I look at myself in the mirror. Desperate eyes. Those are my desperate eyes. My face looks . . . old. The skin of my face is rough and blotchy. My arms are different shades of yellow and red. I can see my ribs through the skin of my chest. My bones rub on the mattress of my bed. That’s okay though, God is with me, this is just a chapter of my story.
I have kept myself from writing about my suffering, as if putting it in words would solidify pain as my eternal future. I have thought that if I write about it, I will be bitter and accusatory, using my English skills to complain about my predicament, to blame those who don’t understand. I never want to place blame. I don’t want to whine. There is no reason to whine. I don’t want to make the mistake of hurting people. I don’t want to lash out. I don’t want to write something that I I’ll regret later. I don’t want to write something that makes me look weak. I don’t want to write something that will repel a future employer. I don’t want to write about my pain, because so many other people have it worse than I.
But all of those “I don’ts” reflect pride and my life is not my story to tell, it’s God’s story.
In his pride the wicked man does not seek him; in all his thoughts there is no room for God.
Writing has always been a way for me to put knowledge into action. Writing has provided a way to inspire people, to process life, and to gain academic knowledge and life lessons. Because I have been keeping myself from from writing about my current life, I have not been encouraging people in the ways that I could be or praising God in the way He deserves.
I am ready to write about being sick. I am ready to share. I am ready to rescue my consciousness from a spiral of confusion and pity. I am ready to chose joy and allow God to tell His story, not my story.
Now may the God of peace, who through the blood of the eternal covenant brought back from the dead our Lord Jesus, that great Shepherd of the sheep, equip you with everything good for doing his will, and may he work in us what is pleasing to him, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen.
God. God is the center of it all. Around God swirls all the long nights, the pain, the tears (many, many tears), the insecurities. God has a plan. Some blame God. I give Him credit. All this pain is of His allowance, but I am not angry at him for bringing it into my life. Along with the loss has come so much gain. My suffering is not trivial.
I have made some wonderful friends because of the places my illness had led me. I have discovered things about myself that I didn’t know where there. I have been allowed to fix things about myself that I never knew needed fixing. God has worked in His time and out of the bounty of His goodness.
All things have a purpose sculpted by God. Though our purpose may be unclear for months, years, or even a lifetime, God is working great things. God has a plan for our lives, and it is not our place to question His timing. Things may be confusing, people may betray us, answers may be hard to find, but God is constant. He is writing my story, He is writing your story, all for His glory.
For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.
The more we trust God, the more He will be glorified. The more we learn to give thanks, the more we will have to be thankful for.
The more we share our stories (God’s stories), the more we will be able to see God’s hand in our lives and others can see His doing. My story is not my story, and the more I resist telling it because of my pride, the less God will be glorified.
My life is not my own. I didn’t write my story, I am just a character in a thrilling epic!
For more on this subject, read: Why God Lets Us Suffer