On life, MS and loving Jesus
He restoreth my soul...
Roughly ten years ago, I felt the lord calling me to blog. "What will i write about, Lord?" was always my answer. in june 2015 He answered that prayer when i was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. this blog is an act of obedience in response to that calling. i will share with you my experience with ms but also just about life in general: the good, the bad and the ugly. If you're reading for the first time, i encourage you to read the below post--my very first one--which tells how my story with ms (and this blog) began!
i pray this blog may in some way encourage you in your walk.
June 2015
John 9: 1-5 “…but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him.”
Week One: To Glorify Him (2 Corinthians 1:3-11 “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ… . But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God… . ”)
On Monday morning I sat outside the cabin at Hocking Hills in southwest Ohio where my husband, three young children, and I were vacationing with his family. It was still and quiet like a sanctuary, except for the echo of the birds conversing in the trees. I listened to their quiet song and although the light was as bright as day, it still whispered of dawn—a time of peace, of grace. The Lord had been working on my heart for the past several months, directing me to read so carefully through the Gospel of John, making it so clear that I needed to “clear the stage” as Jimmy Needum’s song so painfully implied. What, He asked, did I love with “all my heart?” What could I not stop thinking of…? What were my idols?
Surrender cried the Lord…everything.
But I never had. I was deeply afraid. Afraid of suffering, of what complete and total surrender to the Lord might mean. Even my prayers were somewhat guarded: “Teach me, Lord, but don’t let it be too painful.” Or “I give this situation to you, Lord, but here’s how I’d like to make sure it doesn’t play out….”
But anyone who’s read the Gospel of John knows it is all about the Lord’s timing and doing the will of the Father. Doing the will of the Father. John gives us a glimpse into the life of Jesus Christ and he makes it so clear again and again that Jesus came not to fulfill His own desires but those of the Father’s. My heart knew what the Lord wanted, and so did I. The question: would I be obedient? Would I continue in this journey of sanctification where my faith is not at a standstill but ever moving closer to Him.
On that peaceful Monday morning, I finally submitted. Or gave in. Or gave up. I lowered my head in prayer and confessed to the Lord: I give it all to you. I surrender, Lord.
And I meant it.
Back it up a few weeks. I’d been experiencing some numbness and tingling in my torso, in my hands and parts of my legs for several weeks. Nothing major, I thought. Certainly not normal, of course, but this happened in March too and they said it was only lower back issues from having children. I figured it would go away like the earlier episode but since it didn’t, I’d at least go get it checked out. Pinched nerve, need to stretch more... . Nothing major, I kept on saying. That Wednesday, the doctor didn’t think so much in terms of nothing major: “Let’s do three MRIs over the next few days, some blood tests, and we’ll go from there,” he said.
Panic.
I suddenly decided maybe it was time to clear the stage, or in other words, the Lord decided for me. I dropped it all--my meetings, my agenda and parked on Tommy Street under the umbrella of a weeping tree while the world cried down in rain and I cried out for mercy. I turned off the van to relish the peace, to tune my heart to the Lord and incline my soul to His Word.
I flipped through my Bible, praying the Lord would answer. My Bible flipped open to John 9. I looked at the heading: “Jesus Heals a Man Born Blind.” Just read it, I thought:
“As he went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, ‘Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?’
‘Neither this man nor his parents sinned,’ said Jesus, ‘but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him…’
And I prayed—again—my brand new mantra: that His will would be done and not my own. If there is any other way, Lord, let it be. But if there is not, I accept your will in my life.
On Thursday before I pulled my sheets up over me to surrender to the weight of a heavy day, I cried out to God once more. I lay in bed, listening to my newest favorite song from I am They: Here’s My Heart. I listened and prayed and asked for it all to go from my head to heart. I leaned over and reached for my Bible and scratched down with the best handwriting I could muster through all the tingling, “Here’s my heart, Lord. Speak what is true.”
On Friday I received a phone call: “I don’t usually do this over the phone...,” he began.
And I knew. I had already known, I guess. A pinched nerve was just too easy.
My heart sank as I stood alone in my driveway, my car sitting idle next to me with my three children screaming to be let out. Is this really happening??? I thought.
“Yes, I’m 100% sure,” he said. “You have MS.”
Surrender.
It’s hard to know exactly what happened next. I know I begged the younger of my three year old twins to just have some patience as I pulled him from his car seat. I’m sure I knew that was like asking ice cream not to melt or a cop to overlook 25 miles over the speed limit, but I’m sure it spoke to my state of mind at the moment: out of touch. And as I pulled each of my three, sweet babies from the car, my mind reeled with what was happening. Just get them in the house, call Brian, get them to the bathroom, put them down for naps…move your feet, move your hands, you can do this. And of course, I did.
I made each of my phone calls—my husband, my mom, my dad, my sister, my brother, my dearest friends. Give me a little time, Mom, I remember telling her. I just need to be alone for a minute. I felt God’s presence even in those first moments, as my two boys yelled from upstairs with the deepest of convictions: “Moooooom!!!! I have to poooooop!” How can you not laugh at that? Through a curtain of tears, I removed Peyton from the toilet after counting to one minute six times in a row: “This is it, Peyton. You need to get back to bed. I’ll count to one minute and then you’re done.” I no more have his pants pulled up and turn around just in time to see Cameron scoot his little bottom onto the seat. For real? I thought, and laughed out loud. Even in the midst of crisis, God has a sense of humor.
Once I got the munchkins back to bed, I feel certain I must have fallen to my knees at the edge of the couch. I remember thinking, Really, God? I surrender on Monday and this is what I get on Friday?? And yet, somehow, I knew it was coming. I knew He’d been preparing me, willing me to Him and I knew I would be okay, that suffering is part of our Christian calling and that this MS was from God. A dear friend of ours had pointed us to 2 Corinthians 1:3-11 when we heard what the diagnosis could potentially be on Wednesday. I turned there in my Bible and read it again. And I prayed, and I thanked Him that I might eventually be a comfort to someone else. I honestly don’t remember what all I prayed, but I do know my heart cried out to the Lord and that He read whatever was there. I’m sure He saw fear, and anger, but that He also saw humility and thankfulness that He would choose me. I know that He held me tightly in those moments and provided a strength and peace that truly does surpass all understanding.
And in those first 24 hours of having MS, I think I talked to more people about Jesus than I’d talked to about Him in my first 31 years. I couldn’t abide the general, broad “God has a plan.” It suddenly became so cliché and just not enough. No, I had to use the name of Jesus. He is the way, the only way, I thought. And I felt the Holy Spirit calling me so clearly to use His name.
I feel in the midst of adversity it’s so easy to generalize and to succumb to society’s version of a self-serving and general God. A guy up in the clouds who helps only in times of trouble. A genie in a bottle who gives us our heart’s desire. A word to say when people are hurting to make them think it will “all be good” and will “all be okay.”
No, I screamed in my head! It might not be okay. It might not be all good. But I will submit to the will of the Father. The true Father in heaven who is none of those things. Who is the merciful and loving God of a fallen world—of a world that has disease and death and trial and MS. This isn’t about me, I was reminded. This is about a Jesus who died on the cross so that my sins might be forgiven. “This happened,” I kept being reminded, “so that the works of God might be displayed…”
In me.
I pause before continuing to type because the tears have welled in my eyes. Not tears of sadness but rather of deep humility because somehow, someway I write to you with a depth of peace that is truly beyond understanding. I know it cannot possibly come from me—I know it is the gift of God.