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Give this a listen🎵A Living, Breathing, Walking Testimony
For years, people have gently suggested that I should write a book. Some said it casually. Others said it with conviction, as if they could already see something I hadn’t yet allowed myself to imagine. Each time, I brushed the thought aside. I didn’t argue with them, but I didn’t give the idea much weight either. Writing a book felt distant—unnecessary, maybe even presumptuous. I was already writing. I was already sharing. Surely that was enough.
Or so I thought.
The suggestion surfaced again recently—this time during my
long road trip through Tennessee. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard it, but it
was the first time I truly paused to consider it. Something about that trip
created space—space to think, to reflect, and to notice patterns I had
previously ignored.
As the miles passed and conversations unfolded, I realized
how often the same themes were being repeated back to me: encouragement,
testimony, perseverance, faith through suffering, and the reminder not to take
the seemingly small things for granted. These weren’t just blog topics anymore;
they were lived experiences that resonated deeply with people in very different
walks of life.
A Quiet Realization on the Road
Somewhere between destinations and speaking engagements, a
quiet realization settled in my heart: not everyone is on the internet. Not
everyone scrolls social media. Not everyone reads blogs. And yet, the
stories—the testimony, the lessons, the reminders of God’s faithfulness—still
matter.
I began to understand that while blogging has been a
faithful and fruitful outlet for me, it also has limits. There are people who
will never stumble across a post online, but who might hold a book in their
hands. There are individuals who may never search for encouragement digitally,
but who might read a printed page passed to them by a friend, a family member,
or a ministry.
That thought stayed with me.
From Scattered Posts to a Unified Story
As I reflected, I realized that much of what I have shared
already forms a larger narrative. These posts were never random. They were
written in seasons—some joyful, some painful, some full of unanswered
questions. Together, they tell a story of endurance, faith, growth, and
learning to trust God in the everyday.
A blog allows space for moments. A book allows space for
a journey.
Compiling these reflections into book form began to feel
less like a personal project and more like stewardship—gathering what God has
already allowed me to write and offering it in a way that might reach further
than I ever expected.
Why a Book, and Why Now?
Timing matters. I don’t believe this realization came by
accident, nor do I believe it came too early or too late. It came when I was
finally willing to listen without dismissing the possibility outright.
This season has been one of both reflection and
stretching—physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Writing a book is not a
small undertaking, but neither is the responsibility of sharing a testimony
when God continues to open doors for it to be heard.
Perhaps the book isn’t just about telling my story. Perhaps
it’s about reminding others that their stories matter too—that faith is often
built in unseen moments, and that perseverance is rarely loud or glamorous.
What This Book Is—and What It Is Not
As I’ve moved from contemplation into action, I’ve spent a
great deal of time researching what it actually looks like to turn blogging
into a book. I’ve learned quickly that it isn’t as simple as copying and
pasting posts into chapters. Writing for a book means writing for a different
audience, with a different purpose, and often with a different depth and flow
than a blog allows.
Through that research, I’ve also come to see the value of
multiple formats. My desire is to release a print version, and an eBook too. Each format reaches people
differently. Some prefer the feel of a physical book in their hands. Others
rely on digital data. If my story is going to reach those who need
to hear it, it needs to be available where they are.
At first, I wrestled with the idea. Much of the content may
feel familiar to those who read my blog regularly, and I questioned whether a
book would be redundant. I found myself asking, Why write a book if it says
many of the same core things? But the more I reflected, the clearer the
distinction became. A book allows space for connection, continuity, and
intentional storytelling in a way a blog cannot always provide.
This book is not about repeating words for the sake of
repetition. It is about reshaping testimony for broader reach and deeper
impact. It is about trusting that God can use familiar truths in new ways, and
believing that offering this story in different formats may help and encourage
someone I may never meet.
It is honest. It is reflective. And it is written with the
hope that someone, somewhere, will find encouragement in its pages.
Looking Ahead
As I move forward with this book endeavor, I do so
prayerfully and thoughtfully. Scripture has been a steady guide throughout this
process, reminding me that what God plants and purposes will come to
fruition in His time—not mine.
“Being confident of this very thing, that he which hath
begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ.” Philippians
1:6
It is my hope that through its various formats, this book
might reach a wide range of people—those from an older generation who prefer
the familiarity of a printed book, and those who are homebound may rely on digital
access. Each format serves a purpose, and each reader matters.
“So shall my word be that goeth forth out of my mouth: it
shall not return unto me void, but it shall accomplish that which I please, and
it shall prosper in the thing whereto I sent it. Isaiah 55:11
This step requires faith—faith to believe that expanding
into new formats is not unnecessary duplication, but an opportunity for broader
reach and deeper impact. I am praying for the ability to expand my vision, to
see beyond what feels familiar, and to trust God with the outcome.
“The heart of man deviseth his way: but the Lord
directeth his steps.” Proverbs 16:9
Please feel free to share this information with others, we
don’t know what God’s plan for the future entails.
This blog has always been the place where the story unfolds
first. And as that story takes on a new form, I remain grateful to walk this
road one step—and one page—at a time.
Be encouraged. 🧡
I have been thinking about what to share with you next, and this time, instead of trying to force clarity before writing, I decided to simply begin with what has been sitting in my heart. Sometimes the most honest place to start is not with a polished idea, but with reflection — with the thoughts that surface when life slows you down just enough to notice them.
Recently, I experienced a fall at home. It wasn’t dramatic,
and it wasn’t caused by anything external. I was simply carrying too much at
once. I lost my balance, and I couldn’t recover it in time. The result was pain
in my left hip and pelvic area, and the strong suspicion that I had irritated
or possibly torn something — perhaps a labral tear. What followed was not only
physical discomfort, but an emotional response that surprised me with its
weight.
When the Setback Feels Self-Inflicted
One of the hardest parts of this experience was not the pain
itself, but the realization that I felt responsible for it. I wasn’t pushed. I
didn’t trip over something unexpected. I made a decision to carry more than I
should have, and I paid the price for it.
That made this setback feel different.
There is something uniquely discouraging about suffering
that feels self-inflicted. It carries an added layer of frustration — the
quiet accusation of “You should have known better.” I found myself replaying
the moment in my mind, wishing I had slowed down, taken two trips instead of
one, or asked for help.
And so, in addition to physical healing, I had to work
through the emotional weight of blame.
The Bible tells us,
Psalm 37:23 “The steps of a good man are ordered
by the LORD: and he delighteth in his way.”
But in moments like this, it can be hard to reconcile that
truth with what feels like our own misstep.
Learning to Pause and Listen Again
Because of the pain, I stopped doing certain exercises. I
didn’t stop moving altogether, but I became more careful, more intentional, and
more aware of my body. Over time, the pain did begin to ease. I am not 100%
healed yet, but I am a lot better than I was (and fully resumed my activities).
That season of slowing down forced me to listen — not just
to my body, but to what God might be teaching me in the pause. Awareness is
not always comfortable, but it is often necessary. I had to admit that
pushing through everything is not always wisdom, and that rest, restraint, and
adaptation are sometimes acts of obedience rather than weakness.
Discovering What I Didn’t Know I Needed
During this time, being more conscious of my physical
limitations and my need for stability, I became aware of a class at my local
gym that I hadn’t known about before. I visited one day, observed it, and after
some thought, decided to join.
The class includes movements and exercises I would not
normally choose for myself — balance work, stability training, and intentional
strengthening of muscles that support confidence in movement. In many ways, it
felt less like a typical workout and more like therapy to me.
It challenged me in ways that were unfamiliar but
necessary.
Looking back, I can see that had I not fallen, had I not
been forced to reassess my physical condition, I might never have noticed this
class at all.
A Face From the Past
One of the most unexpected moments came when I realized who
the instructor of the class was.
When I was in high school, I was part of the archery team.
We practiced for competitions, and one of the instructors was this same woman.
She knew me then — when I was about eighteen years old — long before life,
injury, and time had reshaped my body and my story.
Now, here we were again, twenty-five years later, crossing
paths in a completely different season of life.
It was humbling. A little amusing. And quietly meaningful.
God has a way of reconnecting us with people from our past,
not to return us to who we were, but to show us how far we have come — and how
He has been present in every chapter.
Wrestling With Responsibility
Despite all of this, I still wrestled with the fact that the
fall had been my fault. That internal dialogue didn’t disappear overnight. I
felt upset that I had created another obstacle for myself, another hurdle in a
life already marked by recovery and limitation.
Then, during a sermon, the preacher said something that
stopped me in my tracks.
He spoke about moments when we ask God, “Why did this
happen? Why am I dealing with this?” And then he shared a simple but profound
truth:
God said, “I don’t have accidents. I have plans.”
That sentence settled into my spirit.
Seeing Through a Different Lens
What I saw as a self-inflicted setback, God saw through a
different lens entirely. I may not know all that His plan includes, but I am
learning that even when our choices contribute to difficulty, God is not
limited by our mistakes.
Scripture reminds us,
Romans 8:28 “And we know that all things work
together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according
to his purpose.”
“All things” does not exclude our misjudgments. It does not
exclude our missteps. It does not exclude moments when we wish we had done
things differently.
I have only been attending this class for a couple of
months. I cannot point to dramatic changes or grand results. But the instructor
has mentioned noticing improvement in my balance, and that encouragement
matters more than I might have expected.
I plan to continue attending — not because I can already see
the full benefit, but because I trust the process. I believe it cannot hurt. It
can only help.
Faith often looks like continuing to show up before we see
the outcome.
Trusting the Plan I Cannot Yet See
I didn’t plan the fall.
I didn’t plan the pain.
I didn’t plan the class.
I didn’t plan the reunion.
But God did not waste any of it.
Jeremiah 29:11 “For I know the thoughts that I
think toward you, saith the LORD, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give
you an expected end.”
When “Little” Still Produces Fruit
As I have been attending this class and paying closer
attention to my body, I have been reminded of something the apostle Paul wrote
— a passage I have read many times before, but one that feels newly personal in
this season.
1 Timothy 4:8 “For
bodily exercise profiteth little: but godliness is profitable unto all things,
having promise of the life that now is, and of that which is to come.”
Paul does not say that bodily exercise profits nothing.
He says it profits little. And that distinction matters.
Anyone who has ever exercised consistently knows that
movement produces results. Muscles respond. Balance improves. Strength
increases. Confidence grows. Even when progress feels slow, persistence
always leaves evidence behind. You can feel it. You can measure it. You can
tell when something is changing.
And yet, Paul tells us that even those tangible, visible
gains — the kind we can see and feel — are small when compared to the profit of
godliness.
That stopped me.
Because if something as “little” as physical exercise still
produces noticeable progress when done faithfully, how much more would
consistent, diligent time in God’s Word produce lasting fruit?
If showing up regularly to strengthen muscles yields
improvement, what might happen if we applied that same discipline to Scripture?
If we approached the Bible not casually or sporadically, but with intention,
patience, and persistence?
Paul reminds us that godliness carries promise not only for
this life, but for eternity. The gains may not always be immediately visible,
but they are far greater. They shape the heart. They steady the mind. They
strengthen faith in ways no physical exercise ever could.
This realization convicted and encouraged me at the same
time. It reminded me that growth — whether physical or spiritual — does not
come from intensity alone, but from consistency. And while my body may show
improvement over time through exercise, it is my soul that requires even
greater care, attention, and discipline.
If I am willing to trust the process with my body, I must
also be willing to trust the process with my faith.
What felt like an interruption may have been an
invitation. What felt like a setback may have been direction. And what I
once labeled an accident, I am learning to trust as part of a plan — one
still unfolding, still healing, and still held in His hands.
A Memory That Returned Unexpectedly
Recently, a memory surfaced that I had not visited in years.
It came quietly—uninvited but important. It carried me back to those early,
foggy weeks after my motorcycle wreck, when I lay in the ICU, unaware of how
fragile my life was and how deeply God was already working.
My memories from that time are scattered and dim, like fragments from a dream. But this one—this memory—came back sharp enough to feel again.
I remembered the vibrating hospital bed.
I remember how much I disliked that bed. It shook beneath me
with a relentless hum that traveled straight into my bones. I could feel it
rattle my teeth at times, and each vibration slowly pushed my body downward
until the nurses had to come in, lift me, and reposition me. I hated the
sensation. I hated the loss of control. I hated how helpless I felt.
But I also know now why they used it. It was meant to
protect my lungs—lungs that had already suffered from a collapsed lung, the
trauma of the ventilator, and my inability to swallow correctly. Pneumonia
was a very real threat, and that vibrating bed was part of the fight to
keep it away.
And it worked.
I never got pneumonia once—not in the ICU, not in therapy, not during my
entire hospital stay.
Looking back, that is nothing short of mercy.
Psalm 34:6 “This poor man cried, and the LORD
heard him, and saved him out of all his troubles.”
The Tenderness of Small Acts
As that memory opened, more pieces drifted back with it.
Small things… but when you’re helpless, small things become enormous.
I remembered a nurse in the ICU who noticed that my eyebrows
had been manicured before the wreck. She didn’t want that care to fade, so she
would come in with tweezers and gently shape them, keeping stray hairs away. I
couldn’t talk. I wasn’t coherent. I couldn’t tell her thank you. But she
cared for me in a way that reached far deeper than grooming.
I remembered my mom leaving a CD of music that played
constantly in my room, creating a peaceful atmosphere that helped settle my
mind even when my thoughts were tangled and unclear. Sometimes they would turn
the television to a hospital channel that showed nature scenes with relaxing
music. At the time, I didn’t realize the purpose. Now I know—they were
trying to create beauty around someone who could not create beauty for herself.
They were always finding ways—small, simple ways—to make my
world better.
Those quiet kindnesses mattered.
Kindness always matters.
Ephesians 4:32 “And be ye kind one to another,
tenderhearted…”
The Fog Between Dreams and Reality
Much of what I “remember” from ICU feels like dream
fragments. Some moments were so blurry that I questioned whether they happened
at all. Medication, trauma, exhaustion, and fear blended everything together
into a haze.
I recall visitors in the limited time they were allowed, and
I remember being troubled—worried that some of them thought I was faking. I
wasn’t, of course. But that fear lived somewhere deep inside the confusion.
Was it reality?
Was it a dream?
Was it my mind trying to make sense of something too big to understand?
Even now I’m not entirely sure.
But what I am sure of is this:
God was present in every foggy corner of that room. Even when I couldn’t
think clearly. Even when I couldn’t pray out loud. Even when I wasn’t myself.
He was there.
Psalm 61:2 “When my heart is overwhelmed: lead me
to the rock that is higher than I.”
A Journey Forward — Literally and Spiritually
Fast forward to just a few weeks ago. I went on an extended
solo road trip where I spoke to three different groups and had multiple opportunities
throughout the week to share pieces of my testimony—about the wreck, the
recovery, the impossible things God brought me through, and the things He is
still helping me overcome.
Before leaving, I worried.
What would I say?
Would I remember enough?
Would my nerves get in the way?
Would the right words come?
He was with me—guiding, strengthening, steadying.
And as I spoke, I reflected on the woman I was back then,
lying in that vibrating bed, unable to move, unable to speak, unsure of what
was real and what wasn’t.
And then I looked at the woman standing there those nights—driving
through the state alone, carrying a testimony, sharing hope, offering
encouragement, and declaring the goodness of God.
The difference is stunning.
The journey is long.
And the grace is immeasurable.
Psalm 118:23 “This is the LORD's doing; it is
marvellous in our eyes.”
Not 100%… but No Longer Who I Was
I’m not fully whole.
I still face limitations.
I still navigate frustrations, pains, and the ongoing results of that wreck.
But I am no longer the woman in that ICU bed.
Not physically. Not emotionally. Not spiritually.
God didn’t just heal parts of my body—He grew my faith,
sharpened my gratitude, and expanded my purpose. He gave me words. He gave me
strength. He gave me a testimony.
He gave me a new life.
Psalm 118:17 “I shall not die, but live, and
declare the works of the LORD.”
What I Know Now
If the vibrating bed taught me anything, it’s this:
Sometimes what feels uncomfortable…
sometimes what rattles us…
sometimes what shakes us to the core…
is what keeps us alive.
Sometimes the things we hate become the very things that
save us.
And sometimes the memories we try to forget become the
testimony God uses to encourage others.
He wastes nothing—not suffering, not confusion, not fear,
not tears, not time.
God was faithful to bring back to my mind things I hadn’t
thought about in a long while. Even though I’m not physically at 100%, I’m
definitely stronger than I used to be. And I’m trusting Him to keep writing my
story. He’s not finished with me yet. There’s more ahead, and I’m looking
forward with expectation, believing that to be true.
A Reflection for You
As you read this, I hope you’ll pause and think:
Your story matters.
Your scars matter.
Your survival matters.
And your testimony has the power to lift someone else from their own vibrating
bed of fear, uncertainty, or pain.
Be encouraged. 🧡
Lately, I’ve
been trying to find the good things. To be honest, it’s not always easy. Many
times, I want to appear strong—unshaken, like I have the answers, like I know
what everything means and where it’s all heading. But the truth is, I don’t
always know.
More and
more, I’ve caught myself thinking about all the things I see others doing—the
things I can’t do. Such as active or adventurous hobbies, like biking, hiking,
or playing games outside. Even simple things like walking outside down a path
in the forest or a meadow without assistance to pick fresh flowers to bring
inside and decorate the table. These small, everyday joys seem so effortless
for others, yet for me they come with limits and barriers.
I can’t just
take a leisurely walk down the driveway or down a trail. I need my walker or
the assistance of someone else. Even then, my walking doesn’t look as graceful
as I wish it would. That reality can feel heavy sometimes. And yes, it can feel
lonely.
I hesitate to
even admit that, because vulnerability often feels like an invitation for pity
or sympathy—neither of which I’m asking for. What I do want, though, is to let
someone else know: if you’ve ever had these thoughts and feelings, you’re not
alone.
The Quiet
Battle of Comparison
One of the
hardest struggles for me lately has been comparison. It sneaks in quietly when
I’m watching others live their lives with a freedom I don’t have. It whispers:
Look at what they can do. Why can’t you?
And yet, I
remind myself that even when I cannot do certain things, there are still
blessings in front of me. Even when my body doesn’t cooperate, I can still find
reasons to praise the Lord.
The Bible
tells us in 1 Thessalonians 5:18, “In every thing give thanks: for
this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.” That’s not always
easy, is it? Giving thanks when life feels heavy and when you’re reminded of
what you’ve lost doesn’t come naturally. But it’s in those moments—those
valleys of comparison and loneliness—that gratitude becomes the very thing that
lifts us up.
Learning
to See Differently
I’ve realized
lately that sometimes the Lord calls us to see life differently. I may not be
able to walk down a wooded path, but I can still enjoy the fresh breeze through
an open window. I may not pick flowers from a meadow, but I can still place a
vase on the table and let its colors brighten the room.
It doesn’t
erase the ache of what I can’t do, but it helps me to notice what I can. Sometimes,
the good things are not in the loud, obvious moments but in the small
details—the gentle reminders that God’s creation is still around me, even if I
engage with it differently than before.
Psalm
34:18 says, “The
LORD is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a
contrite spirit.” What a comfort that is! God doesn’t stand far off when
we are hurting. He draws near. When my spirit feels crushed, when
loneliness creeps in, when my heart aches with comparison, the Lord is not
distant—He is present.
Choosing
Honesty Over Perfection
I think
sometimes we feel pressure to appear strong, as if admitting our struggles is
the same as admitting defeat. But it isn’t. Honesty is not weakness—it’s
courage. It opens the door for someone else to say, Me too. I’ve felt that
way as well.
If you are
reading this and struggling with loneliness, comparison, or unmet longings, I
want you to know you don’t have to hide it. God sees you. He understands
what you haven’t even spoken out loud. And He cares deeply.
He tells us
in Isaiah 41:10, “Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed;
for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will
uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.”
When we feel
like our own strength is gone, He promises to uphold us. When we feel unseen,
He reminds us that He is near.
Loneliness
Is Not the End of the Story
Loneliness
has a way of making us feel forgotten. But I’ve been reminded that even when
people don’t fully understand, God does. Even when I can’t explain my feelings,
He already knows them.
King David
knew loneliness. Many of the psalms are filled with his cries of feeling
forsaken, surrounded by enemies, or cut off from comfort. And yet, David also
sang of God’s faithfulness, declaring in Psalm 27:10, “When my father
and my mother forsake me, then the LORD will take me up.”
That means
even if the closest people in our lives cannot walk with us through certain
valleys, God will. He is faithful in every season.
Looking
for the Good
So I return
to where I started: I’m trying to find the good things. Not the big,
extraordinary, once-in-a-lifetime moments—but the little daily graces. A smile
from a friend. The sound of laughter. A verse of Scripture that meets me right
where I am. A reminder that even in the midst of longing, God’s blessings are
still present.
Gratitude
doesn’t always erase pain, but it shifts the way we carry it. It doesn’t deny the hard realities,
but it allows us to see beyond them.
So if you’ve
been struggling—whether with health, with comparison, with loneliness, or
simply with the weight of life—know this: you are not alone. Your story
matters. Your feelings matter. And God has not forgotten you.
Maybe we can
walk this road together, choosing to be honest, choosing to be thankful, and
choosing to see the good things even in hard places.
Learning
New Skills and Finding Joy
As I’ve
prayed and reflected, I’ve also tried to lean into new things that bring joy
and purpose in this season. Another thing I’ve been thinking about doing lately
is grinding my own wheat berries to make fresh flour for baking. There’s
something deeply satisfying about the thought of taking something so
simple—wheat—and turning it into nourishment with my own hands. It takes effort
and time, but the end result is worth it: bread that is fresh, wholesome, and
made with care.
In a way, I
think that’s a picture of life right now. Not everything comes quickly or
easily. Some things require extra steps, patience, or different tools than I
expected. But just as wheat can be ground into flour and then baked into
something that blesses others, my life can still be shaped and used in
meaningful ways.
Jesus said in
John 6:35, “I am the bread of life: he that cometh to me shall never
hunger; and he that believeth on me shall never thirst.” That verse reminds
me that while bread can fill the body, Christ Himself fills the soul.
And in the same way, the process of baking reminds me that God is still working
in me, even through the pressing and grinding seasons, to bring forth something
good.
Along with
this, I’ve also been spending time learning for my part-time office job. The
technical aspects stretch me, but in good ways. I’m excited about what I’m
learning and the chance to implement new systems that will help things run more
smoothly and serve customers and colleagues better. It’s a blessing to know
that even with my limitations, God still allows me to contribute in ways that
matter.
Wrestling
With Questions of Faith
Another area
I often wrestle with is faith and healing. There are times when I wonder: if I
just had more faith, could I handle my healing differently? Could I even be
healed? And then, when I start down that path, I ask myself—Is my faith not big
enough?
But then I
step back and remember all that God has already done in my life. Physically,
financially, emotionally, spiritually—He has proven Himself to me over and over
again. In so many ways, I feel like my faith is enormous because I’ve seen
His hand at work.
Yet still, I
wrestle. I wonder if maybe the point isn’t about the size of my faith, but
about what God is teaching me through the valleys. Maybe the afflictions we
face are not meant to prove our weakness, but to shape our trust in Him. Maybe
it’s not about my healing, or any one specific need, but about learning to
glorify Him in all circumstances.
Paul spoke
about this in 2 Corinthians 12:9–10, where he shared the Lord’s words: “My
grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.”
And Paul’s response was, “Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my
infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me… for when I am weak,
then am I strong.”
That truth
humbles me. Healing is in God’s hands, not mine. Faith is not a measuring
stick—it is trust, even when the outcome doesn’t look like what I wanted. And
sometimes, the very thing I wish away might be the thing God is using to build
my faith and draw me closer to Him.
So I continue
to pray, to trust, and to rest in knowing that whether healing comes now,
later, or in eternity, God’s grace is enough.
At the end of
the day, I may still face limits and longings, but I’ve also discovered
treasures I might have missed otherwise—quiet mercies, deeper faith, and the
nearness of God in hard places. And that’s the good I’m holding onto. My prayer
is that you, too, will find those hidden blessings right where you are.
For many years now, I’ve relied on a transdermal scopolamine patch to help control my saliva production. It’s a small, round sticker that I typically wear on my neck, just behind my ear. Every three days, I change it for a new one. This routine has become part of my life, and while it may seem simple, it’s one of the little things that makes my daily life more manageable.
I’ve realized that this tiny patch represents more than
medicine — it’s a reminder of how God can use small things to meet big needs.
Sometimes we overlook His daily mercies because they come in ordinary forms.
But when one of those little helps is missing, we suddenly see just how much we
rely on His provision in every detail.
Lately, though, things have not gone so smoothly. The
current brand my pharmacy has been giving me does not remain adhesive for the
full three days. Sometimes it lasts 24 hours, sometimes 48, but rarely the full
72. Because of this, I’ve had to reapply patches sooner than I should.
Normally, I receive 30 patches at a time—a 90-day supply—but since they fall
off too soon, I ran out before my insurance would cover a refill. That left me
with seven long days without a patch.
Trying to find a solution, I’ve had several frustrating
phone call encounters with my doctor’s office as I’ve tried to remedy the
situation. My personal physician is on maternity leave, and the covering doctor
in the office preferred not to prescribe anything since she does not know me.
When the nurse called back, I was told no one in the office would see me, and
that I would need to wait for my regular doctor. But the earliest appointment I
already had scheduled with her wasn’t until December—and it’s only a telehealth
appointment, not in person.
So currently, I’m in that week-long waiting period with
nothing to help me, and my saliva is overwhelming to say the least. I’ve
already shed tears, and I expect there might be more along the way. I’m not
sure what I can do to expedite or change these circumstances, and the
helplessness feels heavy.
When Help Doesn’t Come
Needless to say, it’s been a real fiasco — no
patches, no guidance, and absolutely no help or suggestions from my medical
office. I’m beyond disappointed with that level of service. If you can’t care
about your patients, I truly feel you’re in the wrong field.
It’s hard when you’re treated like a number instead of a
person. I hung up the phone that day and just sat in silence for a while,
wondering why compassion seems so scarce in a field meant for healing. But
then, I remembered — even when people turn us away, God never does. His
line is always open, His ear always listening.
So, I did the best I could. I started looking for an
over-the-counter option and found a generic motion sickness pill that I could
crush, thinking it might help. It wasn’t time-released, so I figured it would
be safe. What I didn’t realize was that there are different kinds of motion
sickness medications. The kind I picked said to take two pills for 24 hours, so
that’s what I did.
But soon, I started feeling strange — drowsy, jelly-like,
and just plain awful — with no improvement in my saliva at all. After half a
day of feeling miserable, I reached out to a family member with medical
experience and sent her a photo of the box. Thank goodness I did! It turned out
the medication I had bought was similar to Benadryl — which explained
everything I was feeling.
For now, that’s what I’ve been using until my insurance
approves my prescription again. Hopefully, it won’t be much longer. In the
meantime, I’m just thankful for the bit of wisdom and help that came through
family — when professional help didn’t.
James 1:17 “Every good gift and every perfect
gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights...”
Even though my doctor didn’t help, God still provided the
help I needed — through a family member who knew what to look for. He always
finds a way to care for us, even when it’s not through the channels we
expected.
When life brings these moments of frustration, of waiting,
and of helplessness, it can be hard not to feel forgotten. My tears over
something as small as a patch remind me that nothing is too small to bring
before God. He sees even this struggle. The Bible says:
Psalm 56:8 “Thou tellest my wanderings: put thou
my tears into thy bottle: are they not in thy book?”
Isn’t it amazing that God keeps track of every tear we cry?
They are not wasted. They are not overlooked. To Him, they matter.
Right now, I don’t know what will happen with my
prescription or how soon things will change. But I do know this: God is still
faithful in the waiting. He is still present when the answers are delayed. He
is still strong when my body feels weak.
Psalm 55:22 “Cast thy burden upon the LORD, and he
shall sustain thee: he shall never suffer the righteous to be moved.”
I’ve tried to distract myself from the discomfort by telling
myself I’m fine and keeping my mind occupied. Easier said than done.
These waiting days remind me of how much I depend on
Him—more than any patch, more than any pill, more than any earthly fix.
Medicine may fail, systems may be slow, and people may not always understand
the urgency of what we face, but the Lord remains constant.
I think of Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians 12:9: “And
he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made
perfect in weakness.”
This doesn’t mean the weakness disappears—it means God’s
strength shows up right in the middle of it. If He can sustain me through seven
days without my medicine, He can sustain you through whatever “waiting period”
you may be walking through, too.
So today, I cast my burden on Him once more, knowing He will
sustain me. My prayer is that even in my weakness, someone else will see His
strength.
Waiting seasons can refine us in ways comfort never could.
They teach patience, deepen prayer, and remind us that peace doesn’t come
from perfect circumstances but from perfect trust. Every delay becomes an
invitation to lean harder on the One who never fails.
What are you waiting on God for today? Whatever it is, may
you be reminded that He sees your tears, knows your struggles, and is faithful
to carry you through.
At my initial appointment, the doctor reassured me that the
bones looked great. That was good news. But as many of you know, a healthy bone
structure is only part of the story. Around the hip joint, where the femur fits
into the pelvis, there is cartilage. And cartilage, unlike bone, does not show
up on a simple X-ray. The way I described my pain and the limitations in my leg
movement led the doctor to suspect that the cartilage could be the real issue.
So, he referred me to a specialist.
Here’s the part that challenges me: I have to wait about
three weeks before I can even see this specialist and find out what’s really
going on. Three weeks may not sound like a long time, but when you’re in pain,
when your routines are interrupted, and when you have questions without
answers—it feels like forever.
When Life Feels Stuck
What do we do in the waiting, when we cannot move forward
like we want?
It sort of makes you feel stuck. I have goals I want to meet
and things I want to accomplish. I like to see progress in my physical strength
and health. But in this moment, I am unable to pursue them the way I want. That
makes it feel, in a way, like wasted time.
I find myself wishing I could get in to see the specialist
sooner, but that door isn’t open yet. And it made me stop and think: how many
times in life do we face situations that force us to wait? Waiting for answers,
waiting for healing, waiting for jobs, waiting for direction and guidance.
Waiting for prayers to be answered.
The truth is, we all face things that require waiting. And
if we’re being honest, most of us don’t like it.
 |
| Tick, tock |
As I wrestle with this season, I find comfort and strength
in looking at the lives of those in Scripture who also had to wait.
Genesis 21:1–2
“And the LORD visited Sarah as he had said, and the LORD did unto Sarah as he
had spoken. For Sarah conceived, and bare Abraham a son in his old age, at the
set time of which God had spoken to him.”
These accounts remind me that waiting is not a
punishment; it is often a part of God’s process.
What Waiting Produces
When I step back and view waiting through the lens of faith,
I begin to see it differently.
Isaiah 40:31 says:
“But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their
strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be
weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.”
Notice that strength is not promised to those who rush
ahead, but to those who wait upon the Lord.
Waiting as Training, Not Wasted Time
Something the Lord has been showing me is that waiting
seasons are not wasted seasons. They are actually training grounds.
Think about an athlete who is told to rest. At first, it
feels like everything is being taken away. But in reality, the body is
repairing itself, and the rest is building a stronger foundation for the
future. The same principle applies spiritually.
When I cannot use the elliptical or rowing machine, I can
walk deeper with God in prayer. When I cannot build muscle in my legs, I can
strengthen the muscle of my faith. The waiting becomes a different kind of
workout—not of the body, but of the heart.
And if I’m being honest, that’s not the kind of workout I
would have chosen for myself. But God, as the perfect Trainer, knows what area
of my life needs attention, and He is wise enough to slow me down when I would
have only pushed harder.
A Personal Struggle
I will admit to you that lately I’ve had a real personal
struggle with my lack of physical abilities. It is hard not to think about the
things I used to be able to do but cannot do right now. Those memories have
weighed heavily on my mind.
But I remind myself: just because my body feels limited does
not mean God is limited. When I cannot move physically the way I want, He is
still working spiritually. He is shaping me, reminding me that my value is not
measured by how many miles I can walk, how much weight I can lift, or how far I
can push myself in cardio. My value is found in Him alone.
Encouragement for You
Perhaps you, too, are in a season of waiting. It may not be
a hip injury like mine. Maybe it’s waiting for a door to open in your career.
Maybe you’re waiting for healing in your family, or for clarity about a big
decision. Maybe you’re waiting for God to restore something broken in your
life.
Whatever it is, I want you to know this: God does not
waste seasons of waiting.
He uses them to stabilize us, to anchor our hearts in Him.
He uses them to prepare us for what is next. And though we may not understand
the “why” right now, we can be confident that His timing is perfect.
Psalm 27:14 gives us this encouragement:
“Wait on the LORD: be of good courage, and he shall
strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the LORD.”
Friend, do you notice how the psalmist repeats himself?
“Wait, I say, on the LORD.” God knew we would struggle here. He knew we would
need the reminder not just once but twice in the very same verse. Waiting is
not easy, but it is powerful when it is done with faith.
Closing Thoughts
So while I wait these three weeks to see the specialist, I
am choosing to wait on the Lord as well. I may not be doing leg workouts or
cardio right now, but I can strengthen my heart in Scripture, in prayer, and in
trust.
What are you waiting on today? Is there an area of your life
where you feel “stuck”? I encourage you to place it in God’s hands, to lean
into Him during the waiting. Because while we may feel like nothing is
happening, He is always at work.
And when His timing comes, the answer will be worth every
moment of the wait.
As I mentioned at the top, this month marks the one-year anniversary of this blog. I’ve recorded a short audio reflection to share my thanks and some encouragement with you — I hope you’ll take a moment to listen.
Discover hope, endurance, and faith in Every Breath, On Purpose — a true story of life-altering loss and rising again. Thank you for your i...
