This excerpt was adapted from The Jesus I Wish I Knew in High School: Asian American Edition © 2024 by Rooted Ministry. Used with permission of New Growth Press. May not be reproduced without prior written permission. To purchase this and other helpful resources, please visit newgrowthpress.com.
In my junior year of high school, I began to feel guilty about eating. I wish I could just stop myself, I journaled. I was tired of feeling dissatisfied with my body, certain that if I could just exercise a little self-control to lose a little weight, I would finally achieve the elusive perfect body that I longed for.
Yet after only a few weeks of ruthless restriction, I found myself trapped in a full-blown eating disorder. For the rest of my family, seeing me cut out foods that I once found delight in eating signaled a drastic and concerning change. Meals became points of conflict as I told my mom over and over that my preferences had merely changed, that I wanted less rice, that I was already full—paper-thin lies that only barely hid my eating disorder. My family could see that something was wrong, but as I starved myself, I felt that my life was finally going to be right.
Insecurities about my body and my appearance had been mounting for years. As I became more self-conscious of my figure and of how the world would perceive me, I became increasingly convinced that if I could just be thinner, I would look more like the girls on my Instagram feed who seemed to have such effortlessly beautiful lives. I hated the self-loathing that accompanied every comparison, and I wanted to do some- thing about it.
As a driven student, I had learned that hard work and delayed gratification were the ingredients of academic success. Why should losing weight be any different? So I set goals, made a plan, and committed. At the time, I believed that I was taking control of my own life, mastering myself, and becoming disciplined. I would make myself the person I wanted to be.
And in fact, as I set and obeyed strict food rules for myself, I did feel like I was in control. The body—and hence, the life—I always wanted was finally within reach. I found a sense of satisfaction in denying myself the pleasure of eating. I com- pared my eating habits to others’ and congratulated myself for staying away from “bad” foods more successfully. Each time I turned down food or chose not to eat, I saw myself as a model of self-control and discipline.
Yet as I restricted more and more food, I became increasingly controlled by fear. I was plagued by the constant, irrational worry that eating this—whether a slice of cake, an Oreo, or a banana—would ruin my plans and end in failure. These fears were inescapable. Even when I began to face the fact that starving myself would endanger my health, I was more afraid of gaining weight than of even dying. I was certain that renouncing my eating disorder would mean giving up the one chance I had of becoming beautiful and happy. Despite barreling down a path of self-destruction, I didn’t want to recover, and I didn’t know how to make myself want something I feared.
Although I prided myself on my self-control, discipline, and independence—virtues that were supposed to be the key to success—I failed miserably at rescuing myself from my obsession with losing weight. The more I tried to control my eating habits, the more my eating habits controlled me. I couldn’t stop.
In the midst of this shame, fear, and despair, I somehow found the courage to pray. I wasn’t brave enough to ask the Lord to save me from my eating disorder. I was afraid that he would answer my prayer and take away the idol that had given me a sense of control. I was too afraid to ask the Lord for recovery.
But in desperation and trembling, I asked him to make me want recovery—to make me want to be free.
The Jesus I Wish I Knew
The Lord proved his faithfulness to be the God who “is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18). The Jesus I came to know—the Jesus of the Bible—did not ask me to just try harder or to figure out how to fix myself. All he asked of me was that I come to him in honest confession of my sin, trusting his power to save, not my own.
In my eating disorder, I believed that my success and happiness depended on my ability to say no to food. I thought I would be happy if only I could be strong enough to master the needs of my body. My biggest problem in life was that I was too weak to resist my hunger. I would be saved by my own strength; I would be my own savior. Yet my false version of self-control and self-denial led only to despair and hopelessness. Controlling my eating did not make me any happier or stronger.
As I came to Jesus in my brokenness, I saw just how sinful my desire to control my own life really was. Restricting my eating in an effort to be thin had made me the opposite of strong. I was utterly weak, unable to rescue myself from a destructive path. And in the face of this weakness, my self-control and discipline failed. My weakness could only ever be overcome by a Savior far stronger than me—the Savior we find in Christ, for “while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly” (Romans 5:6).
Yes, I was far weaker than I had ever thought possible. Such a realization was frightening. But I found ever sweeter depths of grace in Jesus, who had taken my sin and weakness on himself in his death and given me his complete righteousness. My only hope for healing was to forsake all hope in my own strength and to cast myself on him.
It was in my weakness, at my lowest point, that the Lord showed me his overflowing, undeserved grace. He answered my desperate prayer slowly but surely, giving me courage to confess my struggle to my mom, conviction of the sinfulness of my ways, and the desire to surrender my life and my body to his care. I began to find hope in his promises to sanctify and joy in his good design for food. While recovery was a long battle, God used it to grow my trust in his provision, kindness, and gentle strength.
The Jesus I Want You To Know
You may be tempted to believe that you were made to succeed on your own strength. The lie goes something like this: if you don’t have the looks, reputation, and self-esteem that you want, you’re not trying hard enough. Believing this led me away from Jesus and into the hopeless despair of my own sinfulness. But we were not made to be strong on our own. Jesus calls us to depend on his strength—and on one another. One of the best ways we recognize our neediness is by asking for help from someone such as a parent, a pastor, or a trained counselor.
Hear what Jesus said to the apostle Paul—and what he says to you and to me in our weakness: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9). Do you feel weak, vulnerable, and insufficient? Do you see yourself continually failing as you compare yourself to others? I have good news for you: the Jesus I know is the friend of sinners. He is the kind of Savior who delights to deliver the weak and unsteady, the hopeless and despairing, the ashamed and, yes, the sinful.
Even now, Jesus calls to all who will listen, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:28–30).
Devotional Questions
Read 2 Corinthians 12:6–10.
1. According to 2 Corinthians 12, what is Paul’s attitude toward weakness?
2. The author described her struggle with an eating disorder, showing how it revealed her inability to save herself from physical distress. Think about some areas in your own life in which you’re trying to exert control or succeed in your own strength. Take some time in prayer to give each one to God.
3. On the cross, Jesus turned what looked like weakness into strength as he conquered sin and death forever. Believing this, can you say with Paul “I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities?” Ask God to help you see how he is making you strong in your weakness.
The gospel (noun): The good news of God’s grace and redemption for sinners through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. It is the primary message of the Bible and of Christianity.
What this means for you: When you trust the gospel, you can live freely before a God who delights in you. Because of Jesus, there is nothing you could do (and nothing you could fail to do) that will make God love you any less.
