We must let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the one that is waiting for us.
Since January my life has revolved around waiting. I was waiting for this nagging pain to go away. Then, waiting on a diagnosis. Waiting on a treatment plan. Waiting on insurance. Waiting for a new treatment plan. Waiting for medicine to kick in. Waiting for new medicine to kick in. Waiting to feel like myself again. Waiting for a single prayer to be answered in a way I was hoping for. Waiting to hear from my doctor. Waiting to feel self-sufficient again. Waiting to have a new answer to, “how are you feeling?”
Waiting is dangerous. You forget to live. Forget that right now is important and fleeting. You look around and months have been wasted simply waiting.
But I’m still me, and I still need to remember to live. There is good happening, and I think this month can be summarized in the word “acceptance”. I am now limited, but I’ve always been described as tenacious (or, if you ask my husband, absurdly stubborn), and that will not change, regardless of what this disease throws at me.
The truth of life as it stands is treatments have been largely unsuccessful. I need to walk with a cane or need to be pushed in a wheelchair until something my doctors try is successful. It has humbled me to realize I need this level of help. Perhaps I needed a little more humility in my life.
The thing is, unmet expectations are not going to control me because my joy can’t come from external circumstances about which I have no control, or I would go insane. No one knows what life is going to throw at them, and I am not a special case.
There is so much good, still.
On June 6, I sat on the floor and played Little People with my daughter for the first time in almost six months. I have not been able to lately, but that was a memorable moment I will cherish.
With the help of an amazing friend, we were able to go swimming for the first time, and my daughter adored it.
While my legs are continually getting worse, my hands and wrists have mostly good days, and I’m able to tickle little toes, hold small hands, pour coffee again, and continue to sew. I was so scared I’d find myself having to stop sewing, which is something I love (oh, and the original intent of this blog. It’ll happen again! I have some cool stuff in the works!).
I’ve learned to give myself grace on days where I’m in exceptional pain, and I think this has made me a better parent. If I as a grown adult need grace during the bad times, how much more does my sweet almost 2 year-old need grace and understanding as she is learning.
My point in writing this is a personal reminder that while hoping for positive change in the future is valuable, accepting the reality of where I am today is critical to stay hopeful and active.
What I’m not saying is that I’ve decided that I’m no longer praying for improvement, working toward finding a treatment that works, or being as strong as I can be.
I’d like to end with these words from a source far more eloquent than I that have given me encouragement lately:
Hyper-cessationist doctrines can knock the feet of hope from under us. Beloved, no one, no matter how brilliant, persuasive, or credentialed, should have the right to take away our hope. The God we serve is able (Dan. 3:17). Everything is possible (Mark 9:23). Nothing is impossible (Luke 1:37). We can always hope and pray diligently for a miracle. If, in God’s sovereignty, He chooses to accomplish His purposes another way, let it not be that we have not because we asked not (James 4:2) or that we have not because we believed not (Matt. 9:29).
-Beth Moore, Believing God