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  • Kelly Price

The Beginning




On June 9, 2019, I wrote a blog titled “How I Came to be Anorexic.” If you haven’t had a chance to read it yet, you can go to my website www.thebravestthing.org and take a look if you like. That post was my attempt to share with my friend Marc, with my readers and with others who might be struggling a layman’s explanation as to how Anorexia came to be a part of my story. It helped me a great deal to be able to explain it in such an informal, conversational way. It led to a better understanding of myself, of my disease, and ultimately the root issue of what has caused me to struggle and stumble and fumble and fall so many times and in so many ways, quite magnificently over the course of the first half of my life.

That root, as I shared in “How I Came to be Anorexic,” was the deep down darkest, rawest, most broken part of who I am. The part of me that couldn’t see, didn’t want to believe, wasn’t able to comprehend that I was actually beautiful. The part of me that couldn’t fathom, didn’t accept, wasn’t able to understand that I am actually loved—my God Shaped Hole.

I have one. You have one too. Whether you see it yet or not, whether you’ve come to believe in Him or He has revealed Himself to You, it’s there. Every human being that walks this earth with breath in his lungs and blood in his veins has a void deep, deep inside that yearns to be filled, that questions his existence that begs to be quenched. And we all stumble and plod along through days and weeks and moments and hours of this thing we call life trying to somehow, someway, fill the hole, explain the mystery, find the answer all the while bumping and nudging and brushing up against other broken, beautiful humans trying to do the same. It is exactly the same for each of us although it looks very different from person to person. It is the same story since the beginning of time and will be to the end of days although some will accept and some will deny it.



It is kintsukuroi. “The art of repairing pottery with gold or sliver lacquer and understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken.”

It is the way the Creator has made us, molded us, broken us and allowed us to be shattered and then repaired in order that we might cry out to Him in all our splintered, shameful suffering seeking to be made whole. It is what draws us to Him and leads us home even when we’ve wandered long and lonely, lost and longing.

It is the story of the prodigal son, the other son, it’s your story and mine and it’s all a part of the Greatest Story Ever Told! It is the story of Jesus, the story of Creation, the story of heaven and eternity and it continues to unfold before us. And we are the luckiest, most blessed, the chosen few who get to experience life on this spectacular planet earth He has gifted to us for now until such a time as He comes again to make all things New.

And so I am very grateful for my brokenness, because I believe He has used it to make me even more beautiful than if I’d remained untouched. Although I wouldn’t have asked for it, wouldn’t have written it in quite the same way, I might have left out some of the ugly chapters, the darker pieces, the scary unknowns and the embarrassing exposures, I am thankful. I am thankful for every single messy, blistered, roughed up, glossed over, filled in, well worn, shiny new, wrinkled, strong, unkempt, perfumed, curated, passed down, busted up, inherited, gleaned and gleaming broken bit of my story. Because it is exactly how He intended me to be from the very Beginning—broken and beautiful, imperfect and in desperate need of a perfect Savior. And God saw all that He had made, indeed He saw me, and it was very good. I am beautiful. I am loved. I am strong. I am enough. I am whole. I am worthy. I am His.

Yahweh.

Emmanuel.

God with us.