Mom returned home from her Friday night community group with red-rimmed eyes and a dribbly nose. As a pastor’s wife, my mother had heard many criticisms from church members before. But that night, the words hit the most tender spot: A church member had told her within earshot of everyone, “Just look at the state of your daughter. Isn’t it obvious? God is disciplining the pastor for hidden sins. He needs to repent!”
I am that pastor’s daughter. At the time, I was a college dropout living at home with my parents, struggling and failing to recover from anorexia. At 5 feet 6 inches, I hovered between 50 and 60 pounds, between hell and death. For years, my parents hid that night’s incident from me, but I was already flagellating myself with self-accusations: “The pastor’s daughter, anorexic? You’ve not only failed your family—you’ve shamed God!”
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