For Those Who Did Not Receive Healing

Let me start this off by saying this first and foremost: I do not claim to be a theologian. I do not claim to have all the answers or to know everything. I am simply writing from what has been on my heart lately, and everything expressed in this post is personal opinion. I understand that not everyone agrees with me, but I ask you to please respond with grace.

Okay, let's get started.

John 5:1-9a:

Afterward Jesus returned to Jerusalem for one of the Jewish holy days.  Inside the city, near the Sheep Gate, was the pool of Bethesda, with five covered porches.  Crowds of sick people—blind, lame, or paralyzed—lay on the porches. One of the men lying there had been sick for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him and knew he had been ill for a long time, he asked him, “Would you like to get well?”“I can’t, sir,” the sick man said, “for I have no one to put me into the pool when the water bubbles up. Someone else always gets there ahead of me.”Jesus told him, “Stand up, pick up your mat, and walk!”Instantly, the man was healed! He rolled up his sleeping mat and began walking! 

My God is awesome. It is SO cool to see how he heals people in the Bible and today. It is awesome that He is the same God today as He was thousands of years ago (Hebrews 13:8). I love watching Him move and seeing people get healed of physical, spiritual, mental, and emotional needs. It is one of my favorite things to see my God touch people's lives in tangible ways.

That being said, let's take a closer look at the passage above. It says that there were crowds of sick people. Crowds. And for whatever reason, Jesus chose to heal only one. For that one guy, I'm sure it was awesome. Life-changing, even. But what about the tons of others? What about the people that were still sick and watched this happen? I don't know why Jesus chose to only heal one person, and I don't think I ever will. All I know is that He is sovereign and I will trust that He knows what He's doing.

As most of you know by now, I have struggled with clinical depression for a long, long time. Growing up in the church, I went to healing revival after healing revival, begging God to heal my mind. I would say to Him, I'm leaving this here at this alter and I declare healing over my mind. When I walk away, I will no longer struggle with this. And I would walk away and the next day I would still be sad. It got discouraging. What people in the church said to me was even more discouraging. I can't even begin to tell you how many times I have been told to "just have more faith" or to "believe more" or to "just ask" or to "choose joy." I will be blunt here: I am so sick of hearing that. I am so sick of people telling me inadvertently that I don't have enough faith or that I'm not asking enough. As if I hadn't thought of that. As if I hadn't thought that a little more faith would help me through.

I don't think me asking 500 more times or worshipping harder or saying the right words is going to get me healed. Why? Because healing is not about what I do. It is about what God does. And falling into the trap that thinking it is about me will only leave me either A. prideful or B. more hurt. If God is going to heal me, fantastic. I will receive that and I will be so thankful for it. But if he doesn't, still I will praise him. Because it's not about me. It's not about the way I ask to make the words just right or the way I do anything, really. It's about my sovereign King knowing more than I ever could about what is best for me, and me having the faith to follow Him in that whichever way He may lead. And I think that sometimes, the faith to follow even when the healing doesn't come can be so much more difficult, and so rewarding.

If you're reading this and you're in a similar boat as me, I want you to know that I am praying for you. If you've been struggling with some type of illness for a long time and haven't yet received healing, please understand that it is not your fault. I am sorry if you have been lead to believe that it is. Please, dare to have the faith to follow even when the healing doesn't come. Because I promise you, our God is still good. He is still faithful, He is still true. The healing may come, and it may not. I do not pretend to understand why God does things the way He does. I know, it can be frustrating and discouraging. I want to encourage you to talk to God about that. He can handle it. He can handle your questioning and your frustration, you anger and your pain. He is a good God, full of many good things, and He is holding you tonight, even if you can't see it right now.

He loves you, oh He loves you so much.

Percentages Do Not Define Me

When I was younger, my parents put me in a soccer league. My dad had played semi-professionally before he busted his leg, my mom had coached, and my brother was awesome at it, so naturally, I was placed in a soccer league. We quickly found out that sports was not my thing. I hated running so I didn't do it. In the middle of games, I would literally sit on the field and pick dandelions. It was a disaster. We also quickly found out that I am tone-deaf and pretty bad at anything musical. So, what do I have to offer? I'm smart. I'm good at school. I've always excelled in the classroom, going far beyond what was expected of me at every grade level. I found my niche in the school.

When I was in fifth grade, we had a "strikes" program. For every homework assignment you missed, you would get a strike. At three strikes, there would be small penalties and then it added for each one. If you managed to make it through the year with no strikes whatsoever, you got to go to a special pizza party. I've always loved food and I'm good at school so I thought, "Hey, this is awesome! Something I can actually win!" This turned into incredible anxiety for ten-year-old me. I remember countless nights spent lying awake re-thinking every moment of the school day, trying to make sure I remembered every homework assignment. I would watch the clock turn to 3AM and lie in bed crying and feeling sick to my stomach about missing something. I would check and re-check my assignment book and wake my parents up asking them to help me remember if there was any homework. It was terrible. I have never struggled with anxiety as much as I did that year.

I ended up making it the whole year without any strikes, and I went to the pizza party at a bowling alley. I remember sitting there thinking, "This wasn't worth it." Even then, I knew that this was becoming a serious problem. I wish I hadn't won that year. That pizza party taught me that perfectionism gets rewarded. If you never miss a single assignment, if you turn everything in ahead of time, if you get straight A's, you get rewarded. I found my identity in this. I was smart. I was good at school.

My brother struggles with learning disabilities. Growing up, I hated the school system for the way it failed him and allowed me to excel. It never seemed fair that our report cards would become a defining statement of our worth. Mine always had A's, while he struggled to pass classes. It wasn't fair. It wasn't okay that I never seemed to measure up to the ridiculous standards I held for myself.

The first paper I turned in in college got a 96%. I looked at that grade and I was disappointed. I lost sleep over it. That four percent destroyed me. I looked over the comments over and over again, vowing to never make the same mistakes again.

Throughout college, I have always done fairly well. I have managed to get all A's except for one B every semester. You'd think I'd be happy with this. You'd think I'd look at my grade card and feel pride in knowing that I'm doing well. If I'm being completely honest and vulnerable with you, I have never once looked at a grade card during my three years here and felt anything but complete disappointment. B's make me feel stupid. I am smart, that's what I have going for me. I should be able to pull of straight A's.

As I start my last semester, I have already spent a good amount of time pouring over every syllabus, trying to find a way to get my 4.0 this semester. I have found out that if I get a 4.0 this semester, I will be able to graduate with a 3.8. I tell myself that this will make me happy, but I know the truth. I will NEVER feel good enough as long as my worth is defined by a percentage. There will always be room for improvement, I will always fall short of perfection.

God has really been working in me for this last semester. I've dismissed it as senioritis or just being done caring about school, but that's not me. I do my papers weeks before they're due. I have never procrastinated anything before, and this semester, I find myself not caring quite as much. But this is still a journey. This is still going to be hard for me to work on this semester. So I ask you to join me. Pray for me, if you remember. If I start talking to you about the stress of school and making sure my grades are perfect, remind me that my worth is not determined by a grade. I am not a letter. I am not a percentage. I am a child of God. I am good enough in that.

So, here it goes. My last semester. I wish I could say that I don't care what grades I get this semester. I wish I could tell you I'm done aiming for that 4.0. I'm not. But I'm working on it. I'm slowly letting go of letting those marks define me. And I think that, in the end, if I am able (which I am because I have God and He's fricken awesome, let's be honest) to let go of this perfectionism and find peace in wherever my grades fall, I will be ten times more proud of myself than I would be with a 4.0.

Depression and Manna

Exodus 16:18-21a: "And when they measured it by the omer, the one who gathered much did not have too much, and the one who gathered little did not have too little. Everyone had gathered just as much as they needed. Then Moses said to them, 'No one is to keep any of it until morning.' However, some of them paid no attention to Moses; they kept part of it until morning, but it was full of maggots and began to smell. So Moses was angry with them. Each morning everyone gathered as much as they needed."

To say I am going through a rough season of life would be an understatement. As many of you know, I struggle with depression, and let me tell you, it has been so hard lately. I have at many times felt so alone. This past summer, I moved home, and I loved being with my family, but it was hands-down the hardest summer of my life. I didn't have any friends in Ann Arbor since my family moved after I graduated high school. I was missing Zeke like crazy as well as all my other friends from NCU. As I have now moved back to North Central, it has continued to be a difficult season of my life. I still miss Zeke since he is out in Cali changing the world, and I have been incredibly overwhelmed with what this last semester brings. My depression is still haunting me and oftentimes, it feels like I can't make it through the day.

God has been bringing me through the Old Testament lately, and I have found myself relating a lot to the Israelites. Many times, with depression, I feel so lost and it feels as if all of my effort is just having me go in circles. God has been teaching me a lot through the Israelites about seeking Him even when it gets hard and remembering what He has done for me in the past. Today, I read this verse (above) and I realized it is exactly what God has been speaking to me lately.

With depression, every day is a fight at times. It can get hard to get out of bed in the morning and it can get hard to make it through each day. As God teaches me to lean on Him alone, I am reminded to daily ask Him for the strength to make it through the day. That is my manna. And so many times, I get ahead of myself and think, "If I can barely make it through today, how in the world am I supposed to make it through tomorrow?" But then God reminds me that I only need enough for today. That is so hard, but it is so rewarding. It is so humbling to have a God that can give me enough each day and I just need to trust Him and stop trying to take it into my own hands.