BREAKING NEWS: We Are All Dying

Our days are numbered.

We are all dying.

Some just faster than others.

Time.

It is the most taken for granted possession we have. We waste it in a way that we'd never waste things like money, gas, and so on. A gift that was given to us, we simply take for granted assuming that it will always be there when we need it.

That's a lie. Our days on earth are numbered and every day we are closer to our last. The reality is each one of us are dying. Some just faster than others.

We all hear about the stories of the person who has a major epiphany after receiving a death sentence. We hear about the change in perspective and how quickly priorities change. But the reality is we all have that same death sentence and we never know how soon our time will end.

I, too, have recently developed a new relationship with time. It is something I must literally fight for every day. It is a precious commodity and each new day that I am fortunate enough to receive is a gift.

I once thought I had plenty of time. I had a huge list of things I wanted to do but never actually did them because I figured I'd get to them later. I wanted to go backpacking through the mountains, learn to dance, have a professional or amateur mma fight, run a 5k, and coach baseball and wrestling and soccer, and so on. I put them all off because there was always something else I had to do. I finally decided I was going to start doing some of these things about a year and a half ago.

Ironically, however, it was at that same time I became ill and wasn't in the physical condition to do any of those things. My days became consumed with trips into Vegas, doctors appointments, tests, and medicines. It felt like it would never end, but I was determined to live a "normal" life while squeezing these things in. In fact, most of my family, friends, and acquaintances probably have no idea about this "sick" life that I've been living outside of the one they see.

Despite the obvious signs that my physical health was failing, I was convinced it was temporary and once I got through it, I'd have more time.

I had good days - good months even. And I quickly forgot how sick I had felt not long before. I became more convinced than ever that I'd beat this thing that was trying to destroy my body. Even my doctors felt I had entered a stable period. After all, I appeared to be healthier. This was my time, I thought. It was time to get my life back as I thought it should be.

God had other plans however. Through His guidance, I was encouraged to go to the Mayo Clinic where I spent the better part of February undergoing countless tests and procedures. What I thought would be four days of reviewing medical records and confirming I was in what would be considered a remission period, turned in to three weeks of poking, prodding, shocking, and many other uncomfortable and painful procedures.

I was resistant at first. I did not want to go. After all, I was stable and I wanted to keep it that way because then I could continue to believe that I could have a normal life, at least in the eyes of the world.

The initial days of my stay were uncomfortable. I felt exposed. These doctors were good...I mean really good. They saw everything. They saw the things I didn't want to acknowledge were even there: The challenges. The limitations. The pain.

This was uncomfortable because physical abilities are an area where I have struggled to accept limitations. I've always been strong and unstoppable. I am a fighter. It is true that over the past year and a half I've had to let go of that, a little bit anyways, because eventually I could no longer hide my limp from the world and I've had to accept that. But I figured at least they still didn't see the challenges I face to do the smallest, simplest daily tasks. They don't know how badly I struggle to keep my hands steady enough to latch an anklet or necklace, they don't see me struggle to button my own shirt some days, or how long it takes me to apply eye liner or open and close containers. They don't see when I drop things on the kitchen floor because the strength of my grip fails. They don't see me struggle to reach into the dryer to take out clothes as the shift in weight causes my weakened legs to shake terribly. They don't see how long it takes to get out of bed most mornings because of how much pain I'm in. They don't see me randomly hide out in my parked car waiting for my blood pressure to come back up before I am able to drive to my next destination. They don't see the baby food in my fridge that I must eat to stay nourished because the disease has recently attacked my digestive system and has weakened or paralyzed almost all of the muscles from my throat to my stomach. They don't see how sick I am on the Mondays and Tuesdays and Wednesdays after chemo day.  They don't see that I go take a nap during lunch almost every day just so I'll have energy to make it through the rest of my work day. They don't see how carefully I plan every detail of my week to conserve energy for my kids.

However these doctors saw all of it....and more. I could no longer hide from and avoid the truth because every day it was revealed - more and more.

I don't want to believe it. I don't want to accept it. But, the reality is I am sick...sicker than I thought...sicker than my doctors thought.

The reality is I have a progressive systemic autoimmune disease in which my body's immune system mistakenly attacks and destroys my blood vessels, my muscles, my tissues, my nerves, and my organs. I can literally feel my body fight for its life every day. I feel the days it's winning and I feel the days it's losing.

Through this season of gathering facts and accepting truth, the reality is the disease is winning and my body is losing. And that's hard for me to accept. I'm a person who is used to being able to overcome challenges and obstacles with hard work. I am used to being able to do anything as long as I don't give up. I mean, I made the trips to the doctors. I did the chemo. I got the extra rest. I cut back in extracurricular stuff. I went through many very uncomfortable and painful tests. I gave up sports and other physical activities. I've done everything I was supposed to. I even did all this while still working full time, going to college and caring for my children. But sometimes we can't try any harder. Sometimes things just are what they are. Sometimes the facts are simply the facts. And the fact is there is no cure for the disease, there is no guarantee that I will be able to manage it, and it's been made clear that I will have to fight for time.

So, why I am sharing this now? Good question - and the answer is simple: I was convicted to. I desire to serve people and to share hope and love to others every day. But it occurred to me that I was withholding the part of my life where I rely on God the most. See, I've kept it hidden for a long time because I didn't think it was that important. I didn't want anyone to be sad, or to know I suffer, or to worry. I didn't want to attract attention to myself or my illness because I believed it would somehow prevent me from being able to do this work that God has for me. I was afraid that the message of hope, and joy, and love, and peace, would get lost in what I thought would be a distraction.

I've spent many quiet evenings over the past several weeks sitting in my bed reflecting on the long, lonely days of testing and conversations with doctors, and I've thought a great deal about God's plan for me and wondering how he'd use me now to spread hope, happiness, and love "despite" my illness and all the challenges that come with it. I was discouraged. And then I realized what better way to share the story of hope and joy, than to do so "through" my suffering. Because the reality is, to give only a portion of my story ultimately undermines my faith in God's plan. In that space, I just end up trying to control how the world perceives me and interprets the hope I want them to experience. But I don't have that kind of control. Essentially, I wasn't following God's plan...I was trying to be God.

I was trying to protect people from what's real. From life. And the truth is that life is not always easy. In fact, it's downright hard sometimes and sad things happen. People do experience pain. People suffer. But, it's "how" we suffer that reveals the true story of hope and joy and peace...and so, I choose to share this hard part of my life so that I may also be able to share how God uses it for good. So that I can help others find hope in desperate times; and experience joy in moments of great suffering; and find peace in a broken world. So that I can encourage others to receive time as the gift it is and use it in a way that matters...

Thank you for using a portion of your time to read this message that was placed on my heart to share....if you feel so led, please share it with others...