Faded Denim: Color Me Trapped (23 page)

He laughs. “Okay, that sounds like the old Emily.”

The old Emily
, I’m thinking later on as I take a shower. Who was that girl really? I’m vigorously scrubbing to remove the lake scum that I picked up during my little dip, shampooing my hair, which I’m pretty sure smells like dead fish. But do I really want to go back to the old Emily? I mean, a part of me does. A part of me can remember a girl who was carefree and happy, but I think it was really several years ago. And in all fairness to me, it was before I put on the extra weight and before my dad started nagging me about it.

But as I towel dry, I can remember a happy era—a time when I never really thought much about my appearance or anyone else’s for that matter. I didn’t study myself in the mirror, worrying about the shape of my body. I simply lived and enjoyed life. And I didn’t freak about what I was wearing or whether my hair looked cool or not. I just lived my life and had a good time. And, okay, I guess I do miss that girl, and I’m afraid I’ll never find her again. I’m pretty sure that she’s gone for good, left behind somewhere that I can’t return to, just like every other twelve-year-old girl once we start to grow up. Even so, I wish I could go back there. I wish I didn’t have to grow up.

Life settles into a very cool routine during the next few days. To my relief and amazement, I actually become friends with a lot of the campers. And by the end of the first week, I know most of them by name. I also realize that their inner strengths, their perseverance, and especially their childlike delight in simple pleasures—all these
qualities have made an indelible impression on me. Despite these kids’ challenges, their handicaps, their setbacks, they are not giving up. I want to be like them.

Just two days before camp ends, I am deeply touched by something. Campfire has just come to an end, and I’m standing on the perimeter, in the darkness, just watching the others. As usual, there are some kids struggling with crutches, or limping along, or manipulating their wheelchairs. But with the help of their patient counselors, they slowly make their way over the less-than-smooth trail. I know it’s not easy because I’ve helped some of them myself. But these kids don’t give up. They just keep trekking along, doing their best, and there’s very little complaining.

And as I stand there watching, it just hits me—like this humongous aha moment—what a complete fool I’ve been! What a total imbecile! Instead of
thanking
God for my two strong legs that are able to run and jump and climb, I whined about my “thunder thighs” and “thick” ankles. Instead of rejoicing that I have two capable arms that can lift and carry and balance my body, I complained about the flab that hung beneath them. I have been totally and unbelievably ungrateful for everything. Like a completely spoiled brat, I took my healthy body for granted. I criticized it and despised it. With crystal clarity, I know that I do
not
deserve the good health that God has mysteriously blessed me with. Not only have I been unappreciative of my body and all its amazing working parts, I tortured it by overexercising, and I put my entire health at serious risk by starving myself. What on earth was wrong with me? As I watch these kids with their less-than-perfect bodies, I feel so thoroughly ashamed of myself. I mean, how could I have been so stupid and shallow and self-centered?

“Hey, Emily,” calls a voice from behind.

I turn to see Pastor Ray coming over to the sidelines to join me. I’m thankful for the darkness, because I’m pretty sure that tears are about to fall. “What’s up?” I ask in a rather gruff voice.

“You okay?” he says when he gets closer.

I consider just brushing this moment off, but then I realize that it’s too big to ignore. “I was just thinking about something,” I begin sort of cautiously. “Like how I’ve taken my health for granted, but then I realize how others have it really hard, you know? I guess I was feeling pretty guilty. Kind of convicted, you know. Like I have so much and then I start whining about stupid things and . . . and . . .” Okay, now I really am crying.

He puts an arm around my shoulder and gives me a gentle squeeze. “Hey, I think we all feel like that sometimes, Emily. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

Well, I’m not so sure that he completely gets what I’m saying, but I don’t want to waste his time by unloading everything on him at the moment.

“The reason I wanted to talk to you was to ask a favor,” he says now.

“Sure, what?”

“Well, tomorrow’s the last day of camp, and I always really pray about who gives their testimony, especially on that night, and God is always faithful to show me the right person. And guess what?”

Okay, I am fully aware that I haven’t given a testimony yet. But then not all the counselors have. I mean, there is only so much time, and this camp has a lot of counselors. “What?” I ask, fearing the worst.

“God showed me that it’s going to be you, Emily.”

“Me?” I say in a voice that sounds like a sick mouse.

“Yep.” Then he pats me on the back. “And you’ll be great.” Then
without giving me a chance to protest or decline or simply run, he jogs on ahead to help a boy who’s having difficulty getting his wheelchair over a bump.

I’m so shocked that I sit down on one of the log benches. I lean forward, putting my head in my hands and desperately wonder how I can get out of this.

“What’s up?” asks Brett as he comes over and sits down beside me.

“Huh?”

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, lifting my head up. “Just in shock.” And then I tell him about Pastor Ray’s “favor.”

Brett laughs. “Can’t argue with God, Emily. If he told Pastor Ray that you need to share your testimony, you better do it.”

“Yeah, right.”

He pats me on the back now. “Hey, you’ll be great. And if it makes you feel any better, I’ll be praying for you.”

“Thanks a lot.”

He laughs again. “I can’t wait for campfire tomorrow.”

“Yeah, right. Me too,” I toss back with sarcasm.

So for the next twenty hours or so, I am a complete basket case. Oh, I’ve prayed. First I asked God to get me out of this, but then I realized that’s probably not right. So then I asked him to give me something totally cool to say. I even attempted to write some things down. The trash basket in my room is overflowing with all my brilliant ideas. So far, I’ve come up with nada, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to make a total fool of myself.

It’s hard to focus on the music at campfire, but somehow I manage to get through my parts. And once again, we perform Harris’ song and I do the solo. And, as usual, the kids really love it. Then we
sit down with the kids and watch as some of the counselors do what I’m sure is a really funny skit, although I can’t even watch it—all I can do is pray that God will do something! Like give me something to say or maybe even zap me off the face of the planet. Or maybe an asteroid could fall nearby, distracting everyone while I make a fast escape. Or how about a forest fire? I’ve heard that the fire danger is high right now. But finally the skit is done, and we do a couple more songs, and then it’s time for me to stand up and say something. I barely hear Pastor Ray’s introduction, but I sense him looking at me now, and Brett, who’s sitting beside me, gives me a strong nudge with his elbow.

I stand up and go over to where Pastor Ray is waiting for me. He gives me a big grin and a pat on the back and I realize it’s up to me to say something. I shoot up one more help-me-God prayer, and then I begin.

“I’m supposed to give my testimony tonight, but I’ve been thinking that it’s not really that interesting.” I pause, and some faces look a little confused. “Okay, I’ll tell you this much: I accepted Jesus into my heart about five years ago. And it was totally cool and I’m really glad that I did it, but what I want to tell you about is what’s been happening with me lately.” And then I confess to them about how I allowed myself to become anorexic this summer, going into the details of how I starved myself and really pushed the limits. I told them how I didn’t think my body—the body that God blessed me with—was good enough. “And that drove this wedge between God and me,” I admit. “And because of that, I started falling away from him. And I quit praying as much, and consequently I made myself completely miserable.” There are tears coming down my cheeks as I continue. And I don’t hold much back. In fact, I make myself sound so horrible that I feel certain these kids are going to hate me by the time I’m done.

“I can’t believe how self-centered and stupid I’ve been this past summer,” I tell them, wiping my nose on the sleeve of my sweatshirt. “And you guys are the ones who really opened my eyes these past couple of weeks. I’ve been watching you and seeing what a great attitude you have toward life and your own challenges and situations. You guys are really my heroes,” I blurt out, “and if I could be just a little bit like you, I would be so happy. I can tell that you guys are really trusting God with your lives, and I can see that you want to live the kind of lives that will honor God and give him glory, and that’s what I want too. I am challenged by you campers, and I’ve learned so much from you, and I’m so thankful that you were all here to help me see this. I don’t even know how to thank you for all that you’ve taught me.” I glance at the other counselors now. “And I think all you campers deserve a great big applause.” And then I start clapping, as do the other counselors, and then they stand up and we all give these campers a great big standing ovation. Then I go and sit down.

After that, Pastor Ray comes up and starts to give his message, almost echoing the very things that I’ve said—so much so that it feels like maybe God really did show Pastor Ray that I was supposed to share tonight. And when it’s all done, I really think it was the best campfire ever. Then we get up and lead the kids in a couple more songs, and as I’m playing and singing, I’m thinking this is the closest thing to heaven that I have ever experienced. And I can’t believe how happy I feel. It’s like I’m going to burst from it. How do you contain that kind of joy?

M
Y CAMP “HIGH” LASTED ALMOST A WEEK AFTER
I
GOT HOME
. N
OT TO SAY THAT
I’ve been depressed since then. It’s more like I just came back down to earth. But, even so, I still feel happier than I’ve felt all summer. And I feel that a little bit of the old Emily is back now—like I might survive myself after all.

To my surprise I only gained one pound at camp, and none since I got home, although I no longer weigh myself daily. I don’t quite understand why I’m not starting to put all my old weight back on, since I’ve been eating pretty much like a normal person for three weeks now, but Leah keeps telling me it’s because I’m getting regular exercise and, she says, “As long as you stick with it and keep eating healthy—which means no going back to your old junk-food ways—you might actually keep the weight off.” Still, I’m not so sure. I mostly try not to dwell on it. And when I do start freaking out, I just use that as a reminder to read my Bible and pray. I’ve been doing both of those things a lot lately.

“Still, it’s hard,” I admit to her. “And sometimes I get scared that I could fall back into it.” It’s Labor Day, and school starts tomorrow, and somehow Leah talked me into going with her to visit Becca today. And just thinking about Becca and her struggle with bulimia reminds me of how easily I got pulled into that bizarre lifestyle only
a few months ago.

“Just say no to anorexia,” she says as she stops at the red light.

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” I assure her, “but it’s still a daily thing. And I still get tempted to skip meals sometimes, like yesterday when my favorite pair of jeans felt a little tight. And I have to avoid mirrors when I’m obsessing over my weight.”

“Well, anorexia and bulimia are addictive behaviors,” she says as she parks her car on the street in front of the clinic. “Becca said that she couldn’t kick the habit without an actual intervention.”

Leah already told me about how Becca’s family and friends confronted her while she was still in the hospital, encouraging her to get specific treatment for her eating disorder. I guess I was a little surprised that she actually agreed to it. “And so she’s really okay with it? Being in treatment, I mean?”