What Chronic Illness Taught Me About Faith
Faith in Christ is the cornerstone of my existence. My awareness of his deep love for me and the knowledge that I am never alone, never without help, steady me throughout the storms of life. When the constant complications of chronic illness make life seem dark, soul-crushing, and unrelenting, the nearness of God’s presence shifts every detail of my life. Darkness becomes light, sorrow becomes joy, and mourning becomes beauty.
However, faith looks different for me than it does for many others. For some, faith might look like trusting God for a new job or the provision of a new home or vehicle. I sometimes pray and believe for this kind of thing too. But far more often, I find myself believing God for the strength to physically get through the day. I walk into the doctor’s office and stop to pray a prayer petitioning for “favor, mercy, guidance, help, and an opportunity to minister to all I come in contact with.”
Many mornings begin with me asking the Lord for strength before my eyes ever open. Pain greets me. Fatigue strangles me, and yet I have children to care for, errands to run, emotional needs to meet in the world around me. I am faced with a choice. I can accept defeat before the day has even begun, or I can walk in the belief that God will either enable me or send help.
None of this is easy for me. It’s entirely possible that when others see no way to pay bills, they feel no tension while waiting on God to provide. Not so for me. I’ve not perfected this trust walk. In moments of doubt I cry out, “God, how will I do this?” He gently reminds me I won’t. He’ll do it through me. His strength is made perfect in my weakness.
In recent years, it’s taken great faith and commitment to attend religious services, even sporadically. Mornings are least favored by my body and the physical acts of showering, dressing, applying makeup, and arranging my hair often leave me too tired even to consider navigating a church parking lot or lobby. Once there, I’m faced with a lot of walking, handshaking (not good for the immunocompromised), and repeated “Sit down, now stand up” instructions. There’s strobe lighting, which may trigger migraines, and kindhearted people who want to hug my painful joints.
Several times during any given service, well-intentioned but poorly informed parishioners tell me to “Smile, the joy of the Lord is your strength!” or “Why so glum? Jesus wants you to be happy!” Some go so far as to lay hands on me and declare healing over my body without asking, assuming I’ve never asked the Lord for healing. Some encourage me to “Have more faith because God’s will is healing.”
Not long ago I attended a Sunday morning church service. It was only a week after one of the most severe, jolting medical crises I’ve experienced. Not only was I still in physical pain, but I was still processing before the Lord. It had been such an act of faith to bring my broken body and heart to church, but I needed to worship with my brothers and sisters in Christ so deeply. I desired for someone to whisper in my ear, “I love you. Jesus loves you. We’re praying for you.”
Instead, midway through the sermon, my face stung as if someone had slapped me for back-talking my mother. I felt my skin flush as the speaker explained how we sometimes contort the will of God to fit our circumstances. For instance, he said, “We might say ‘This sickness is teaching me patience,’ but we know God’s Word says healing is always God’s will.’ The man continued. Each word was more and more inflammatory until I felt physically sick to my stomach.
His message was clear: if you aren’t healed, you are living outside the will of God. Having heard enough, I quietly gathered my belongings and exited the sanctuary.
Someday I will be healed. It may be tomorrow. It might be in twenty years, or even when I meet Jesus face-to-face. Regardless of what day it occurs, it will be miraculous.
All around us are brave warriors, living out their own faith journeys. Perhaps their trusting looks much different from our own. Does that make their faith less than ours?
I can’t imagine an infertile woman walking into church on a Sunday morning only to be told, “Why aren’t you pregnant yet? This is your fault! If you only had more faith!”
We are all lacking when it comes to faith. If we weren’t, we’d be busy tossing mountains into the sea for the fun of it. What if we joined our faith together? There’s such power in the words, “I’m believing with you.”
[Tweet “Whose faith can you add yours to today?”]
Stacey Philpot is wife to Ryan and mother to Hayden, Julie, and Avery. She is a writer, goofball, and avid reader. Stacey has ministered for over 15 years to youth and women in her community in order to equip them to go deeper in Christ. She blogs at aliferepaired.com and chronicallywhole.com.
Photograph © Chad Madden, used with permission
This resonates with me. As someone who has an autoimmune disease, I have felt the sting of ill chosen words and struggle with so much. BUT GOD is faithful. He fills me on the days I can barely function. Thank you for your wisdom.
Cheering you on, Cheryl. So thankful for your encouragement and for our faithful God.
Thank you for sharing this powerful message, it really spoke to me and I could really relate. I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia 17 years ago (when I was in my mid 20’s). Then 4 1/2 years ago, I was diagnosed with Sjogrens and mild Lupus.
Cindy, my illnesses like to multiply as well. Somewhere along the way, they heard the party was at my place. So thankful we’re not in this alone!
Stacy, I love you and I am believing right beside you for healing. I am praying for you, and eventhough I don’t understand why things happen the way they do,i know God has a plan through all of our trials. Weather it is divorce, death of a loved one, or illness, he is always up to something. I know you already know that. I’m so sorry you had to witness that, especially the state your body was in and all the effort it took just to be present. Stupid preacher. That was wrong.
Americans have hidden suffering for so long that now they hide it from the church and put on a ‘happy’ face. I think they are afraid that their marketing plan of Christianity =” all the good things (health/wealth /prosperity)” will be found out. But Jesus said we would suffer here. We will have all the good things – but maybe not here. The church’s pretending has separated them from who they need to minister to, who they need to pray for, who they need to comfort. And in doing so has created baby-milk-fed believers who fall away when troubles come because they believe God has turned against them in their trials… Rather than leaning on the the source of all joy, of all peace, of all comfort. Jesus knew suffering. Peter knew suffering. Mark, John, James, Paul, Timothy, Barnabas… All suffered. Why do they teach that we will be spared such things? ? Thank you for sharing your journey. I’m on a similar path. May the Grace and strength and joy of our Lord be with you.
My daughter sent me this article and it is so beautiful and so true. Thank you for writing it and for putting into words what we not be able to.
Thank you! This is so needed today!
For myself I’ve always longed to hear someone respond to my own wondering why I’m not yet healed, “He is God, we are not. I don’t know why”. It has always puzzled me as to why believers feel they need to have all the answers. Aren’t there some things we just don’t have knowledge of? Isn’t that why He is God and we are not? If we knew everything He knew what would be the difference between us and Him?
There wasn’t much you wrote that wasn’t familiar to my own walk. From your place of faith in Him to your physical situation (with the exception of the diagnosis) to the church experience of being told that it’s always God’s will for all to be healed. It is so painful to brush up against these harsh and unsympathetic words not just because we are already suffering, but because these are supposed to be our brothers and sisters in faith and where is the love for those who journey through trying times? Wouldn’t it be amazing if people would just reach out their hands, look into our eyes, touch our hearts with words of compassion that say, “I’m here with you and want to help carry your burden. Let’s travel this road together”.
There is so much about the kingdom we don’t know and aren’t meant to know. Faith in the word is said to be the assurance of what we cannot see. So our belief system involves having a confidence in what is unseen. That in itself teaches us to trust in Him without having everything answered in advance.
I’ve heard it been said that our lives can be described as written on page 241 in a book with 4793 pages. Only He has knowledge of all that’s taken place in the earlier pages and only He has knowledge of what happens in the pages ahead. Why can people not be satisfied with the mysteries of God? All God’s plans are knit together with a reasoning only He is privvy to. What I experience in my life on page 241 just might have an effect on what will unfold on page 655 in another’s life.
Thank you for sharing your story. There are two very powerful words in our vocabulary that offer connection and empathy, “Me too”. It always sounds so strange to feel better when we find others on this road of chronic illness because we are supposed to want our group’s numbers to decline, but until Jesus returns we must live with the ramifications of the fall. So for now we seek out others who understand maybe even just a little bit the heartache and the grief that accompanies suffering. And even if they don’t have all the answers we still hope their mere presence lightens out burden. It’s called the ministry of “being there”.