Fierce Beauty

by Kim Meeder

  She frowned at me, her polite way of saying she didn’t appreciate my not enjoying her meal and wasting it by tossing it in the trash. She caught me doing this at other times too. But I always had a quick answer. Even though I knew my grandparents were stretched financially, this knowledge was not enough for me to cease my utterly selfish destruction of the meals they offered me. My shell game with food became a daily routine, a clandestine challenge that I actually enjoyed. The simple fact that I could hide my indulgence in plain sight only fed my sense of power.

  No one was going to stop me … and I didn’t want to stop myself. Like the zipper head tapping against my thigh, what started as a “little sin” quietly tapped its way into destroying my heart, my life, and my relationship with my Lord.

  Thankfully, there is no depth of sin we can ever know that is beyond Jesus’ ability to reach when we genuinely cry out to Him.

  It’s not enough for us to recognize our plight. An authentically repentant soul is a person who chooses to actively move away from damaging habits and toward the Lord. We’re not Christians simply because we call ourselves such. For me, being a Christian means turning away from my selfish, self-centered life and turning toward Christ and trusting Him to lead me.

  It wasn’t until I chose to put Jesus’ plan for me above my own ideas that the shackles of my destruction were finally broken. This happened when the rules of my game were irreversibly challenged. When I was nineteen, I married the man of my dreams. Suddenly I could no longer hide in public or carry out my fanatical exercise regimes. I was now forever linked to a handsome, six-foot-three-inch mirror, who reflected how truly selfish and destructive my behavior had become.

  I remember Troy saying during a heated conversation, “What you’re doing is fake. It’s a cheesy, man-made attempt at creating value. It’s simply an excuse to become something you’re not, something God never intended you to be. Your hands, feet, and bones are as big as mine. Of course you’re supposed to weigh more than a kid. What you’re doing isn’t pretty; it’s just selfish!”

  Yet no amount of talking or counsel was going to fix what was broken inside my head. I was certain I was right, and no one on earth was going to convince me that I needed to change.

  And no one on earth did.

  It was the One from heaven who ultimately healed my brokenness. It wasn’t until I chose to look intently at what I’d become that I finally realized my need for a savior. Most of my life I’d known the right answer, but I’d never fully embraced the real answer. It was no longer enough to know about Jesus. I wanted to know Jesus.

  Though I could deflect human counsel by an internal rolling of the eyes, I could not hide from the raw, timeless truth of God’s Word. As I started to read my Bible every day, its power began to systematically dismantle the lies I’d built into my heart, and my destructive habits were revealed. I wasn’t righteous at all; I was selfish … incredibly selfish. By holding on to my obsession to be thin, I was telling everyone—including God—that I loved my appearance more than I loved Him. Once this fact flooded into my heart, I couldn’t deny it, and I was deeply ashamed.

  The change in my life was not instant. I grew by degrees, like a baby learning how to walk. I rose and fell countless times. But because I was honestly allowing Jesus’ freedom and power into my life, I learned that I could always rely on Him to give me the strength to stand up and try again.

  I had chosen to live in a prison of my own construction. Tap by tap, choice by choice, I nearly allowed my “little sins” to steal my life. It was only the truth of God’s Word that released me, restored me, and gave me the answers I so desperately sought. Now I am thankful every day for the freedom I have in Jesus: “And you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.… So if the Son sets you free, you will indeed be free” (John 8:32, 36).

  LITTLE SINS

  Little sins allowed in our lives, over time, will cause great damage.

  All of us have a nemesis that, left unchecked, will destroy us. Our problem is … sin.

  We might think, It’s such a ridiculously small thing. I can stop any time I want to. It doesn’t hurt anybody. It makes me feel good about myself. When it comes to opening our lives to sin, our lists of excuses are long. As my battle with anorexia taught me, how we justify allowing these little “pets” into our lives is irrelevant, especially when compared to what they will do in our hearts once we say yes to them.

  As a child, I heard a rhyme that impacted me so greatly I remember it to this day. It went something like this:

  I heard a knock on the door of my heart’s lonely inn.

  “Who is there?” I called out.

  “Oh, just a little lonely sin.”

  I opened the door and—all HELL came in! (source unknown)

  Whether we acknowledge it or not, all sin destroys. As Scripture reminds us, it is like “a little yeast [that] spreads quickly through the whole batch of dough!” (Galatians 5:9). If something as minuscule and harmless as yeast can permeate and change an entire lump of dough, clearly our sin can do much more. Without a doubt, the garbage we allow into our lives is going to hurt us. Our sin will eventually destroy our lives. It will also devastate those whom we are called to care for. Even worse, it offends our King, because all sin is a form of rebellion against Him.

  The truth is, no heart can rebel against God and draw near to Him at the same time.

  Every believer has experienced times of feeling far from God. Often we inadvertently blame Him for the distance we sense when we’re the ones who’ve continued to allow sin into our lives. This resulting distance isn’t because He’s left us; it’s because we’ve left Him.

  The Lord has said, “These people say they are mine. They honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far away” (Isaiah 29:13). No matter how good we think we are, we can never please God with our outward actions if our inward attitude is not right before Him.

  If we confess our sin to God, like any good parent He allows us to bear the consequences of our waywardness while also adding His deep, abiding joy. God wants a close relationship with each of us. He’s done mighty things to facilitate that. But, friend, we have to want that closeness as well.

  All healing and redemption begin the same way. They start with a decision, a choice to trust Jesus more than our own understanding.

  All those years ago I knew that if I was ever going to stop my self-destructive weight plan, I needed to fully embrace a leader with power greater than my own. My alleged power was a ridiculous joke compared to the eternal authority of God: “For the word of God is full of living power. It is sharper than the sharpest knife, cutting deep into our innermost thoughts and desires. It exposes us for what we really are. Nothing in all creation can hide from him. Everything is naked and exposed before his eyes. This is the God to whom we must explain all that we have done.… Let us cling to him and never stop trusting him” (Hebrews 4:12–14).

  When we allow our faith to rest in ourselves more than in the Lord, we set in motion a collision course with ruin. When I was god of my own life, I nearly destroyed myself. My desire for personal control and acceptance by others became my paltry reward. For that little glittery tiara, I gave up my King’s genuine freedom, love, peace, strength, and joy. It took honest advice from someone I loved and trusted—my husband—to help me begin to see how far I’d separated myself from my Lord.

  As long as we’re breathing, God’s mercy and forgiveness have no expiration date. He never gives up … on any of us.

  In my hollow tunnels of shame and guilt, the truth of God’s Word brought the only genuine hope I knew: “And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from his love. Death can’t, and life can’t. The angels can’t, and the demons can’t. Our fears for today, our worries about tomorrow, and even the powers of hell can’t keep God’s love away. Whether we are high above the sky or in the deepest ocean, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord�
�� (Romans 8:38–39).

  Friend, we do have a problem when we choose to allow little sins to infiltrate our lives and tap away at our ability to mirror the glory and love of our King. If they are left unchecked, it’s only a matter of time before our mirrors break.

  Just as every little sin starts with a choice, so does receiving the hope, forgiveness, and life of our King. There is no place we can go, no damage we can do, no mess we can make that can prevent His redeeming love from finding, healing, and restoring us.

  5

  THE TURTLE

  Plunging into Darkness

  With my eyes shut beneath the faded brim of my ranch hat, I pushed my toes deep into golden, sugary sand. I didn’t want the tops of my feet to scorch under the tropical sun.

  I was on the North Shore of Oahu in Hawaii, lying side by side with Troy, my boyfriend and husband of thirty years. A dear friend had flown us here so that Troy, a licensed pastor, could officiate at the wedding of our friend’s son and future bride. We were on a break from our wedding duties, savoring the beauty of Waimea Bay, one of the world’s renowned surfing hubs. Because it was August, the world-class winter waves were long gone. In their place shimmered a sea of green glass.

  Troy and I held hands and lounged in hammock-shaped holes we’d dug into the sand. We were like two bears hibernating out of season. I was sure that little—short of a tsunami siren—could convince me to haul my backside out of the comfortable and perfectly contoured sand chair I’d just created.

  I was wrong, of course. The explorer’s blood that courses through my veins has a very convincing voice. Regardless of where my ventures lead, I always feel the intrinsic draw to investigate the wild places around me. I’ve learned that every area has its own distinct features, its own unique beauty. During the many trips I’ve made to the Hawaiian Islands, I’ve swum a million miles with my head underwater. Exploring the intricate coastlands with a mask, snorkel, and fins is one of my favorite things on earth. By doing so, I’ve come to a conclusion: this world is just amazing!

  What a God of wonders. We only need to look under the waves to see His vivid canvas filled with colorful diversity, texture, and design. When I’m snorkeling, my mind always bends toward the same question: why would God make an underwater world, which people would rarely see, so astoundingly beautiful? I’m convinced He did it simply because He can! He’s an artist who instills profound splendor into every minute and grand thing He touches.

  His artistry can be seen in the smallest wildflower petals and the highest glacier-sculpted peaks. His glory is crafted into the deepest hues of ocean blue and the broadest canyons and rivers. His awesome power is splashed across the vast purple blanket of stars overhead and captured in the intense color of a child’s eyes. I believe He’s created it all, in part, because He loves beauty.

  Because of how deeply I feel the truths inspired by what I see, discovery of this remarkable world beckons my heart like the voice of a cherished friend. Even while resting, I hear the call.

  As I was lying in the sun on Waimea Bay, I’d already scoped out the narrow vista between the brim of my hat and my chin. Within this one-inch panorama, I could see several rock structures beyond the mouth of the bay. Standing alone in the ocean only a few hundred yards away, they appeared to be all that remained of some ancient lava tubes. With rain clouds forming on the horizon, I knew this might be the last bit of brilliant sunlight we’d have to light our way. The call drew me like north pulls a compass needle. As enticing as my comfortable spot was, my inner explorer’s voice was more so.

  Sand was still firmly stuck to my back as I ducked under the waves to wet my hair. I slicked it back and strapped on my gear. Whether it brands me hard-core or not, this I know for certain: not once have I put my head under the sea and doubted whether it was completely worth it. For me, snorkeling is a wonder every time.

  Troy, not wanting to miss out on an adventure, was soon by my side. Together we were immediately embraced by the cooling rush of fluid weightlessness. Swimming in suspended silence, with every stroke we drew deeper into a world beset with more color than the human eye can fully grasp. In the shallows we were hailed by a virtual rainbow of aquatic life. We streamed by schools of brilliant yellow tangs partially mixed with black-and-white sergeantfish. Nearly every nook featured finned bits of darting confetti. Each grotto staged a lively vignette of life under the sea.

  As we ventured into deeper waters, the color and shape of life intensified into surreal combinations. Heavy parrotfish wore a delicious combination of sherbet colors. Moorish idols traced intricate patterns with their long trailing fins flowing like ribbons behind them.

  Swimming in tandem, Troy and I skirted the outer fringe of a lava flow that dropped away in a rocky cascade of black boulders. All color deepened with the water. Simply looking downward revealed a visual feast of the richest blue.

  Continuing to head toward the islets, we swam through what appeared to be bottomless waters. Doing so always makes me acutely aware of how small I am and how vulnerable I would be if approached by a predator. Hawaiian waters host a great variety of sharks that coexist peacefully with humans. Yet a few species, on rare occasions, will “taste” people. Of this menacing minority, the most deeply feared are tiger sharks. When these amazing predators—which can grow to twenty feet in length and are equipped with renewing rows of teeth—sample a human, the results are usually catastrophic.

  I’ve seen several tigers. For me, their immense beauty is overshadowed by their chilling posture of pure menace. They can be as harmless as game fish, but just knowing they can bite a man in half inspires primal fear. I understand that nearly all encounters with sharks occur in shallow waters. Nevertheless, it’s always the dark, deep waters that make my toes curl.

  Seeing the flanks of the islets begin to materialize out of the heavy cobalt was both an ominous and welcome sight. The underwater landscape was dramatic, relating a history of fierce volcanic upheavals and violent collisions of molten lava with the sea.

  Without warning, the brilliant folds of deep blue darkened into dismal, foreboding layers of dark gray. Unfortunately, my observation of the changing weather was correct. We were suddenly beset by a rollicking shower. We rounded the outside of the farthest lava dome, which was rimmed in pure blackness as the bottom plunged to depths beyond our comprehension. Together we began to cross the small distance between the two rocky zeniths.

  At that moment, far beneath us in the darkness, a moving shadow caught my eye.

  I reached out and squeezed Troy’s hand. He quickly looked in the direction that I pointed. Immediately I felt him stiffen with alertness.

  We hovered in the soft drone of pouring rain. The dark figure was moving directly below us and traveling in the same general direction. Slowly it began to rise out of the shadowy depths in a vague line in front of us.

  I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until I recognized the form and exhaled in a rush. It was only a green sea turtle!

  Though I’ve swum with hundreds of turtles, each is still a special gift. I could see by the distinctively long, thick tail that this was a young male. The juvenile was surfacing for a breath of air. Turtles are usually shy, so I thought it strange that this one seemed unaware of our proximity. As he drew closer, I saw why. He didn’t see us. The truth was, he couldn’t.

  When the turtle came more fully into view, deep sorrow gripped my heart. An enormous tangle of fishing line was wrapped around his head and front flippers. An additional wad trailed from this mass, under his carapace and out into silver lines a half-dozen feet behind him. Snarled among the heavy lines were the remnants of several dilapidated foam floats. One was tightly knotted between his right eye and right flipper. Perhaps because of repeated contact with the float, his right eye was completely white and unseeing.

  There was more. The turtle was also afflicted with numerous tumors, some the size of softballs around the areas where the fishing line had contact with his skin. It appeared this beleagu
ered little guy had been carrying his burden for quite some time. The lines on either side of his head had sawed down nearly two inches into his flesh. These areas were white with what I assumed was infection.

  Held motionless by sorrow, I watched him surface not six feet away from me. Even though every movement must have been painful, he was still trying to live. With his small snout lifted high in the falling rain, he drew in one deep breath after another.

  My mind filled with questions. Why, God? In the vast Pacific, on this day, in this place, at this exact moment, why would You guide this dying turtle to me? What can I do? What can I learn? What can I—My thoughts were cut short by near-electric realization. Suddenly I knew I was in this place, at this time, with this turtle, for one reason—to save it.

  Here, near the surface and away from the protection of hiding places in the coral far below, the turtle was vulnerable. He would remain close by for only a few minutes, if not seconds. I didn’t have much time.

  Usually turtles will tolerate humans in their proximity only if there’s no overt or aggressive move toward them. Because the turtle had rotated to view us with his seeing eye, he knew we were there. Somehow I would have to casually swim closer to the turtle long enough for him not to view my presence as a threat. In a very short time, I needed to show him I wasn’t interested in harming him.

  I told Troy of my plans and asked for his help. He agreed to gently block the opposite side of the turtle to keep him circling as long as possible. By doing so, we all slowly swam together. Though I was on his blind side, the young turtle knew I was with him. He swung his ailing head in small circles, trying to locate exactly where I was. After several moments he seemed convinced I was not going to hurt him and allowed me to move closer.

  I knew I would get only one chance to free this little guy, and I needed to make sure I was in the best possible position. We were running out of time. The turtle swung his head away from me. He was already beginning his slow descent back into the depths. This was it.