Read, Write, Love, Repeat

There’s something about the anniversary of a life change that stops me in my tracks, whether it’s a happy thing or something crushing, the reminder of what was, what is no more, and more importantly, what God is doing and has done always hooks my attention.

Three years ago, April 24, 2015, was unbeknownst to me, my last day to do my job at Wells Fargo Insurance. Forty-eight hours after I closed my office door that sunny afternoon, just two days later, I would find myself hospitalized, life altered, wondering what hit me. As time went forward a multitude of tests would point me to my diagnosis of fibromyalgia, one that is not a death sentence, thankfully, but is a life sentence. Based on how I felt, it seemed that I would struggle to keep things handled at home, and very unlikely that I would ever be able to hold any kind of job outside the home. Ever again. And that was that. Or so it seemed.

That diagnosis led to our move to Texas, which led to gradual minor improvements in my health, and ultimately led to God’s path to my doctor whose treatment has made enough difference to allow me to function at a level I had never held out hope to see again. Not the energy level I used to have, mind you, but it some ways, I’m better than I was. Better in that I have slowed, I am teachable, I am more humble, more at peace, more patient, more compassionate as a result of this journey.

Fast forward to April 24, 2018. I sit in the principal’s office in the school where I’ve been on a long term part time sub assignment in high school English. Not in trouble, mind you, as the principal’s office might suggest, but she is, in fact, offering me a job for next school year. A God-crafted, perfect-for-me, just-what-my-fibro-body-and-English-teacher-heart-would-ask-for-if-they-could  job. Half time. Only 2 grade levels. Two planning periods. Oh. My. And tears prick the backs of my eyes, again overwhelmed with the goodness, the kindness, the overwhelming El-Shaddai more than enough provision He lavishes on me.

Three years. And God loves threes. The trinity. Three days for Jonah in the belly of the big fish. Three gifts from the Magi to Jesus, Three days of our Lord in the tomb. And my God has resurrected an elemental part of me here, while not disrupting the hard-wrought, tear-stained work He has done in this stubborn and wandering heart, the humbling, the surrender, the learning I’m not the one to do it all. Or the center of it all.

Three years. None of it wasted, all part of the building He is doing and will continue to do.

Three years of God opening me up, cleaning me out, and surprising me. Of me learning how to manage myself well. I still have dark, rough, painful days, but I work with it. I go to work with a cane and sit on a stool as I teach. And try to show God’s goodness to my students in the midst.

May 12 is fibromyalgia awareness day. So I will wear a purple ribbon. Not to draw attention to my chronic illness in a poor-me-isn’t-it-sad way, but to point to my God, user of broken things, healer of broken hearts, and rebuilder of broken dreams.

All glory to Him.