Faded Denim: Color Me Trapped (21 page)

“Oh.” I nod. “Very cool.”

He shrugs. “We’ll see, huh?”

So then we play for dinner. And tonight, I feel a little more relaxed and find myself actually looking at the campers a bit more as I play and sing. But I have to admit, if only to myself, that I’m still not comfortable around them. I feel really sad, like why did God allow all these problems and birth defects and illnesses and stuff? But I try not to focus on this as we do our songs, since we’re supposed to smile and look happy. And I suppose it’s encouraging to see how much these kids appreciate the music. It really does seem to be a highlight for them. And I gotta think that’s pretty cool.

Then it’s time to eat again, and I tell myself to just chill—that I can do this, one bite at a time. But, as it was before, each bite is still a challenge, and I can’t get rid of the nagging thought that I am putting on weight every time I swallow. It’s an obsession. But finally, I think that I’m done. There’s still food on my plate, but it’s better than I did at lunchtime.

“Gonna eat that?” asks Brett, pointing to my untouched blackberry cobbler topped with whipped cream.

“You want it?” I offer.

He just frowns at me. “Come on, Emily,” he urges me quietly. “It’s really good and berries are supposed to be healthy. Try it.”

So I pick up my spoon and take a spoonful, careful to get only
the dark berries—not the crust or whipped cream. I hesitantly taste the berries, and to my surprise they actually do taste good. And so I eat another bite. Before long I have eaten all the berries from my cobbler, leaving the crust and cream behind.

“Not bad,” I say to Brett.

“Not bad,” he says back. And I notice Harris watching us as if he’s curious as to what kind of game we’re playing here. And that’s when I remember the verse he read to us before rehearsal today. I do remember the reference was James 5:16, but I can’t remember the exact words—except that it had to do with confessing your sins to each other and praying for each other and, consequently, getting healed. I couldn’t believe how hard it hit home with me, although I didn’t say anything at the time. The reason Harris shared this particular verse, he said, was because he wanted the worship team to get close, close enough that we could confess things and pray for each other. “It’s how God is going to be glorified by our music.” But after he said this we all got very quiet, and maybe even self-conscious. Then he just prayed and we started to practice. But it’s like that verse has been haunting me ever since.

“I’m anorexic,” I blurt out to Harris and Nick.

Brett looks slightly surprised by my admission, and
I’m
actually shocked. But Harris and Nick just look at me, and I can’t read their expressions.

“But I’m trying to stop,” I continue. “Maybe I’m a recovering anorexic.”

“That’s cool,” says Harris. “Better to be recovering than stuck in it.”

“Yeah,” agrees Nick. “I’m a recovering alcoholic.”

Well, this is pretty stunning to me, but I try not to show it. “Anyway,” I say, “because of the verse you shared today, Harris, about
confessing stuff . . . well, I kinda knew that it applied to me.”

He smiles. “Cool. I was getting worried that maybe I’d misheard God on that one. But I got this really strong impression that I was supposed to read that verse, that it was for the welfare of the whole group.”

“Well, you really nailed me on it. I mean, I’d already confessed it to Brett. He and I were prayer partners at a camp last June. We were both counselors and both had these problem kids. So I asked him to be my prayer partner with this too, since I’m still really struggling with it—kind of like a spiritual battle, you know? I hadn’t really planned on telling anyone else until you hit me with that verse. So I just thought I might as well confess it to you guys, just get the ugly out into the open.”

Nick laughs. “I like that—get the ugly out into the open.”

“And then you find you’re not the only one with problems,” says Harris.

“Yeah, that’s kinda comforting.”

“Well, I’m really glad you told us,” says Harris. “Now we can all be supportive of you.” He glances at my picked-over dessert now. “Hey, you gonna finish that off or not?”

I laugh. “Hey, I think I did pretty good to just get the berries down.”

“Cool,” he says as he reaches his spoon across the table and scoops up my leftover whipped cream. “I’ll take care of it for you then.”

Nick laughs, then pats his rotund belly. “Better you than me, dude.”

I just hope that I’m not going to start resembling Nick now. I mean, I may
think
I’m beating this thing, but I can tell there’s still a huge part of me that’s still dragging its heels. I know the battle isn’t over. In fact, it’s probably barely begun.

I
CALL
L
EAH THE NEXT DAY TO REPORT MY PROGRESS
. S
HE SEEMS QUIETER THAN
usual, like maybe she’s feeling down, so I blab on and on, filling up the dead spaces as I tell her about my life and how I actually asked Brett for prayer support, then even confessed my anorexia to the rest of the worship team. Finally I pause to take a breath.

“Good for you.” Her voice sounds tired and far away, and I can tell that something’s not right.

“Leah, are you okay?”

“It’s Becca,” she says in a serious tone. “She’s in the hospital.”

“What happened?”

“She’s bulimic
, Emily!” The way she announces this reveals how shocking she’s finding this news. “Can you believe it?”

“Actually, I figured she was.”

“You knew?”

“Well, I saw, or rather heard, her hurling in the bathroom one day last spring. And when she came out, she seemed perfectly fine. Happy even. I kind of figured that’s what was up.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I guess I thought you knew. I mean, isn’t it kinda the norm with a lot of models who want to stay skinny? Like in Chicago,” I remind her. “You’d have to have been blind and deaf not to know that a
bunch of those girls were either anorexic or bulimic or both.”

“I had my suspicions.”

“Well, I had
actual
conversations, Leah. They even gave me tips on how to do it. That’s probably when I first crossed the line—stopped eating and started overexercising, you know. I just followed their example. Although I assured myself at the time that I would never take it as far as some of them had. I mean, some of those girls were like walking skeletons. Remember that Saundra chick from Atlanta?”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me. Anyway, back to Becca. She’s damaged her esophagus from throwing up so much. And she probably has ulcers too. But that’s not even why she was admitted.”

“Why?”

“LaMar said she had a seizure while they were doing a fitting for a back-to-school fashion show. They had to call an ambulance and everything. By the time they got her to the hospital, her electrolytes were really a mess. She could’ve died. It didn’t take long for them to find out she was bulimic. I guess her parents are totally freaking.”

“That’s gotta be hard. But why did LaMar call
you
about it? Not that you don’t care, but it’s not like you and Becca were exactly close or anything.”

“Because Becca can’t do the fashion show now and LaMar really wants me to take her place.”

“Are you?”

“I don’t know . . . I’d already told him that I’m kinda done with that now.”

“So you’re really finished with fashion then? Seriously?” Okay, part of me is glad, since it seems like modeling stuff was always taking Leah away from me, but part of me feels bad for her. I mean, I know how much she loved it and how good she was at it. It’s just
that the breast-reduction surgery sort of took her over the edge. Kind of the way anorexia took me over the edge.

“I don’t know, Emily. I told LaMar that I’ll pray about it, but he wants a decision by tomorrow morning. I mean, I have no doubts that obsessing over fashion and looks is totally wrong. And I know it can really mess you up. But Aunt Cassie keeps telling me—and you know she
is
a Christian—that fashion in itself isn’t sinful. It’s just that it can get out of control. But she also keeps saying that the industry could really use some strong Christian influence, that it might even help to bring back some balance—as well as clean it up, you know. I guess she’s kinda got me thinking, and now I’m not so sure.”

“You’re right to pray about it, Leah,” I finally say. “And I’ll be praying for you too. And when you put it like that, I can actually imagine God using you in the fashion industry. But you’d have to be strong enough to speak out and not fall into the gotta-be-perfect trap again.”

“As well as not lure anyone else into it either.” She sighs. “I still feel kinda responsible for you, Emily. Like if I hadn’t started that stupid swan project, well, maybe you wouldn’t have become anorexic.”

“Hey, that was my choice, Leah. You never encouraged me to diet that way. Sure, I might’ve been jealous of your looks, but that’s not your fault. I just took things too far. I wanted results too fast. I was stupid.”

“More and more, I really am seeing it’s all about balance. I mean, I don’t think God wants us to go around looking like crud and letting our bodies get all out of shape. But as soon as we start focusing on only the outside, it really messes with our minds and our spirits. Don’t you think?”

Considering my experiences this summer, with my fuzzy thinking and flimsy prayer life and all that, it’s obvious to me now.

“I think you’re right on, Leah, and I wish I could say that I was living with that kind of balance in my own life, but the truth is, I’m not. Yet. I just hope that I can find that place. Honestly, I get so scared sometimes that I won’t really escape this—that I’ll go back to anorexia just to keep the weight off. That’s how badly I
don’t
want to be fat. I want it so much that I’m worried I could actually sin to get it—and it’s freaky.”

“Just take it one day at time,” she says in a calm voice. “Better yet, just one meal at a time.”

“How about one bite at a time?”

“Yeah, whatever works for you.”

“Well, at least I’ve got a support system here. I’m pretty sure these guys aren’t going to let me get away with much.”

She laughs. “That’s so perfect. Three worship-leader dudes keeping their eyes on you. God really does work in mysterious ways.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty weird if you think about it.”

“And he really does have our best interests at heart.”

“Too bad we don’t always get it.”

“Well, pray for me about the fashion show, Em. And I’ll keep praying for you to beat this thing.”

“Thanks. And I’ll be praying for you.”

“I wish you were here to go visit Becca with me. I have no idea what to say to her, but I feel like I should go.”

“You’ll be fine, Leah. Just love her. You’re good at that. And that’s probably what she needs more than anything right now. I mean, I know how it feels to put your body at risk for the sake of
beauty
.”

“You and me both.”

After I hang up I start practicing the song that Harris wants me
to sing. I can’t believe how amazing the lyrics are—it’s like it was written for me. It’s about how we can’t do anything on our own, how we are totally helpless without God, but how we sometimes think we don’t need him, that we can get by, and then we fall flat on our faces. But that’s when he picks us up and cleans us off. Anyway, I sing the song again and again, and by rehearsal time, I know it by heart—I mean
really by heart.

“I love your song,” I tell Harris as we start warming up.

“Cool.”

“I mean, seriously, did you write it for me?”

He laughs. “I wrote it for me . . . and everyone.”

“Well, it’s awesome.”

“So you want to do the solo?”

“I’m not sure about that. You be the judge.”

And so we go through practice and finally get to that song and I sing the lyrics and when we’re done, all three guys are just staring at me.

“That was incredible,” says Harris finally.

“Amazing,” says Nick, and he actually wipes a tear from the corner of his eye.

Brett just shakes his head. “I’m speechless.”

“Wanna do it tonight?” asks Harris. “For campfire?”

“Do you think we’re ready?”

“Might as well give it a shot,” says Harris.

“And I’m guessing that if it’s a hit, and it probably will be,” adds Nick, “the kids will want to hear it again and again.”

So we do the song at the end of campfire following Harris’ testimony, which is really amazing. I never would’ve guessed that Harris’ dad was a drug addict and his mom an alcoholic. I mean, this guy seems so solid, so grounded. But, as he tells everyone, it wasn’t
always like that. He’s had way more than his fair share of struggles. My trials pale in comparison.

Everyone seems really touched by his song, and when Pastor Ray gets up and gives an invitation for people to dedicate, or rededicate, their hearts to Jesus, it seems that everyone responds. And when he leads us all in the salvation prayer, there are tears flowing freely. It’s an amazing night. It’s like we came and did our thing, and God showed up—in a really big way.