The Adventures He Has for You

The ground was covered with a glistening white blanket of freshly fallen snow, and flakes the size of saucers gently drifted down as we made our way to Central Park in New York City. The near-whiteout conditions had slowed the city to a halt, and we found parking in a spot usually reserved for a long line of horse-drawn carriages. Sleds in hand, we fumbled our way forward, eyes on the prize—a good-size hill with hay bales at the bottom to break our descent.

My son went down first, carving a path for my friend and me through the powdery snow. Then he shouted to us, “It’s a go!” On my first attempt, my sled got stuck in the snow about halfway down the hill. Instead of shouting back, “It’s a go!” I shouted, “I’m too fat!”

A crowd gathered around the hill. We were a novelty to people from other countries, who took my son’s picture and asked him where they could purchase a sled. He offered his sled to tourist after tourist, guiding them down the hill with tips and an initial shove. I laughed as people who’d never seen snow before thanked my son for a life-changing day.

On my last trip down the hill, my sled hit my son’s tracks and picked up speed, and then spun around so I couldn’t see where I was going. I knocked down the parameter fencing, and then I laughed so hard I cried. So did my dear friend, who had caught the entire episode for digital posterity. (Don’t feel too bad for Central Park. We put their chicken-wire-and-zip-tie fence back together before we left.)

That afternoon was an amazing adventure I’ll treasure for as long as I live. It was one in a series of amazing adventures—promised gifts from God, and yet so far beyond my wildest expectations.

The adventures began three years ago—on my birthday—with a disturbing call from my insurance company. They were not only denying a medical treatment I desperately needed, but denying my final appeal on a treatment that runs close to eight thousand dollars a month.

I have a disease called CVID; I don’t create enough antibodies on my own, and I needed an infusion of donor antibodies each month. I was constantly sick, fighting every imaginable kind of infection, and unable to be the kind of wife, mother, and servant of Christ I longed to be. Exhausted and often fighting multiple infections from my bed at once, I was also unable to work.

My doctor said the insurance company had all my medical records, that they knew I needed this treatment, and they knew paying for this costly treatment was the right thing to do. Yet they’d found a loophole to avoid paying for it. He did not have kind words for them.

I wept. Didn’t they see the parts of my life that had been ripped away? Didn’t they realize they could give them back? Didn’t it matter to them?

That birthday I was grateful to be beside the wide expanse of the ocean and simply breathe in the sea air. I determined to set aside the disappointment of the day and be present with my husband as we went to dinner and walked along the shore.

The next morning I awoke with palpable pain and disappointment. My husband and I cried and prayed together before taking one final stroll along the beach and heading home.

The beach was packed with news cameras and throngs of dismembered surfers. The surfers pulled my heart straight from my chest. I couldn’t breathe as I looked at them. They’d all had pieces of them ripped away, and yet they were surfing.

Tears wet my face as I watched men and women lost in the wonder of the ocean, their missing limbs forgotten for the moment. I ached for what had been ripped away from them. As my tears flowed, God spoke to my heart: I can see the parts of your life that have been ripped away. I hurt for you the way your heart hurts for these people. I care about those pieces, and I still have amazing adventures for you.

I turned around and saw a tent with members of the organization sponsoring the event. Amazing Surf Adventures was opening a new chapter in Cocoa Beach at my hotel that day. I discovered they host these events for wounded warriors, people who’ve had pieces of their lives ripped away. They celebrate these warriors and hope to allow them to enjoy the beauty of the ocean, their own lives, and their bodies.

My husband was on a work call, and I fell to the ground and sobbed. The insurance company might not care one bit, but God Almighty saw my hurt and was deeply moved.

It took a few months, but that treatment was eventually approved, and I’ve been out of the country for the first time, traveling to Paris and London, and then on to Puerto Rico, L.A., and other destinations for the first time. These last years truly have been filled with amazing adventures. I still battle chronic illness in several forms and pay a price for my adventures, but the price is always worth the adventure.

Come close for a moment. May I tell you something? Those pieces of your life that have been ripped way? The ones no one else can see? The ones you think no one cares about? He sees them. He cares. He still has amazing adventures for you. Your story isn’t over.

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.