Healing Unaware

THE LONG HALLWAY WALL

For almost six years I had been plodding through the long hallway waiting room and lost count of the number of specialists I had been to. I knew that the current doctor had taken me as far as he could but I was terrified to go on without any guidance. After nearly two years of assuring me that he could help, but never able to give me a diagnosis, I was just throwing money away each time I went to his unconventional, we-don't-take-insurance office. At the same time, another doctor, a conventional one who knew her limits, had referred me to a world-renowned Medical Research Clinic on the West Coast. I had been on a waiting list for over three months when I was told it could be another six to nine months of waiting. Sigh . . . well, I could be dead by then.

The long hallway waiting room had a dead-end wall and I finally hit it. Feeling abandoned by the medical system, my wobbly legs couldn't hold me any longer, I couldn't breathe deeply, confusion took over, and I couldn't find feelings or words, so I sat down. I slumped to the floor of the long hallway feeling totally alone and abandoned. I desperately wanted to cross over to the other side of health. I just needed someone to come back, hold my hand, and walk me over. I stared at my feet wondering in despair, "How could this be happening to me?"

I honestly did not know what to do next. Zero. That’s how many leads I had for finding a new doctor. Without a path to follow my healing hustle was put on hold and I emotionally sat there in the hard dark without seeing a doctor for nearly six months.

"I have no strength left to save myself; there is nowhere I can turn for help,” my mentor Job, had lamented for both of us.¹⁰ The worst part of suffering can be the feeling that you're in the fight by yourself. You find yourself in the boxing ring with an opponent and there's an eerie silence from the crowd because there is no cheering crowd. During the disorientation of being knocked down, you realize there's no coach or trainer in your corner; no one to center you or revive you. You expect continual misery from your opponent but the lack of a witness only compounds that misery.

The isolation of my illness had removed all social expectations or institutional reinforcement of my relationship with God. Because of my suffering, there had been years of severe inconsistency in joining my community of believers to worship or serve God together. I didn't have regular meal times of consuming God's truth from a pulpit or in conversation with members of my spiritual family. I especially missed times of corporate worship; joining together to sing our trust to God before facing the week of exercising that trust.

And now God was nowhere to be found. I couldn’t sense Him. I couldn’t hear Him.
I wasn’t just feeling abandoned; I felt blind, disoriented, and desperately lost.

PLACEMENT

"You're becoming a shiny diamond. The rough edges are getting smoothed off, and the powder and dust is being washed away so you can shine for Him," a dear friend said, trying to give me perspective. I wanted to take courage from her words; we both knew I needed it. But it didn't take. All I had was a reaction of emotional heartburn. I just couldn’t swallow that whole transformation-into-something-beautiful notion. At the time it sounded so nice and tidy and correct; it sounded insulting. My situation wasn't nice or tidy and it was definitely wrong. I didn't care about tomorrow's redemption, I wanted relief from my pain today. I was left aching for comfort and told God so. I took my growing indignation and stomped up to God's face grumping, "Excuse me, but no one asked me if I wanted to be chipped away into a diamond! This isn't fair!!”

Those months of sitting in my depression were mostly from crushing discouragement and one knock down too many. My spirit had become numb and was in a bit of shock, matching my jaded body. But I was also being passive-aggressive toward God. I held Him responsible for my misery, and since He wasn't throwing any holy breadcrumbs my way or talking to me, I wasn't talking to Him either. Sulking is what you do when you don't want to give up your anger and frustration and I had become good at it. I wasn't going to write God off completely—that wouldn’t be smart—but I was definitely freezing Him out and pouting as if I could make God feel bad enough to change my circumstances.

And then something happened that shook me out of my sulk.