an unexpected diagnosis and an unusual truth

I’m not sure what I was expecting as I sat in front of the doctors. Something like  “eat more veggies and less Chik-fil-A.” Or “do more exercise and don’t sit cross-legged so much.”  But I was not prepared for words like “Thyroid markers. Obvious diagnosis. Autoimmune disease. No cure. Ongoing treatment. Close monitoring. No cheating. Life long…"

There was this initial rush of relief to have a name and reason for my symptoms, but then it hit me: I was sick. I needed care. My body needed help. It will for the rest of my life. That’s what the doctors were saying all slow, and gentle, and kind. And ya’ll? I hated that. Because you see, I’m not the weak one. I’m not the patient. I’m strong. Able to handle things alone. Never been gravely ill, never a broken bone or even a faint. I do healthy. I do fit. Ask my close friends. And I’m the helper. I’ve got a degree in that…

And now this diagnosis. Even though it’s not unique to me or life threatening (and won’t be as long as I address it.) Even though others are in the midst of much greater and graver health situations…medication now calls me home twice a day. Nutritional labels must be read and heeded. If I slip up, I pay for days. The doctor won’t let me cancel appointments. In other words, it’s always in front me now. There’s no avoiding it. I’m not as strong as I thought I was.  

And it’s made me think a lot about this man I know. Prolific writer. World-wide audience. Powerful relationship with God. The strongest Christian I know. But I often forget that he’s quite ill. Physically weak and unlovely because of it. His disease is apparently not curable. It’s ongoing. Maybe even life-long. It affects him every day. He can’t avoid it. It’s a constant reminder: he's not so strong. But he writes about this “thorn in the flesh” with words like glory, rejoice, and pleasure. Of course this man is the Apostle Paul writing to the believers at Corinth. The weakness he’s describing is obviously physical. The strength he’s describing is obviously spiritual. And he writes it three times in the passage: he glories in his infirmities. Then he tells us why.

And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for you: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.

He rejoices because physical weakness activates the grace of God.

He rejoices because physical weakness provides the perfect setting for spiritual strength.

And when I read these words, my whole perspective changes. Because at the very root of my disgust over this disease (along with some serious pride) is a fear that it will hinder my spiritual life. That it will keep me from good works I want to do for God and those around me. That the constant care I have to take for my body now will overshadow my ability to deal with life spiritually. That this thing will become the only lens through which I see. 

But Paul is saying the more limited we are physically the more we may well soar spiritually. There's a sufficiency of power resting on us. And his own life bears that dynamic out. Consider his testimony and legacy. Physical limitations? Yes. Unlimited grace? No doubt.   

So I let it work its way deep inside me. This truth that in my infirmity, I may find God's power unrestrained and enough. This truth that when I am weak, I may well be very strong.

An unusual truth needed for an unexpected diagnosis.

Beth