Introspection in the pause

It's been over two weeks, with no decisions made and no plans confirmed. The "radio silence" has given me more than enough time for introspection. Last night, I talked to Kevan on the phone about my anxiety, and he gently said, "You know you don't have to go through with this." He's right... So why do I want to do this? Is it worth all the waiting, the pain, the risk, the complications? If there isn't dramatic change, if I don't see remarkable differences in my abilities and strength, why would I put myself through this?

If I'm not expecting a miracle, what am I expecting? And why am I not expecting a miracle? Something I've prayed for 33 years is now here - why shouldn't I expect a miracle?

I don't need a miracle... not really. My life and my faith have grown strong on the foundation of God's power being made perfect in my weakness. I've had years and years to learn peace and joy in my diagnosis, and many of my role models are incredible people who live with disabilities. I like to think I've become strong by "growing weaker with grace." I can honestly say that I am OK with who I am, who God's made me.

And yes, God's made me with weak muscles and a crooked back. But he's also made me with an adventurous spirit that doesn't want to resign itself to the fate of a medical diagnosis as long as there is hope. In the quiet moments when I lay still in my bed, I often imagine and dream what it would be like to walk, run, dance, drive, stretch my body, wash my hair, cook a meal, roll myself over in bed... These are just some of the things I truly long to do... things I believed I would never do in this life.

But what if... I know there is no promise or guarantee, and no doctors have even suggested this to me, but what if I do have the chance to do even some of these things in this life? How would it change me, my relationships, my faith, my testimony? How would it bring glory to God? Lord, you know I want it to. There is so little that the doctors know at this point, but the unknown possibilities are exciting to me, because it means there is no limit to what God could do.

I'm going to reset and try this again. This time, I will face these risks and fears for the sake of a new, exciting, grand adventure. My faith, trust, and hope is not in medicine, but in God alone. I know he can find a way to make this treatment possible, and I know he can work it into my body in miraculous ways, and I know he will use this entire experience to deepen my faith and bring glory to him... and I trust that people I know and love will turn their hearts to Jesus and praise him because of it.