“Hope felt beyond my reach from my wheelchair, while the words, “no cure,” beat hopeless through my bones. Where was the magic pill, the specialist who could change it, give me back my life? Five years ago I sat frozen in fear, choking on panic. Where do we go from here?”

Photo by STUDIOLARSEN

Dearest Readers,

This time last week we were blanketed with five-plus inches of snow. The Wilderness Place insulated in quiet beauty with time seeming to stand still. I sat curled up in the corner of my sofa in all things fuzzy and warm, scrolling social media. There it was, my FaceBook post from five years ago:

“13.1 miles through beautiful, historic Charleston. Let’s do this!”

I never made it to the finish line, my vision fuzzy at the start. I ignored the symptoms like all the previous times before.

Within days, life as I knew it shattered around me. From long-distance running to walking wobbly, hugging the wall and soon the floor. Five months later my Sweet Man was pushing me in a wheelchair, regaining any semblance of my life felt impossible and hopeless.

A remnant of hope waited for me at the end of a long hallway, Duke’s Dysautonomia Clinic.

True Confessions

I confess I expected a cure or the very least a magic pill that would give me back my life, not a manual of instructions on managing P.O.T.S. and chronic illness.

I took the manual, slumped lower in my wheelchair, allowing myself time to process my shock and disappointment. Hopeless.

Hope came through Habakkuk’s words:

Though the fig tree does not bud
and there is no fruit on the vines,
though the olive crop fails
and the fields produce no food,
though the flocks disappear from the pen
and there are no herds in the stalls,
yet I will celebrate in the Lord;
I will rejoice in the God of my salvation!
The Lord my Lord is my strength;
he makes my feet like those of a deer
and enables me to walk on mountain heights!” Habakkuk 3:17-19 (CSB)

Five years I have prayed Habakkuk’s words, five years later I am managing my life with Chronic Illness. I place my hope in the One who walks through the wilderness with me.

“Hope felt beyond my reach from my wheelchair, while the words, “no cure,” beat hopeless through my bones. Where was the magic pill, the specialist who could change it, give me back my life? Five years ago I sat frozen in fear, choking on panic. Where do we go from here?”

Five years, almost to the day my life derailed, I sat curled up in the corner of my sofa watching the snow fall.

Five years later, hope came in a short walk in the snow.

Gains and Losses

No, there are no long runs, no half marathons, marathons, or medals to hang, but there is frolicking in the snow, laughter mingled with tears, and contentment.

Contentment, walking Lola, our precious rescue hero. I am unsure as to had more fun, Lola or me.

I tuck these small wins in the battle of chronic illness and pain into my heart as memories to treasure when hope seems out of reach.

Precious One, what battles are you fighting today? Where does hope feel out of your reach?

I want you to know, there is hope in the hopeless, ask me how I know.

“Who is this coming up from the wilderness, leaning on the one she loves?”

Song of Solomon 8:5 (CSB)

Weeping may stay overnight, but there is joy in the morning.”

Psalm 30:5 (CSB)

Gifts of Grace

PS: Simplify is my word for 2018, you can read about it here.

Posts you may have missed:

Fighting Fear: A Prayer For The Weary, here.

The Purpose of Boundaries, here

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I’m blessed to serve you in this place, to share with you the Gifts of Grace as I journey through the wilderness. I picture you across the table, hands wrapped tightly around your cup, sharing life, and laughter, and tears. As I share with you, my daily struggles, I long to hear what yours may be. You can do that by commenting below or reaching out to me here.