I've been listening to the Bible on the itouch that my Grandma doesn't know she bought me for Christmas. I've been listening to the gospels. I like hearing the words audibly that are so familiar from the printed page. The story that has really spoken to me in the past few weeks is one that I've read dozens of times. It is the story of the woman who was bleeding for twelve years. She spent all her money on doctors and only got worse. She must have heard about Jesus because she sought Him out. Amidst the crowd and the chaos of the people, she reached for the hem of his robe. She knew that would be enough. She was right.
I cannot imagine the life of that woman, how her culture treated her, and the struggle of trying everything you know to be well. On a very small scale, I understand just a piece. I have been sick for a month, just the upper respiratory crud of winter, but a month is a long time to have a sore throat and a faucet in your sinuses. I haven't kept up with phone calls because it has hurt too much to talk. I carry a Kleenex box to class. Some know that I have an immunoglobin deficiency. My body doesn't produce enough of the blood component that fights infection. So when I get an infection, my body has a really hard time fighting. It is rare that one round of antibiotics will do the trick. It isn't a common disorder, and so doctors aren't quite sure what to do with me. My symptoms don't always present in a usual pattern which complicates the process. Oftentimes common practice will tell a doctor I've been on an antibiotic long enough when my body clearly tells me that the infection remains. Since I don't hold the prescription pad, this often means I go without medication, become more sick, and start the process over again.
During this month, I've done two rounds of antibiotics. In between rounds, I gapped with a hope that maybe my doctor was right and the first round was enough. It wasn't, and my symptoms came back with a vengeance. Last week was hard, and I only left my couch to teach. For several days, I made no progress. I felt as if I were on pace to be well -maybe by June. I called the doctor. They never called back. And then slowly over the weekend, I began to make some small improvements. Yesterday I looked at the pills remaining in my bottle of antibiotics and knew with only two days left, I was not on pace to make it. I knew that meant another trip to the doctor to attempt to convince them what logic told them was not true. They would tell me to try going without. That would mean another gap and a return to square one.
Last night I prayed pretty intently. It is hard to be sick for so long and to not be discouraged. I remembered the story of the woman who touched the hem of Jesus' robe. She knew that would be enough. While I don't have the physical presence of Jesus, I believe that Jesus is far bigger than the deficiencies in my blood. I believe that Jesus is the Great Physician. I believe that a touch from Jesus is more than enough. I told Jesus that if I woke up today feeling better, there would be no question that it was from His touch because I was not on pace to be well that soon. I told Jesus that if I woke up today feeling better, I would tell the story that logic cannot explain.
This morning, I felt better, and so that is why I write today. As the day when on, my body did not get more weary as it has the past four weeks. My pace quickened. While not 100%, I am exponentially better than yesterday and have hope that when I finish my medicine tomorrow, I will not need anymore this winter.
Sometimes I wonder why God chose to allow this cross to be mine to carry. I don't question that with an angry tone. We each carry a cross of a varied size and texture, and I'm not out to compare. This is simply one that He allowed to be mine. When my cross keeps me down for days and weeks, is God using that time to make my heart more patient, more tender? When my cross keeps me down, does it remind me to be that much more grateful for the days when I can be up and out and about? When my cross keeps me down, does it demand that I stop relying on my own independence and rest in the arms always there to comfort? And if have enough practice on these days when I am down, can I remember and live in that even on the days when I am well?
Scripture tells us that God knows every tear. In this past month, I also believe that God knows every Kleenex, and as I have told some to buy stock, there have been many. Maybe my cross is also there to remind me that in heaven, Kleenex will go bankrupt, and for that, I will be grateful.
