I find myself in a strange new place. A place where I can’t take the least comfortable spot or help wherever I can in whatever way I can. A place where I have to think about myself and my own comfort far more than I ever wanted to. 

Pain is no stranger here. I have struggled with chronic pain and illness for most of my life. I’m used to fighting through extreme pain in order to get my work done. I’m used to squeezing every last ounce of strength out of myself before I collapse in my bed or on the couch.

But this pain is new. It’s taking away parts of me I didn’t know pain could take. It’s taking my ability to put others before myself. 

I adore serving. My favorite jobs have always been in customer service where I could serve others. I believe part of that came from my desire to push the pain away, even for a little while by focusing on others instead of myself. But I also love getting to impact people’s lives even in really tiny ways. Those moments that seem insignificant to us, but mean everything to someone else. 

But now part of my body is failing me, forcing me to care for myself, to save some energy for me. 

I hate feeling lazy. One of the hardest parts of chronic illness, especially invisible illnesses, is having to rest even when you really don’t want to. My body will need rest without warning, and it never seems to choose a convenient time. I’ve missed so much because my body just couldn’t muster the strength to make it through a day. But I had always been able to recover and return to my life, just the way it was.

A few months ago I sat in my friend’s backyard around a small fire. The fire pit was ringed with a couple different types of seats – an outdoor couch, plastic chairs, and a few pieces of birch placed as stools. We were the first to arrive and as I sat down on the couch I couldn’t help but stare at those pieces of birch. Not that long ago, although my back wouldn’t have been a fan, I would have chosen that spot. But these days I can barely sit in bed without still experiencing pain. I nearly burst into tears right there. Longing for the days that I could give up my comfortable space for someone who may need it more. 

But now I’m that someone. And in this strange new place I’m learning that it’s okay. It’s okay for me to not have the strength to do the things I so desperately want to do, because there are new things I can enjoy. It’s okay for me to have to rely on others and ask for help, because there are people who truly love me and want to help me. It’s okay to be served instead of being served. And it’s okay to trust God even in the times it feels like I’m walking through thick fog, because He already knows the way. 

My comfort through this last year has been that God knows my body precisely. He doesn’t have to guess what is happening or why it’s happening. And I know that my timing is not His timing, because we’ve been down this road already. I suffered with headaches and migraines for 10 years before I got an answer and some relief. I suffered through excruciating menstrual pain for 16 years before I had an answer. I suffered through chronic anxiety and depression for 15 years before I had an answer. 

But through that pain, I have only been brought closer to God. The truth is that answers are nice, but my God already has those. And He tenderly knit my body together 30 years ago. None of what has happened has surprised Him and none of what will happen will surprise Him. So I continue to cling to Him as I relearn how to care for my body, and let Him lead me through this strange new place.