Autoimmunity, My Old Friend

I was first diagnosed with an autoimmune disease when I was 24. It was triggered by pregnancy and didn’t go away until months after delivery, so in a very practical way, my disease “ruined” my introduction to motherhood.

Shortly after my first son was born and we were still trying to dial in my treatment, I remember my mom commenting about “this horrible disease,” but I couldn’t bring myself to see it that way. Sure, it was annoying. It was painful. But it was just a bunch of itchy skin blisters, bumps, and plaques…that covered nearly my entire body, turned not just itchy but painful, and hindered my ability to hold my newborn baby without either pain or gobs of steroid cream. I didn’t change a single diaper that first week since my fingers were covered in painful blisters. And I cried at my inability.

Somehow, despite my denial that the disease was in fact horrible, my mind was able to recognize the eerie similarity of my condition with that of Job. Sure, I wasn’t to the point of scraping boils with potsherd, but I was staying up at night cleaning popped blisters and ineffectively treating the itch with solarcaine and cold foot baths, so on some level, it was nice to have a bible character I could relate to.

Even so, it was “just” a skin issue. For me to call it a “horrible disease” seemed like somehow giving in to a bad attitude. But my complacence was perhaps a naive protective mechanism more than it was a godly response. My mom knew what it was to enjoy being done with the pains of labor and to enjoy your baby during a normal postpartum experience. I would never know what I’d missed.

Minimizing Brick Walls Doesn’t Work

I apparently have a habit of minimizing my own problems and attempting to plow through them. But let’s be real: minimizing can’t really help us plow through a brick wall. We and our delusions will not get through to the other side, and we’ll likely get hurt in the process.

Ever gone from “I’m fine. It’s ok,” ad nauseum to “I am very not ok, and I don’t know what in the world is wrong with me!!!”??? That might be the brick wall reminding you it’s there.

Eventually the emotional weight of our suffering will break through. When we can’t ignore it any longer, the dam of our denial breaks and the pain and grief come rushing upon us to overwhelm us. We do well to turn to the Lord in these moments. But perhaps some of the overwhelm could be lessened if we would learn to see our suffering for what it is on the front end—and deal with it properly from the start.

Sometimes the right way forward is to get really honest about the brick wall in front of you. To be honest with yourself and with the Lord about the weight you carry so that you can cast your burden on Him.

…To get honest about the hugeness of your need so that you can cry out for help.

…To get honest about the depth of your loss and pain so that you can grieve in the presence of the Divine Comforter.

A bruised reed He will not break; and a dimly burning wick He will not extinguish.
Isaiah 42:3

He Himself knows our frame. He is mindful that we are but dust.
Psalm 103:14

We do well to be mindful of it, too.

Denial and Chronic Illness

I have dealt with chronic illness most if not all of my adult life. But I’m only just now starting to say that out loud. What I’ve done instead is to say, “It’s not that bad. Could be a lot worse. I’ve technically been in remission for years.”

While those statements are true, they are not the whole truth. They ignore the toll my disease has taken on me physically and emotionally, the impact it’s had on the course of my life and my family, the daily reality of fatigue and occasional flare ups that force me to reassess what I’m able to take on in a given season.

And, most recently, I’ve got another diagnosis on the table and a third on the horizon if I’m not careful, adding more complexity to the picture than a mere “could be worse–look on the bright side” sentiment.

I’m beginning to learn that I cannot Pollyana my way through every trial of life. Not even Pollyanna could do so.

Biblical rejoicing through trials is not the same as merely grinning and bearing it. It’s not playing a simple “glad game,” useful as that may be at times. It’s not stoicism. It’s not joy by way of denial. It’s joy by way of real tears and pain—offered up in faith to the Man of Sorrows who is acquainted with grief (Isaiah 53:3).

When the diagnoses begin to pile up, we can’t pretend everything’s ok. We live in a sin-cursed world. Our own bodies bear testimony to this truth.

When our to-do list becomes more than we can physically bear, we can’t go on imagining that we’re somehow infinitely capable.

We’re finite creatures. Those of us with chronic illness are finite even more so (if that’s even possible).

We do well to accept this rather than live in denial.

Just as we must see our sin to fully appreciate our salvation through Jesus Christ, we must see our limitations and human weakness to fully appreciate the strength and and comfort of our God in the midst of trials.

More than a Biblical Bandaid

The Lord can and does give supernatural strength to his people to sustain their joy in truly incredible ways through the darkest trials. But that grace is often for a short season of intense suffering and directed toward a specific opportunity to give testimony to the Lord. When the trial is long and lingering, or the effects of suffering surprise and weigh you down ten or even twenty years later… then the Lord’s grace to you might take a different form. You’re maybe no longer in a season of enduring by ignoring, by simply “setting your minds on things above” (Colossians 3:2).

Hear me: We absolutely must set our minds on things above. Don’t get me wrong. Memorize Scripture. Run to it in moments of pain and fear and doubt. Pray. Gather with God’s people in regular worship and fellowship. The ordinary means of grace–basic spiritual disciplines–are foundational and continually needful. Just know that at some point, your own mental fortitude (even if biblically informed) can only take you so far, and you may find that your body, mind, and spirit need more than a mere change of focus, using spiritual truth to distract you from the pain. There may come a time when every part of you needs to grieve.

And that’s ok.

Some would even list lamentation among the spiritual disciplines. So it’s good to learn to be comfortable with it having a place in your life.

Sometimes I think we can try to apply the scriptures in immature ways, as though a couple spiritual disciplines will prevent our need for lamentation. Like a bandaid to make us feel better or a mantra to help us refocus our minds. A biblical quick-fix may be appropriate in some seasons of life, when our circumstances demand a quick turn-around, when our bodies are younger and more resilient, when we’re early in our walk with Christ. But I think our application ought to grow up as we do and as life and the Lord’s work of sanctification demands a deeper reckoning with our weaknesses (middle age, anyone?).

More than Making the Grade

Here’s an example of what I’m talking about:

I think that I have sometimes attempted to speed through to the other side of suffering by looking for the lesson I can learn from it. Like a school girl who wants to know the answers so that she can ace the test and maybe make the anxiety and pressure go away faster.

If I rush quickly to the moral, can I skip the painful part of the story?

While we should look for ways to grow in wisdom, we must remember that God’s testing isn’t the kind that produces a grade. It produces endurance and hope (see James 1 and Romans 5). That endurance and hope comes not just from how we perform or what we learn, though obedience in the midst of trials is certainly commendable and honors God. The endurance and hope God intends to produce in us are directly tied to our faith: deep abiding trust, not the speed with which we can put on a smile or give a pat answer.

Our trials are not just a test for us to pass, a grade for us to earn, or an unpleasant event to rush through. They’re an opportunity and even an invitation to know our own pain and weakness more deeply and to find God’s grace and love and strength to be more than sufficient for us in those depths. It’s an invitation not to plow through with a forced smile on our face but to grieve deeply, cry out, and find that our loving heavenly Father does indeed hear, does indeed see, does indeed sympathize with our weaknesses. He weeps with us, provides comfort and love, and may even heal some of our deepest wounds when we admit that they’re there. But we don’t feel or see all of that incredible provision if we’re trying to convince ourselves that our problems are “no big deal,” as though we’re strong enough that nothing ever phases us.

We need to choose our medicine: lying to ourselves about our circumstances or telling the truth in our hearts and finding that “God is greater than our heart and knows all things” (1 John 3:20) and that He is a “very present help in time of need” (Psalm 46:1).

No Comparison—No, Really, Don’t

But let’s make sure we’re not going from one form of lying to ourselves about our circumstances straight into the same kind of ditch on the other side of the road.

We don’t want to go from comparing ourselves to others in order to minimize our suffering (which is admittedly a lot of what I tend to do) to comparing ourselves to others in order to maximize our grumbling (can’t say I’ve never been there, either). Acknowledging what’s true and lifting our eyes to Jesus our Savior ought to make those comparisons fall from view. And it shouldn’t lead to grumbling but rather to a release of stuffed emotion and a feeling of being known and cared for by God.

Because you are.

The goal is to speak truth in our hearts (Psalm 15:2) so that we can cry out to the Lord from an honest place of pain, so that we are laying our burdens out before Him instead of hiding them or pretending they don’t exist. And so that we can enjoy fellowship with Him as one who “abides in His tent” and “dwells on His holy hill” (see Psalm 15).

He knows the weight we carry better than we do. Always. So we can bring every bit of it before Him.

Cast all your anxiety upon Him, because He cares for you.
1 Peter 5:7

An Invitation to Honest Prayer and Real Joy

Dear sister, what hard providence are you facing? What burdens has the Lord called you to carry? Can you honestly acknowledge them? Can you honestly confess your inability to shoulder them alone? And then cast them all upon the Lord who cares for you?

“I can’t bear this, Lord. I’m not strong enough! O, Lord, be my strength!”

He does not intend for you to find comfort through denial. Nor does He ask you to bear your burdens all alone. He invites your to pour out your heart to Him. To know His tender care for you. To know His nearness. To find comfort and joy in His love.

I will rejoice and be glad in Your steadfast love, Because You have seen my affliction; You have known the distress of my soul.
Psalm 31:7

Further Reading

No Story Is the Same, No Pain Ever Wasted

On Miscarriage: By Now I Might Have Held My Baby