In a few weeks, I will have been
sick for six months. Six months of constant pain. Six months of not being able
to work. Six months of no diagnosis. And it’s that-six months of no
diagnosis-that is perhaps the most daunting aspect of these past months and
every new day I wake up in pain. Not being able to know what’s happening to me
leaves me with many questions, no answers, and all the time in the world to
think about my uncertain future. No diagnosis leaves me wondering whether or
not I will get better, or if this is degenerative and how much worse I will get.
I wonder if there will ever be a
day when I don’t feel pain-not just a day of decreased pain, but one where I
can joyfully say I am pain free. I wonder: will I ever be able to walk
unassisted again? Will I be able to run again? Have some semblance of
independence again?
I wonder if my relationship will
stand up to the strain of this,
whatever it is. I wonder if the uncertainty, the caretaking, the complete
abandon of normalcy will become too much. And while my relationship has yet to
show signs of overwhelming strain, I wonder if it’s fair to ask someone to bear
this with me. I wonder if I am cruelly selfish to rob someone’s youth in this
way.
And then I wonder, should my
relationship beat the odds and survive this, will I be able to walk down the
aisle on my wedding day? Will I have the stamina to make it through the
reception? Will I have enough relief of pain to make my wedding night the God
given gift it is, instead of the excruciatingly painful prospect it is certain
to be in my present state?
I wonder if the one thing I have
ever really wanted will be possible. I wonder: will I ever be a mother? Even if
I can physically conceive and carry a child, I wonder if I will be capable of
parenting should this-whatever it is-continue or increase.
There is a commercial for an
osteoarthritis medication that I cannot bear to watch. I have to change the
channel because it weighs my heart down too much. In this commercial the
osteoarthritis sufferer proudly proclaims that she is active-always has been,
always will be. It leaves me wondering, will I ever be active again? Did I take
for granted all those years when I was active, living my life blind to the fact
of how easily it can all be stripped away? Will all my days be frustratingly
bound by the limitations of my own body?
I wonder how I will maintain my
dignity if the days should continue or increase when I cannot use the bathroom unassisted,
when bathing seems an impossible task, and when I cannot get dressed by myself.
Most of all, I wonder,
grief-stricken, how I will further the Kingdom of God restricted to my bed and
sporadic good days when I can leave the house. It wakes me up in the early
morning, helplessly silent in prayer- unwelcoming of any future in which I
cannot spread the Glory of God because of a life that is literally stationary.
While not knowing what is
happening to me or what tomorrow will bring leaves me with so many questions,
my wondering is stopped short by the wonder of my Savior. In the midst of such
uncertainty, I have an abounding certainty of the goodness of a God who is
faithful. In my weakness I am reminded of His strength. In my sorrow I am reminded
of His all-encompassing Joy. While physical healing has yet to come, He has held
me close and mended my soul all the while. I have a God who has not forsaken me
to illness, but a God who has been ever present in my time of need.
And so, if I should wake up
every day in pain, I will take it as a sweet reminder of the restoration that
is to come when I am reunited with Christ. And if I should never walk again, I
will cherish the bountiful moments when my soul leaps and dances when I am with
Him. And if I should be left alone, I will rest in the truth that I have a true
and eternal love who not only will never leave me, but constantly pursues me.
And if I cannot walk down the aisle on my wedding day, I will remember that it
is Him who carries not only me, but the both of us as we enter the Holy covenant
of marriage. And if I should never have any children to call my own, I will
birth a maternal blessing over the people in my life through prayer coverings,
good counsel, and example. And if I took for granted all the years of physical
promise, I will not take for granted the relentless love of my Creator who
gives and takes away, but forever offers Himself-an eternal promise that
surpasses all tribulation. And if I should lose all my earthly dignity, I will
be strengthened by the knowledge that my dignity-through all things-is
intertwined with His own. And even when I don’t understand, I will find peace
in His perfect and redeeming will.
When all around my soul gives
way, He then is all my hope and stay.
