I love when people ask me what I'm up to post-grad life and I tell them I've moved back home. Without fail, I watch expectant smiles and raised eyebrows shift to discomfort, like they just ate a really bad piece of cheese. "Oh! Well, good for you!" I didn't mind it, though, because I had a plan. A year ago I was diagnosed with a chronic digestive disorder. The doctors at school told me there wasn't anything I could do to alleviate my symptoms - that my immune system was shot and I had to live with it. It was a serious condition, but not enough for them to do what their livelihoods called them to do and help me improve. And as any sane individual would, I refused to accept that. I was going to move back home, take some time to rest, see some doctors, solve the mystery, and be perfectly healthy to make my way on to my next adventure. After a week of rest, and catching up on the sleep that graduating with my undergrad had robbed me of, I had my first appointment with a specialist. Somehow, I had unreasonable hope in the face of being sick for two years, but I was sure this was my time to be healed. My doctor sat with me for an hour and a half and genuinely cared about my progress and I knew he was God-sent. He explained some of what was going on and put me on an insanely strict diet that I was more than happy to follow, if it meant being healthy again. And then I ate my words. Because when you're put on a fruit, veggies, and chicken diet, food isn't fun anymore. Aside from it taking forever to prepare, being all natural and what-not, and having to take all of the prescribed supplements with each meal, food just didn't taste good. And I'm a gal that LOVES me some food. Like, a would shamelessly-eat-hot-wings-on-a-first-date kind of love. It's real. Except that now I was in a constant state of hunger. I could feel myself losing weight and I felt like I was just eating to stay alive. I won't even go into the withdrawals. All I could do was sit at home because the second I left home, I'd have some sort of terrible pain/symptom or I'd just have to go home to make the next snack/meal because eating out was such a frustrating ordeal. This wasn't my plan. This was my own personal version of hell. Those around me tried their best to encourage me. It had only been a couple of weeks and I knew, like with anything else, if this was what was going to heal me, it would take time and determination. Even still, I didn't understand why God was allowing this to happen. When there was so much that I wanted to do and He was allowing me to sit at home and rot. I had never felt more purposeless in my life and with no physical signs to show me I was getting better, I was also pretty hopeless. But then a funny thing happened. A few weeks in, I woke up and realized that I hadn't had to lie in bed for a while. I realized that I had more energy. I realized that I could leave my house more easily. I realized that the diet was becoming less and less foreign to me. It was an excruciatingly slow and painful process. I didn't even realize it was happening. But my body was gradually at work, fighting a war within itself, to remove all the toxins and things that were holding me back from living life as fully as I could. It's funny because I was so angry going through it. Now I wonder how often I clench my fists and stomp my feet when God is trying to work in my life, rather than letting the refining process happen. As a "former" control freak, I have a hard time with pauses. With being still for a season. Now, I'm finding there is so much beauty that comes from those seasons, if you'll allow it. There is so much time to learn about what kind of person you are, about God, and to step outside of yourself to serve others. If you'll allow yourself to become okay with the unknown. With things being unresolved. I think that's the ultimate form of trusting God. To give "having to know" or "having to have a plan" to Him. Being okay with not being okay. Being okay with telling people you don't have a plan. Being okay when people tell you that they don't have a plan. I'm sure God laughs when I tell him what my plans are anyway. Today, I feel confident and healthy enough to not have to live at home anymore. I have a next step, but not a plan, and I am really happy with that. This is still an unknown season. A time where I feel a little stuck, or "paused", if you will, but I'm tired of fighting the process. This time, I'll unclench my fists and take the confusing or hard moments as they come because one day I'll wake up, life will be full-speed ahead, and I'll wish I was back in this place. Learning to be more like Him.
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AuthorStephanie is wrapping up her final year of her Bachelor's in English. She can be found curled up with a good book, playing her ukulele, or enjoying the occasional (everyday) taco. Archives
September 2016
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