Lost in Wonder
I’m sitting on a bench after a Cross Country race. I black out and my body starts shaking, but after some rest and water, I feel better. Like everyone else, I assume it’s from the run - but a couple of days later in 8th grade history class, my body begins seizing out of nowhere. I am completely conscious and able to feel every horrible spasm as it lasts for the next 45 minutes. My precious school nurse does everything she can to keep me safe and comfortable, and my parents quickly show up.
19 years to the day, I look back and lament a life filled with so much trauma. Years of bullying because my seizures were labeled as ‘fake’ for ‘attention.’ I was told by adults in my life that I was dramatic and immature, because for some reason, I was expected to act older than I was simply because I was sick. At 15, I was physically assaulted by a nurse who left bruises on my body to ‘wake me up’ from the seizure she was trying to prove wasn’t real. I lost friends who got tired of my flakiness. I had to quit my favorite extracurriculars. I was thrown out of college and actually threatened with campus police until my neurologist stepped in. And on, and on, and on it goes.
It wasn’t until I was 25 that I was finally diagnosed with an autoimmune disorder. That abnormal biopsy was the best news I’d ever received. I finally had something on paper to prove that there was something wrong with me. After that diagnosis, my body started breaking down quicker, which meant I continued to get answers. At nearly 30, I almost lost my life twice in the same year - yet this also came with a weird sense of gratitude. It sounds backwards, but I think anyone with chronic illness would tell you the same. Proof is proof, regardless of the pain it brings.
The last few months in particular have been some of the hardest I’ve faced since I was thirteen, as new issues have developed that affect my spinal cord, arm strength, balance, and vision. I lost the ability to do any of the things that brought me joy for several months, and even as I try to reincorporate them, I still struggle with daily tasks. But it’s through all of this, all of the insomnia and pain and being forced to be still, that I’ve seen how much I’ve gained in 19 years.
I’ve been given immeasurable strength, bravery, patience, compassion, drive, and the ability to endure. Being unable to work means I’ve had the time to deconstruct and learn to love people more than I love causes. I have learned gentleness and tenderness within my fierceness. I can now empathize with people suffering the same way I am. And the best blessing God gave me: Ethan. He was a gift I’d never have received if I hadn’t gotten sick and gone through so much loss.
Yes, 19 years of pain, but 19 years sprinkled with blessings.
19 years of wondering, but 19 years of growing closer to Jesus as I seek the answers.
19 years of doubts, but 19 years of learning to reconstruct those doubts into an ability to fight the good fight.
19 years of pain, but 19 years of learning to be ‘lost in wonder of the God of Time and Space.’
I believe with my whole heart that if I wasn’t enduring what I am, I would not be who I am. I wouldn’t be able to love people closely, because I’d be focused on the next big thing. I wouldn’t have my husband, or my friends, or even my family, because I’d be off somewhere working as a CEO with no time for anything else. I wouldn’t have learned to rest or prioritize.
So though I struggled to see the blessings in the midst of the agony, I can now look back and see God’s faithfulness. And it’s because of that faithfulness that I can believe He will continue to be good to me - that He always has been, and this time no different.
The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. May the name of the Lord be praised.
Maker of the Moon (Elle Limebear)
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