2013. That day my doctor told me that if I continued in this illness, I would die. I believed that I would rather die than gain a pound. But when the doctor asked me, “What are you gaining from anorexia?” I opened my mouth to reply, but soundless tears came instead. I knew that the illness was selfish, evil, and not doing anything– but all I could hear were the screams that said I needed to be the thinnest.

I was put on the waiting list for an outpatient eating disorders treatment centre, but my starvation levels only worsened the months leading up to my admittance, which was early August of 2013. Looking back, I was incredible blessed to receive help when I did. From May-July, I lost 80 pounds, my period, tons of hair, and my soul. I was fainting constantly, and yet working out in the middle of the night. I remember feeling my slow pulse each night in bed, each breath hurting my ribs. I couldn’t even register that I had gone so quickly from overweight to underweight. I was not happy or living.


The treatment centre implemented a system that got me eating again. My mom was told to take control of my meals, but this process was incredibly stubborn. I screamed and refused food at first, and finally agreed to eat– but only if I could watch her carefully measure out everything I ate. I counted all the calories, and my mom knew that my brain was still only focused on food– and hiding it, throwing it out whenever possible. I would hide food in my shoes, tuck it in my hair, scoop out the inside of bagels from my school lunches that my sister had to supervise. I focused every ounce of my energy on eating the least amount possible. And the practitioners, of course, saw that I was not gaining weight. They would dole out extra calories each week until I relented, crying, that I had been hiding food.

This whole set-up lasted about a year, and I was discharged. Physically healthier, but with virtually no difference in weight. When control of food was turned back to me, I still obsessed over its measurement, constantly planning my meals. The spirit of law and order was still my master, and impacted my every move. In twelfth grade, I experienced some trauma that went hand-in-hand with a relapse. I went back to see my old therapist, the one who had helped me with binge eating disorder.

I stabilized physically between twelfth grade and first year of university– enough, at least, to attend university. I began school at Wilfrid Laurier University, still under the power of a spirit of law and order. But things began to change.

I was enrolled in the Christian Studies program, though a relationship with Jesús had not been the centre of my life for some time. I had never lost the knowledge and conviction that He was my purpose, His glory my delight and His power endless, but I had stopped communicating with Him and chosen not to listen to His voice. Enrolling in this program, I met and was suddenly surrounded by godly people in whom Christ evidently dwelled, and I began to recognize the Holy Spirit speaking to me as I had when I was a young girl. This began my understanding of His conviction over the way I was living in submission to a spirit not of Him; the idol that was the eating disorder; manipulation and control of food.

Along with beautiful friends, I met a man whose heart and spirit I understood and felt more aligned with than I ever had with another person. We began dating midway through my first year, Johnny aware of the eating disorder and patiently expectant and prayerful of Jesús’ provision and guidance. As I began to grow in the Lord and receive the work He was doing in me, I became more and more convicted. My fear of Him resulted in simply more desire for His glory and revelations, and I began to hate the idol of food– but did not know how to stop controlling and focusing on what I ate, did not know how to “just eat.” Even though I knew that it was wrong, it seemed and felt so impossible to stop.


Going into my second year of university, Johnny was attending a university in a new province. Our relationship now long-distance, my appetite decreased at first, and, with a spirit of law and order still operating, this gave leeway to more starvation. I relapsed again, losing more weight and reaching a new low-weight. When Johnny came back for Christmas, it was more obvious to him, and my family, and friends than ever that this disordered way of living needed to go. And I knew too, by the grace of my Lord and Saviour Jesús. I knew I needed help, ultimately His help, to live fully submitted to Him. Johnny and I decided that, for His next semester in Winnipeg, we would communicate only via letters– no texting and no phone calls. I also began to have sessions with some spiritual councillors.

These months have been both the most difficult and most incredible months of my life. The spiritual councelling was exhausting work, but I was determined to uproot the stubborn illness that I was submitted to, whatever it was, for the Lord alone, that He might more fully reside in me so that I could serve Him without any bondage.

Throughout the councelling, the Lord began to reveal memories as I prayed, memories of my childhood submission to law and order, of my first love and unhealthy adoration of cookbooks– all the while convicting me of what needed to go.

I began to have vivid dreams of myself tearing up the rule books I had literally written out in the form of magazines. Food rules that I had abided to a tee for the past five years. Eating without these rules felt so scary, but each day I began to hear more loudly the voice of my Lord, let them go and come to Me.

Finally, on January 29, 2017, I was making oatmeal in my kitchen, carefully measuring it out, having just turned down a lunch date with a friend, when I was overcome by the need to pray. I fell to my knees in worship, crying, Lord, Lord, help me! Take this from me, take this from me, Lord I am so sorry.

My phone has been on silent, and when I stood I saw that I had missed two calls from my dear friend and sister in Christ, Josee, so she had texted me:

Cassie, you are chained by association to anorexia.

Don’t let a Jezebel spirit allow you to keep from pursuing the Lord.

The time is now. Give it up. Talk to Him, and call me if you need.

I knew with every ounce of me that this was the Holy Spirit. Physically and spiritually recognizing His leadership, I knew what needed to happen. I called Josee, told her about the magazines that I knew needed ripping, and Josee began to pray.

And as she prayed, I tore up the magazines, sobbing, and eventually breathing an immense sigh of relief. I knew in that moment that I had just put the eating disorder at the altar. I verbally, confidently repented of the eating disorder, rebuked it in my Saviour’s name, and asked for His forgiveness and protection.

And I knew that I was made new in Christ Jesús.

I was radically healed from what my doctor told me was one the most stubborn eating disorders he’d ever encountered. I do not engage in eating disorder behaviours. I am alert and energetic, have focus in conversations, and know my purpose of living to serve and love the Lord and love others. I see the evil of the spirit of the law and continue to ask the Lord to convict me of any remnants of it in my life or in those around me. And He has given me a song of deliverance of His name– the provision of healing He has for all.

Reunited with Johnny this summer, and living back with my family, I am pursuing the Lord, enjoying food as a simple, necessary blessing, still passionate about cooking but in no way obsessed. I am free from law and order in Jesús Christ– and while I thought it was only food rules protecting me from harm, I now see how Satan was using them, those dead and meaningless food rules, to control and dictate my life negatively, where the spirit of Jesús is one of self-control, selflessness, and serving– abiding by which brings the joy for which we were created.

I am blessed by an amazingly supportive family, friends, and boyfriend, all people God has used in the process of redeeming my life for His glory.  Galatians 6:2 “Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.” I know that I am now more equipped to bear others’ burdens myself by the grace of God alone.

I eat what I am served, I eat when I am hungry or when I feel like it, and I never thought I’d understand how people can do that so simply. Food rules that became such a habit, Jesus healed me from in an instant– while also little by little– and I will never stop singing His praises for this life that is about so much more than food and what goes into my body.

And today, I am smiling with tears in my eyes, thanking God for how good He is to me, knowing that all I can give Him in return is all of me– and I do so with delight.

WHAT I ATE WEDNESDAY: More Clarity, More Spirit

What is more, I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them garbage, that I may gain Christ

Good evening!

I hope you all had a really wonderful day.

Mine has been busy. 

And one of the coolest revelations of the day: God is putting on my heart a Spirit of clarity, the need for it as He draws me nearer, which is in turn literally resulting in by His goodness my better eating.

Praise Him, praise His vast power!

When I woke this morning, I spent a long while in the Word. I breathed and prayed when thoughts went to ah you need to do this and finish up that assignment and figure out lunch and blah blah blah, no, actually, all I “need” to do, ever, is worship and listen to Jesus. By His mighty hand this can come in each and every context, but this morning it certainly didn’t involve that mass intercession of thoughts.

Anyway, breakfast. Right. After prayer I ate a big bowl of baked oats with apple and cacao peanut butter.


The girls and I headed off to Bible class, where we learned more about Paul. I have learned so much in this class, I can’t stress it enough! After Bible, I had a small window of time to eat lunch before my shift, and had a free food item at Starbucks (eating at Starbucks before working at another Starbucks… typical), and so I got a plain oatmeal and topped it with peanut butter, apple, and had a hard boiled egg on the side.


Today’s shift was randomly busy for a Wednesday, and I was on bar for most of it, and man it was so much fun! I got to make so many flat whites and cappuccinos which I now pride myself on making quite well. I adore what I do and feel called to this place. On my break I had a soy cappuccino.

After work, which also involved so many laughs with my amazing co-workers, I headed straight home, where I knew I’d have to miss dance tonight based on the amount of essay writing I still had to do. I ate dinner before getting cracking: I had chicken breast with carrots dipped in pb2, and also a bowl of goat’s Milk yogurt. Oh my random combinations… but so yum. I was sufficiently filled and ready to write my essay on Paul from the Bible, which I prayerfully wrote and really got a lot out of. 

In my relationships, He’s weaving; I feel clarity in my brain as I’m eating more and not even thinking about it; I feel tinge of both pain and awe as I so tenderly feel the Lord’s intercession and grace. No limits to our God. How hilarious that humans try to mould Him for our purposes or speak on Him as an idea rather than a person or put a limit to what and how He works. 

God, draw us into you. MORE, ever more.