When Things Don't Change...

As I awoke with pain, I sighed. I’m weary. My weekly headaches are getting old. Countless Lyme treatments are getting discouraging. I’m just feeling “done” with all the thousands of dollars of health investments, bloodwork, and doctor’s appointments. 

Yes, health is an investment, and an important one. But sometimes I think we invest in our health to get certain results–to lose weight, to have more energy, to feel better, to feel “normal" again. And when we make those investments with no return, it feels pointless.

The same is true for life and the battle against sin.

What sin do you primarily struggle with? I think we all have at least one… that thing that seems to crouch at the door all the time? Sometimes it feels like it’ll never go away, that no matter how hard we fight it, it’s still right there, reminding us of its presence. It can make it seem like holiness is losing battle. (I don’t say this to negate dependence on Jesus or sanctification, just the reality of how it can feel in a fallen world)

But I think the problem is, we often fight with the motivation of results–not love of God. And that’s something God’s been reminding me of lately.

Honestly, the first thing on my mind when I take my pile of supplements or my daily Lyme tinctures is not love for God and faithfully honoring Him with my limitations and body–it’s a desire to be healed. My response when my Lyme test is still positive 8 years later is a discouraging, “nothing works”.

And the battles with remaining sin can feel the same way.

Granted, hating sin is a good thing. Desiring healing is a good thing. But I have to continually release my grip of attempted control of my life. Continually submit my desires for healing to the God who does what is best for me. Even if that means pain will be by companion until death.

Isn’t that how we should approach our sin too? Let go of the desire to keep the behavior under control or to appear to be doing well in our pursuit of holiness (what an irony!). Instead, we must submit our desires to God. We must ask for His grace and mercy to love and honor Him in our struggle with sin, versus asking Him to take it away.

One day, pain will be a distant memory. Our former battle with sin will be a past reminder of God’s grace and patience with us. Joy will be our constant companion. Brokenness will be restored. All will be made new.

Or as Christopher Ash says, “God is remaking a broken world.”

And that’s where I rest today.

Still Waiting: When God Doesn't Answer Prayer

 

It's so easy to equate God’s love or blessing with things going our way or some form of physical blessing.

We look at things from our minute perspective and think God is with us and answers prayer if He gives us good things. If He gives me a good grade on a test, or heals my friend of sickness, or gives me a good job, or restores the broken relationship, or provides the spouse or child I’ve prayed for—THEN He is a good God who answers prayer. 

But really, all I've done is slapped the world’s perspective on happiness (success, things) on Christian lingo.

What if God’s blessing—the deepest form of grace and love—was actually a no? What if blessing was a form of sustaining grace instead of saving grace? We don’t like to talk about those kinds of answers to prayer because, honestly, they’re hard.

This is what I wrestled with in chronic illness.

What if God never healed me? Could I still love and trust Him? Would He still be loving? Could God be blessing me with weakness and a hard life? Phew, I did not want to think about that. 

Joni Eareckson Tada talks about her paralysis as one of God’s greatest blessings in her life because of how it saved her from herself:

“I had to be healed of my desire to be healed.”

And that’s what prayer does. Tears well up in my eyes as I think back to 7 years ago when I prayed for healing from my bedridden state. I wanted so desperately to be back to normal. Now, I'm still here doing Lyme treatment. If you told me then I'd still be fighting this disease a decade later, I might've killed myself.

But instead, through prayer and pain and process, God helped me release my desire to be healed. 

And you know what? That enabled me to enjoy life much more within my limitations. Yes, it's still hard and frustrating to have waves of fatigue and pain, or to still be dumping money into Lyme treatment. But God has blessed me with the ability to be part of work and community again, and to appreciate what I can do.

That’s what God’s gentle process of suffering does. If we let Him do His work, and don’t refuse it with fists up, fighting Him with anger and bitterness, we will become different people. He will turn our eyes away from our difficulties and towards eternity.

And that will be so much better than “the answer” you initially prayed for. 

Will you let Him do His work?

My Chronic Illness Journey

 

Today marks 6 months of Lyme and Babesia treatment (take 3, read more about my intial searching for answers here). The first time I treated Lyme + co-infections was 5 years ago and it took 2.5 years before I noticed progress. Then I plateaued and my doctor had me try IVs, which made a big difference… until I got chronic hives for 6 months and my health went downhill again. Chronic infections are a beast to kill, even with a great doctor.

Remembering how far I've come helps. 

• I am not bedridden with extreme pain and fatigue anymore. 
• Going to church or the grocery store doesn’t knock me out for the next three days.
• I can work more than five hours a week!

And so even though my pain and assorted symptoms are still hard some days, even though I’m frustrated I still get 3-4 day headaches, I’m encouraged to keep going.

Despite the rollercoaster, my hope is not in healing, but the God of Hope who walks with me. I experience His grace in my weakness, and learn greater dependency. As I die to self and lay down my dreams and desires, I’ve found Jesus better—than health and every other thing.

He is near to me, and He’s near to you today. And one day all this pain will be redeemed. That’s hope, and that makes treatment with no end date worth it.

When Ministry Falls Short

I work part time at a Christian camp. Since the end of the summer season, I’ve been thinking and processing a lot. It was amazing to watch God work in hearts and lives this summer. But I was reminded of something I've observed many times over the years (even in myself)—we tend to expect church or parachurch or Christian relationships to be easy. Perhaps even sin-free. Ministry is supposed to be a place of compassion, harmony, love, forbearance, and humility… right? 

But instead the very places we expect to experience joy and unity instead bring frustration, conflict, and brokenness.

Why?

The first and most obvious reason is that we live in a broken world, so there will always be disappointments. But we also all carry our sinful hearts with us, and so the worst spills out at some point (Luke 6:45). You can’t hide what’s really going on in your heart—it will overflow eventually. Not only that, but our selfish desires rage war against each other, causing conflict (James 4:1-2). All these things take place everywhere—even ministry.

Does it mean it’s not worth it?

Absolutely not.

Those difficulties, pains, and losses can drive us to where lasting hope is found. They teach us to not put our hope in people. To not expect a perfect church. To not look to ministry service to fulfill us. To not find our identity in what we do or what others think of us. That deep heart work is where God is cultivating His Kingdom, one person at a time. It is redemption in action.

God is building His Kingdom through broken people, broken ministries, and broken churches. Perfection is not the goal. Unity is not even the ultimate goal. But staying centered on the finished work of Jesus until He returns, participating in the spread of the gospel and the building of His Church—that should be our aim.

Hope and Help for Chronic Illness Study Guide

Below is a free resource I wrote for personal and group use. This six week study will help you walk through the Hope and Help for Chronic Illness booklet with a friend or small group. Geared towards those suffering, this study guide provides discussion questions, truths to focus on throughout the week, simple homework, and practical application.

Free to download, so spread the word!

Hope and Help for Chronic Illness Study Guide

Starting Lyme Treatment... Again

“Can I survive starting Lyme treatment all over again?”

I’ve been wrestling through this for the last few weeks, after I found out that two of my infections, Lyme and Babesia, are still active. It explains a lot of my ongoing symptoms, but it is discouraging since I treated hardcore for a few years and saw much improvement. Chronic illness is a roller coaster.

Facing another antibiotics round and then a long-term herbal protocol is something I definitely didn’t see coming, especially as I look towards my next decade of life.

But here I am again, staring at this one month supply of different antibiotics. I know my immune system is much more stable today than 4.5 years ago when I started Lyme treatment and that this will help. Even still, fear, anxiety, dread, grief hit in waves.

Is God good, even if He asks me to repeat the thing that I previously found to be the darkest season of life?

Yes, because God gives grace for each difficult moment, as I’ve experienced again and again.

So here I am, acknowledging, “not my will but Yours be done”, knowing that as God asks me to walk through treatment again, He will be faithful. I’m entrusting the unknowns of my life, health, and financial burden of treatment, to Jesus—my great Provider.

And so I can walk forward in faith, confident that Jesus will not lead me through anything He hasn’t already walked through (Heb. 4:15-16), and that He will never leave me. 

Today’s pain is temporary, but my hope is eternal.

Fighting Fear

What is the opposite of fear? 

Love? Courage? Faith? Those all could be true. 

But there's another one I heard that struck me. Hope. 

I resonate with this because there was a day I wondered if I’d ever be able to pick up my camera again, play the piano, or do other things I loved. Chronic pain, and the fear that accompanied, made it feel impossible.

You see, when I’m anxious or fearful, I’m expecting that the worst outcomes will come true. I believe that the negative will be reality. I can’t have hope. And if I allow my thoughts to ruminate, I can’t see any way forward. 

In order to not be paralyzed by fear, I have to move from the expectation of something wrong or miserable happening, and instead expect that something good will happen.

This is a challenge in a chronic illness journey. You often protect yourself from hope because you don’t want to be disappointed again. This treatment might work, but it might not. People pray for your healing, to no apparent avail. The healing journey is long and hard. When facing what seems impossible, consider this:

“We may hear our hearts say, ‘It’s hopeless!’ but we should argue back.” Tim Keller

Arguing with that hopelessness, speaking the truth to yourself, is a way of clinging to hope.

It’s normal to be fearful. I’m not condemning you. But if you want to move beyond your fears, practice “expecting hope”.

This isn’t a flippant “learn to see the good” or “just choose joy” response. This is a hard fought battle to believe in a Good Father who loves you and does what’s best for you, even when things appear to be hopeless. It takes time, and you won’t do it perfectly. But as you learn to turn your thoughts towards God’s goodness and care, you will land on hope.

So today, I want to practice being hopeful for the future, instead of focusing on the fearful possible outcomes.

Will you join me?

God's expectations... or yours?

I think sometimes we put higher expectations on ourselves or others than even God does. I know, mind-blowing statement. But hear me out...

We think we have to accomplish x, y, and z, to serve in this capacity, to be involved in this and that ministry. We have to keep up with our job, church, social activities, healthy eating and exercise, and more—and feeling exhausted by the weight of it all. 

Then we turn our self-inflicted (or others-inflicted) expectations on others, telling our friends to do something that we think they must do, when it’s really not our jurisdiction to tell them how to prioritize their time.

What’s incredible is that while I often doubt myself and wonder if I did enough, while I sometimes weigh the pressure or expectations of others or am frustrated by my limitations, I really don’t have to remain spinning and questioning.

While I wonder if I’m doing enough, all God says to me is, 

“she has done what she could.” (Mark 14:8)

Wow.

What a powerful statement. I can do what I am able, and not worry about what I can’t do. This frees me to rest, knowing I have been faithful to do what I can. And that’s enough for Him.

Rest today in that truth.

God's Care through Chronic Illness

“And if not He is still good.”

I considered purchasing a shirt or mug with this phrase during my 4 years of Lyme and co-infection treatment. After multiple doctors, medications, endless bloodwork, and thousands of dollars in supplements and treatments, I was fearful that another treatment would just be agony and not effective.

(Side note: not everyone knows that Lyme treatment is worse than the actual miserable symptoms. I faced my worst depression and suicidal thinking during treatment.)

In the pain, I wrestled with the question that if God didn’t heal me, if my quality of life stayed exactly the same for my lifetime, could He could still be good? Did God still love me if my pain, fatigue, and despair never improved? Could I make it through life in this misery? I cried in anger wondering what God was up to. I took that anger to God, while frequently not believing it made a difference. But I kept crying out because I was desperate.

And He gently, patiently, lovingly reminded me of His care for me. 

Care in His provision of treatment. 

Care in His provision of an amazing doctor. 

Care in His provision of loving family and friends. 

And many other ways...

I’ve never been content with my chronic illness. And I don’t believe God asked me to be. I think that longing for wholeness points me towards heaven. But I did learn that His sustaining grace was evidence of His goodness to me. I’ve learned to trust Him in the dark. So today, while facing pain from a lot of physical and mental work last week, I’m looking at how far I’ve come, and reminding myself that He is still good. Yesterday. Today. Tomorrow. And forever.

I lost some of the best years of my life.

Chronic illness smacked me upside the head, and suddenly my life was gone. My dreams, hopes, and aspirations vanished. I didn’t know who I was or what I was doing anymore.

During 5 years of pursuing root diagnoses and working through various treatments, I remained stuck with very little life. As a type-A firstborn, you can imagine how infuriating this was to me. At one point in treatment I couldn't work at all. I mostly slept and forced myself to shower, cook food occasionally, or do dishes; all slow, difficult tasks at the time. I couldn’t run a quick errand without crashing for the rest of the day. Everything was miserable. 

Looking back over my twenties, it sometimes feels like part of my life was stolen. Your twenties are supposed to be time of learning, exploring, and making an impact. It’s probably the best part of life… at least the season you have the most energy, drive, enthusiasm, and ambition.

And yet here I was, in bed, not sure how I could make it another day.

What about you? Do you feel like you’ve lost some of the best years of your life too?

It’s excruciatingly difficult, no matter what you're facing. And yet for me, that season of extreme weakness, isolation, and massive limitations made me reconsider my purpose and my identity in ways I never had. 

Honestly, I still don’t know where I'm going in the next 10 years. My life is still slower than most, despite gradual healing. But I do know this: My God is faithful and does not waste anything. 

The years of extreme pain and debilitating fatigue are not for nothing, because my Father is a redeeming God (Joel 2:25, Psalm 126:5). My pain has been God’s method of grace to me, softening my rough edges, producing grace and compassion, and helping me see eternity for what it is. The detour has been my road. A painful and rocky one, yes. But one filled with countless evidence of God’s love and care, if I can only look hard enough to see past the pain. 

That’s what He wants you to see too--His nearness and gentleness and care. And then watch Him redeem the years you lost, and find that gain to be even better.

“And somehow every unexpected climb

Makes Your goodness that much harder to deny

You’ve been good to me I am safe to hope

I will dare to believe when the way is long and slow

And I am full of doubt but You are kind and close

I will trust the detour is the road

This time will not be wasted

All the sorrow I have tasted

You sing hope across the valley of my tears

Sometimes love looks like delay

But You walk me through the wait

And I am learning laughter even here

You are with me here”

The Detour from the album Faithful, various artists

Living with Scars

My body doesn’t heal as well as it should. 

I have a scar on my ankle from scratching myself with a large stick 8 months ago. Yes, a stick.

I laugh, but sometimes I'm a little frustrated with the reminders that my body has not healed from chronic illness yet. The scars still remind me of what a long, difficult journey this has been, and point out my ongoing lack. 

What about you? Do your scars discourage you too?

Maybe you still feel a twinge of pain whenever something reminds you of past hurt. 

Perhaps Christmas is still a difficult reminder of the loss of a loved one. 

No matter how hard you try, maybe your health just won’t improve.

Despite desperate attempts, your marriage or another important relationship remains broken.

It might be your choices that have reaped pain for you, or those you love. 

Or maybe you just experienced loss in general in 2020, and this empty Christmas season vividly reminds you of it.

Often we hide our scars, feeling shame or guilt. We force a smile and pretend they don't exist. We wish they would just disappear. Yet they just continue to remind us of the brokenness of life even when buried deep within.

I wish I could tell you that your scars will go away. But that would be naive. It's possible they may continue to remind you of past hurt. But that doesn't mean healing can't take place. A scar is much different from an open wound that gushes blood every time it's hit again.

Jesus wants to bring healing to your wounds. He desires to take those places of brokenness, pain, and heartache and transform it into something beautiful. Your pain does not have to define you.

"The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit." Ps. 34:18

Your scars can be transformed into something beautiful. They can enable you to reach others you would never be able to understand or have compassion towards. Your particular scars provide a unique opportunity for you to love and minister to others who are hurting.

But first you need some healing. Emmanuel (God with us) comes near to dwell with YOU. He wants to comfort and heal your heart.

Will you come to Him?

Life is Hard: Facing the Tough Things with Hope

When I was young, I was scared of suffering and persecution. I wondered if I could stay faithful to Christ under torture. I wanted to follow God, but I questioned if I could endure physical pain, isolation, or rejection, should that come my way.

I loved my home, my family, my comfort, and my community, and I didn't want to lose it.

But in a heartbeat, everything changed. The community I was deeply invested in and trusted, turned on me and my family. Betrayal stung deeper than physical pain. Grief clung like a shadow, reminding me every time I looked at it, of deep loss.

Yet it didn't end. Then came chronic illness. Worsening symptoms for no apparent reason, extreme limitations and pain when I tried to do things I loved, brought more loss and grief. Everything about me, everything that defined me, was suddenly gone. 

I didn't even know who I was anymore. I wanted to give up on God, on my faith. Nothing seemed worth it. 

Faithfulness to Christ hasn't meant a life of abandon on the mission field currently, as I frequently envisioned as a child. It hasn't required prison time, secret church meetings, beatings, or torture. No, but following Christ has still been far more difficult than I imagined... 

It's meant clinging to Christ when everyone in our church turned on us. 

It's meant doing what was right when things were incredibly wrong and unjust. 

It's meant facing hurt and betrayal so deep from people we called friends that it left permanent scars. 

It's meant enduring horrible physical pain and fatigue and isolation.

It's meant walking through lyme and co-infection treatment that I felt would kill me.

It's meant battling my deepest fears and hurt and not denouncing God. 

It's meant experiencing the darkest hopelessness and not taking my own life.

It's meant not rejecting God even though I wanted to blame him for everything horrible that happened.

Those things display a little of what taking up my cross has looked like for me. Most of my suffering has been in silence. It's come from the church, not outside God-haters. It's been in the isolation due to infections in my body, not isolated imprisonment by others. The "backwardness" of my suffering caused me to question everything I believed.

What hard things has God asked you to walk through? Maybe it's not the the pain of persecution or torture. But that doesn't mean it's not just as hard. 

Whatever pain and heartache you wrestle with matters to God. Your questions, anger, and doubt are met with grace and compassion. Scars may remain, but you can experience healing. The trials are God's way of reclaiming your heart, revealing areas where you love something else more than Him. And in that difficult, sanctifying work of suffering, Jesus shines brighter:

"We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies." 2 Cor. 4:8-10

Your suffering produces a beautiful reflection of Christ in you and makes you more sensitive to the hurting people around you. It can help you to love betters and stay focused on what really matters.

And that is a value greater than diamonds.

When Fear Threatens to Take Over

I woke up with a few itchy hives, and fear battled for control of my thoughts. Normally hives wouldn't be a source of fear, but after 15 weeks of chronic hives, my mind immediately spins:

What if they don’t go away? What if they get really severe again?

It was a nightmare. Several months ago, a few random hives started up for unknown reasons. I thought they'd go away. But after gradually getting worse over a few weeks, I knew something wasn't right.

After a severe, painful hives explosion that I thought might send me to the ER (during COVID), my doctor prescribed several meds that I’ve been on for around 10 weeks now. And they made a huge difference. I thought the hives were pretty much gone.

But today fear and panic set the tone for my day when a handful of hives bugged me again (even with meds).

Life is hard, and so much is outside of our control. One day I’m making it just fine and proud of my health progress, the next day pain and fatigue take over and I’m helplessly crying again, discouraged about my limitations.

Weakness threatens all forms of self-sufficiency. It combats pride in my success or accomplishments. It tells me, “you can’t do this.” And that's when fear laughs.

Fear, in and of itself, is not wrong. But as Paul Tripp says, it makes a very bad master. Fear can drive me to despair and hopelessness. 

Or it can point me to the One where true hope is found.

When my lack of control stares me in the face and I don’t know what next week or even tomorrow will look like, I have to consciously stop the spiral of fearful thoughts and choose to focus on what’s true today: 

God is in control. 

He is faithful. 

My life might be hard, but He is still good. 

God has not left me alone.

While I don’t know what will happen tomorrow and whether my health will see improvement or another crisis, I know there will be sufficient grace then. Manna grace as I like to think of it—the kind Israel experienced in the day-by-day provision of their most basic needs. Not the kind of grace that takes us out of the hard, but the kind of grace we actually need.

So while my life hasn’t looked like I “planned”, and even though healing still includes ups and downs, God is still there. He has not left me. He is not wasting my pain—but redeeming it, somehow. He will not allow anything that is not for my benefit.

It may not be what I want. But somehow, it will still be good.

And that’s what I’m clinging to today.