In my journey, I seem to constantly try to find the way of escaping these circumstances. So much of my energy is spent on, “Maybe if I do this or don’t do that, or eat this or that my pain/energy will be better tomorrow.” As John Bevere says in his book, The Bait of Satan, God has seen all of my circumstances, even the adverse ones, and has the way planned for escaping it. And “…often the thing that looks like an abortion of God’s plan actually ends up being the road to its fulfillment…” (p29). I’ve heard that said in so many different ways so many times, but it is time for me to remember it again and lay hold of it (again) and be content. So, I have a disability and an illness. I’m limited in what I can do, but that doesn’t mean that God is limited by my disability. I often feel trapped in these four walls, but lack the ability to walk out the door and interact with the rest of the world, but that doesn’t mean that God is trapped by this illness. God must have a plan. He didn’t sit up in heaven and say, “Oh no, she is sick and can’t stay on the mission field. Guess she’s out of the picture. Cross her off the list and find someone else.” I like how Bevere says it, “No mortal man or devil can supersede the plan of God for my life!” At this point my mind returns to realizing (once again) that this was God’s plan all along and my first thought is, “Well, that stinks! If I’d known that before I was born, I would have signed up for a different course.” But accepting the place where I am doesn’t mean I stop fighting or seeking help.
All of that is just another way of saying the same thing I’ve been saying for a while, but I have to keep returning to it and remembering that God’s promises are meant for me, too. Hanging on to those promises and exercising my faith muscles is just part of walking down the road of life. In the end I think I (and Nate...and even Tali) will realize that we've looked into the face of God through different lenses than we ever would have chosen to on our own.
I continue to get off of medications and do physical therapy. My movement is improving slowly. I can go maybe 20 steps further now than I could before when my muscles would just lock up and refuse to move. The other areas like pain and fatigue are slower to change, but I do feel like we are onto something with the physical therapy (it's a combination of manual therapy and some alternative types of therapy), so I'll keep going until I'm ready for a marathon or the Lord moves us on. It is often a case of three steps forward and two back, so I have to remember where I was a couple of years ago.
It's been six years now since we came back from Ecuador and I often picture Moses coming out of the desert after 30 years with gray straggly hair and leathery skin looking like death warmed over and wonder if I'll be 60 years old, looking similar before I get to move on to greener pastures. Or Job—I can't imagine he was exactly ready to embrace life for quite a while after his losses and suffering. I've found myself wondering what life was like for Job after he recovered. And how long was his journey through recovery? What were his conversations like with the Lord? What kind of a relationship did they have after it all? Was it deeper, truer, fuller? Or was it more like a casual acquaintance? I can't imagine it was, but then a part of me can.
I feel as if my relationship with the Lord has been stripped of all of its old garments. Everything has to be rebuilt again—from ground zero. I know I can't do the building, but sometimes I want to because the barrenness is often uncomfortable. It's cold, not empty because His spirit is still there, but everything I once knew is gone and we're starting from scratch. My life verse in Psalm 40:1-3 is my prayer. That He will give me a new song. Then eventually, many will see what He has done and be astounded. But that second part is not what He is doing right now. I feel like I am to BE and allow Him to soak down into the many layers of my sinful and wounded soul. That leaves me with the job of being. Ugh!
