the unwanted story.

 It's no secret that my year has been full of difficulty physically, mentally, and emotionally. Grief has become a familiar friend. The past several months have been full of processing as I have tried to make sense of my life through a haze of anger and tears. 

This week I found my heart practically screaming at God, "This isn't the story I wanted!"

I sat in the silence for a moment before I heard the soft reply:

This isn't your story, Joanna. 

I felt a mixture of overwhelm and relief. I was reminded that my purpose involves a much bigger story than just myself. 

I think pain often gives us tunnel vision. For example, when I broke my leg this summer I was unable to think about a single thing other than how much the pain was excruciating. I have found that this is also true emotionally. When we are wounded, our world shrinks. The purpose of this phenomenon is to bring our attention to something that needs tending, healing, and repairing. Unfortunately, it can cause us to lose sight of all the other complexities of life. 

Maybe you find yourself in a similar season. Is the pain all-consuming? Has grief tainted your life? Are you drowning in your own experience, struggle, or wound? You are not alone.

Several truths have become my anthem recently:

1) This is not my story. 

     I am part of God's story. That doesn't mean I dismiss my experience or feelings, it means that I was never designed to be alone. I was designed to live my life intertwined with the Holy Spirit and His plans for me. (Which....newsflash: are often NOT what I would have planned for myself). My soul thirsts for something greater than what I can produce on my own. I long to be part of something bigger. I am assigned specific gifts meant to advance God's redemptive story of love, kindness, justice, peace, and healing. That's the story that I want. 

2) When my faith is weak, I lean into the faith of others. 

     I am not an island. I need community to survive a season of intense struggle. When all I can see and feel is my pain, I need to allow those around me to remind me that there is more. I need to receive your prayers and reminders of truth. When I can't access trust in the goodness of God, I am desperate for you to believe it for me. When I don't feel like God loves me anymore, I can rest in His love residing in you. 

3) The content of my story does not decrease my value. 

     This is a hard truth for me to accept. I base so much of my value on my performance in life. When I am struggling or hurting or weak - I feel worthless. God has been reminding me that I am loved and valued regardless of my actions or experiences. It's true, this isn't the story I wanted. This year I have felt less valuable because of my wounds and needs. I keep having to return to the truth of my unconditional worth over and over again. If you can relate, I want you to know that regardless of what you have done or experienced or suffered, God loves you infinitely and you cannot change His mind. 

4) Life often requires a fight.

     In broken-leg-recovery-land, I am pushing my limits. It hurts and it's uncomfortable and my body doesn't want to do it. But this is a necessary stage in healing. The muscles around my ankle and leg have atrophied during the past few months and now I am demanding them to work again. In a way, I am fighting to regain strength - often gritting my teeth in frustration. I believe this is true in other areas too. Treating my depression requires me to get out of bed each day and choose activities that will help my brain. One of the ways I have engaged in the fight for my spiritual health is to speak the truth over myself even when I feel like collapsing into the lies. Sometimes I feel like I'm fighting tooth and nail to hold onto what matters most to me. 

5) There is healing found in worship.

     Offering worship to God while I am in pain feels like a sacrifice, but it's exactly what my soul needs. Reminding my soul of who God is is a powerful antidote and weapon against doubt, fear, and discouragement. Praise can be challenging, but we do it because He is worthy and we are bringing our soul into alignment with His glory. In a season of pain, it often feels like breaking up scar tissue in physical therapy. It's necessary, but it's not comfortable. 

6) There is authentic hope for the story's ending.

     Pain is an indicator that something is wrong...and there are a lot of things wrong with this world. Pain is a reminder that we were meant for something better. Something whole. Something perfect. As a Christian, I cling to the hope that there will be a day when all things are made right. All wounds will be healed. All pain and grief will cease. This truth is a comfort to me on the days that it feels like the darkness will last forever. 

I want to conclude by saying that it is okay to grieve the story that you wanted. It's okay
to feel disappointed, hurt, and even angry. The journey I am on is not one I ever would have chosen. I'm not thankful for my mental health struggles. I'm not thankful for my broken leg. I'm not thankful for pain in relationships. I'm not thankful to be missing work.

But I am thankful that I am not alone in this story. I can rest in the truth that my life is part of something bigger and more beautiful than I could ever produce on my own. And I can rest in the all-consuming love of God. 

And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ. - Philippians 1:6

For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. - Romans 8:38-39

For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them. - Ephesians 2:10

...we who have fled for refuge might have strong encouragement to hold fast to the hope set before us. We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain, where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf, having become a high priest forever after the order of Melchizedek. Hebrews 6:18-20

waking up.

 I've been chipping away at writing this for several weeks. I've questioned whether or not I should share the following, but I was reminded this week of how important it is to know that we are not alone. So that's why I'm writing... in the hopes that this will encourage someone who can relate to the journey I have been on. Much love, Jo

As many of you already know, I am recovering from a broken leg. I had an appointment with my doctor and we discussed my pain level. It's been hurting more the past several days and I wanted to know why. "I feel like my leg is waking up. I'm feeling more." The doctor explained that it may be that I am experiencing the healing of the nerves in my leg, which were damaged in the break and the surgery. "When those nerve endings start to heal it can actually become more painful as they "wake up, even though it's a good thing."

I haven't been able to stop thinking about this since the appointment. It seems to be a picture of my life this year. I feel like I am waking up from so much that has fractured. 

I started the year preparing for a series of Electroconvulsive Therapy (ECT} to address my longstanding struggle with my mental health. I put a lot of expectations on that treatment and how it was going to help me. Unfortunately, ECT was not effective for me and the side effects left me with serious short-term memory loss and cognitive dysfunction. I don't remember most of the months of February, March, and April. My struggle with cognitive functioning only made my depression worse and I had multiple hospitalizations in the following months. 

On top of that, for a while, I was overmedicated and prescribed meds that had significant negative side effects. 

I feel like someone scrambled my brain. In the past several months I have not felt like myself. I have not acted like myself. I look at my text messages, pictures, and emails and I don't recognize conversations I had. I don't recognize people that I met or hung out with during the past few months. 

It's such an unnerving feeling and difficult to explain. 

Some of the side effects of one medication were tremors, muscle weakness, and loss of balance. As a result of these, I was falling often. During my most recent fall, I dislocated and fractured my ankle and broke my leg in multiple places. I had to have surgery and it's been a tough recovery.

As I regain my mental coordination, I have to heal from my physical injury, which means I can't do anything weight-bearing for eight weeks.

So here I am, trying to pick up the pieces from this year as my cognition returns and my body heals. 

My life is suddenly very simple, as most of my time is spent in bed and I'm surviving mainly off of protein shakes and fruit snacks, oh - and pain meds. I haven't worn makeup in weeks, and my hair is so greasy I think it could stand up straight on its own. Sometimes my biggest accomplishment from the day is brushing my teeth. 

It's given me a lot of time to think. 

.

.

.

And to ask "Where is God in all of this?" 

.

.

.

I felt as if He is a million miles away for a long time. I have questioned what's my fault and what's His. I know much of what has happened was a natural consequence of my choices, or simply from having a body and brain that need healing. Why? I didn't ask for this. And I have fought so hard to gain freedom from my struggle with depression. I keep asking myself Why did everything happen the way that it did? It's not fair. This was going to be the year for healing! I was going to start running again, celebrate recovery, and find renewed purpose to love and be loved by the people I am privileged to have in my life. 

This year has challenged me more than I have ever experienced.

I wish I could say that I have endured with hope, courage, and faithfulness. But it's really only been about 50/50. Half the time I have been fighting for my healing and half the time I have been fighting to throw the towel in. 

I'm on crutches now. I graduated from the wheelchair. My arms are getting stronger as I rely on them for my mobility. I've always had better lower body strength. And this year I had plans for my legs to get stronger. But instead, it's my upper body that is gaining muscle. It feels like another picture of what is happening in my life and in my heart. I'm getting stronger, but not in the ways I had intended.

I have spent a lot of time with my family and it has been a gift. (Shout out to them for being my caregivers and feeding me and carrying my pillows from the bed to the couch every day)! Words can't express how thankful I am. 

I've been forced to slow down and appreciate the mundane, like a restful night, a shower, and a card game with friends. 

I'm thankful to have my cognition back and to be able to remember things again. To feel like myself.

To be "waking up" in my heart and in my relationship with a good God that has been faithful through all of it. Even though it's messy and uncomfortable and emotional. 

I didn't choose this journey. I didn't choose to struggle with my mental health or to break my leg fantastically. I didn't choose to feel distant in my relationship with God this year. But I am learning to accept that this is part of my story - His story. I know that there will be people that don't understand. That's ok. 

I'm writing this for those of you that have found yourself on a journey you didn't choose, or in a season you didn't want. Maybe you thought you would become strong in one way, and find yourself strengthening muscles you didn't know you had. Maybe the battle has stolen so much from you that you no longer feel like yourself. I see you. I'm here for you. You are not alone. 

Breaking my leg has been a terrible experience. But I'm also thankful for it because it's been restoring my soul. While I did not see God at work at the moment, looking back I see how He carried, cherished, and protected me. And as I lay in bed, elevating my leg, He is here with me now. 

Maybe this is the year for healing. Maybe it's just not what I expected (or how I expected). 

Maybe your healing isn't what you expected either.

Hang in there. It's still beautiful, friend.