Giant Beanstalks & Redemptive Rainbows

Six years ago, I passed out at clinical and transitioned from provider to patient in the time it took my 5’4” frame to hit the ground. I was doing a routine well child visit in a pediatric practice and felt the tingly sensation that told me I was going to drop like a fly, and attempted to nonchalantly exit the exam room. So instead of just one tiny patient seeing me pass out, everyone in the hallway also saw me pass out.

Although I was already significantly ill by that point, October 5, my birthday week, marks somewhat of an anniversary of my illness. It brings up a lot of thoughts and feelings.

My birthday comes with the realization that I’ve been sick another whole year. 365 days of getting sick every time I eat. Of being unable to do things I love like work, race, swim, stand for a substantial amount of time, travel, or plan ahead significantly for anything. 52 more weeks of appointments, tests and lab draws that don’t bring answers or any significant benefit. Oodles of lovely “conversations” with insurance, a handful of hospitalizations, and gallons upon gallons of sticky TPN.

Don’t worry, it does get better.

I have realized that it’s incredibly important to recognize those things as they are. To grieve the things I wish were different. Because the grieving leads to the glorious, “but God.”

But God who is rich in mercy gave me innumerable smiles this last year. More hugs than the last, teeth barring smiles, Mario jokes that could light a lamp, celebrations of little lives that God has graced me with, a new hammock, and a church family that loves so well. And above all, God provided me with the strength necessary to make it through every single one of those 365 days. And in him providing when it sometimes seemed utterly impossible, I got to lean on my good Father and learn to trust Him all the more. To see more of the magnitude of the greatness of God. To better grasp how wide, how long, how high, and how deep is the love of Christ! (Ephesians 3:18) And that is unequivocally the greatest gift of all.

I had a terribly disappointing doctor’s appointment Monday morning. After wishing me “happy birthday” at check-in and showing me the little gift icon that pops up in MyChart to alert the receptionist to say that, I saw a doctor I had been waiting to see since July for a second opinion on my incessant anemia that makes me feel like a shadow of myself. And I essentially got a very long and scientific explanation of why the doctor, who didn’t even sit down, was puzzled, and did not know how to help me. I also got a handful of very awkward but kind shoulder pats from the doctor’s fellow who attempted to comfort me when his extremely lengthy discourse on my odd body prevented me from holding back my disappointment.

Despite telling my mom the night before that I didn’t have any expectations for the appointment because I didn’t want to get my hopes up, I cried many tears on my way home. It was not the ideal birthday activity. 0/10 stars, would not recommend. 

But God. He gives new mercies every morning! 

I sometimes worry when I say things like that I will come across as belittling the really hard things of life. That the way I communicate might come across as “toxic positivity” or make someone feel like I think their tremendous pain is a small thing. 

I hope I never do. In light of eternity- it is a small thing. Paul tells me that in light of the eternity my broken body is small potatoes. I know that in my mind, but sometimes I want to punch Paul and ask him if he’s ever seen a “small potato.” Because when we’re making our way through the thick of that great pain on this earth, these “small potatoes” make you feel like Jack and the Giant Beanstalk. They look utterly insurmountable. And that’s actually because they are.

Our earthly pains and trials and difficulties are wholly insurmountable. We can’t conquer them in our own strength. We have to change course. Instead of setting our focus on that independent earthly path, we must choose the path the hope. To depend on, and place our faith in the only great God. Because that’s the only path that will ever satisfy our souls.

I had a terrible, awful, no good birthday morning. But after I cried all those tears, I was on my way to my parents’ house when I caught sight of the tiniest rainbow peeking through the clouds. It hadn’t rained that I knew of, aside from my tears. But it was as if God was reminding me in my grief that he takes the cold, course-altering rain and brings life. And life abundant! He takes the terrible, awful, no good, and creates the only perfect, eternal, most wonderful good. 

I hope you have an incredible day today. But what I most hope is that you have an incredible forever. That you would know and experience the greatest love of all. The love that laid down its life to give you the gift of eternal life in the presence of our loving, perfect, and very good Father.