Uncertainty and impatience.

When I was in my late teens and probably even early twenties, I would have told you that my greatest fear was uncertainty.  I feared the unknown, and I feared making the wrong decisions.  The good Lord knew this about me, and so he turned my life upside down to the point that the past seven years have been almost nothing but uncertainty.  (I don't pretend to know the Lord's motives or whether my suffering was from his hands, but I do believe he has used and is using it to teach me to trust him rather than fear the unknown.) I am learning to trust him even when I can't see past today, and I'm learning to discern his voice.  To be honest, the sicker I was, the easier it was to simply trust him to get me through the day, because that's all I had and I didn't have the strength to look beyond that day.

But now, even though it's slow and nowhere near where I'd like it to be, my health is improving to the point that I'm beginning to think about the future--beyond today, beyond next month, next year.  I have a million dreams and desires, some of which I truly believe are God-given, but my body is not ready for those desires to be fulfilled right now, which only leaves me discontent and impatient.  Why hasn't he healed me yet?  Why am I still stuck where I am?

There's another side of that, though.  A part of me--knowing the roller coaster of ups and downs that this migraine journey has been--wonders if healing will ever come, if there will ever be more to life than this.  Will I ever be able to live on my own without financial help from my parents?  Will I ever be able to have a fulfilling job, doing full-time what I believe the Lord has called me to do?  Will I ever have a family of my own?  Will I ever even be able to maintain a social life and have real friends?

Right now the "Will I ever..." side is winning--winning to the point that I'm grieving the life I'm afraid I will never have.  Perhaps it's the realization that I'm still in the same place I was 2 years ago.  More likely it's being given a glimpse of hope of this one tiny aspect of "normalcy" and then having it taken away.

So often I'm optimistic regarding this season of my life (oh, how I hope it's only a season).  But some days my only response is grief, frustration.

This disease has wreaked havoc on my life in so many ways, ways that most people don't even realize.  It has completely stolen my identity.  It has severed relationships with many of my closest friends.  I haven't been on a date in over 7 years. (Meanwhile, most of my friends or used-to-be-friends-that-I-no-longer-keep-up-with are happily married with children.)  It has changed not only how others view me but how I view myself.  Not to mention all the things I can't do and places I can't go, the accommodations I'm no longer shy about asking for.  The cognitive dysfunction that's present even when I'm not in excruciating pain.  The way no one (except the people I live with and a few God-gifted souls) knows how to talk to me or act around me.  (They ask how I'm doing but don't really want an answer because that will make them feel uncomfortable and they won't know what to say next.)  Having to live with my parents when I'm getting closer to 30 years old every day because I can't maintain a job that pays enough for me to be able to afford living on my own.  Meanwhile, getting reprimanded at the job I do have (and am truly grateful for because it is exactly what I need right now even if it isn't the type of job I want) because I can't work as efficiently as a healthy person could, even with getting to work early and staying late as often as I possibly can.

As my doctor so adequately put it at a recent appointment, "For a long time, you have not been Kaci; you have been a migraine with Kaci hidden in there somewhere." 

That pretty much sums up how I feel.  I want to be Kaci again.  The last time I didn't have a constant migraine, I was 16 years old.  The last time that migraine didn't control every aspect of my life, I was 20; I'll be 28 next month.

Holy Father, I lay my life in your hands.  I had placed it there before, but lately I've been trying to pick pieces of it back up again, foolishly thinking I can do something good with them.  Forgive me, and I know my weaknesses and know I will keep picking pieces of it back up again and again, but each time, Lord, gently remind me that you can do far more with my feeble life than I ever can.  Tune my heart to your voice and your voice alone.  Drown out the enemy's lies.  Help me to be content in every moment and in every aspect of my life.  Help me not to compare my life to others' or to some fairy tale idea of what I dreamed my life would be like.  Above all else, Father, use my life to bring you glory, whatever that may look like.  I do mean that wholeheartedly, but it's also a difficult prayer to pray because the way you choose to bring glory to yourself may not involve the things my flesh wants.  Your word tells me that if I delight myself in you, you will give me the desires of my heart.  That is my prayer.  Become my full delight, so much so that my desires for my life are transformed into the desires you have for my life.

Be still, my heart.

I got the opportunity to go to Tegucigalpa, Honduras, this summer and help with what POI is doing there; but let's be honest, the real reason I went was to be able to meet this precious little girl who has won my heart even though I have never heard her voice or touched her little hands.

I began sponsoring little Keisi in March of 2014.  She was 6 years old then, and the only reason I chose her was because she and I had the same name.  I didn't know what a precious soul she was and kind heart she had.  I have enjoyed loving on her from a distance, but meeting her in person was one of the greatest blessings I have ever received.

Keisi is very shy.  In fact, several months ago, POI did video interviews with the children and sent them to their sponsors.  Keisi was too timid to even talk to the camera; she just gave me a little wave, so I was kind of nervous about how she would respond to meeting me.

The first full day we were in Tegucigalpa, I was assigned to do recreation for VBS in Keisi's neighborhood.  (The person who made assignments had no idea my sponsored child was in that neighborhood; it was totally a God thing.)  Early in the morning, Mrs. Ruth found her and brought her to meet me.  As you can see, she was very reserved at first.

Then I introduced myself in Spanish that was probably full of mistakes, but she seemed to forgive each and every one of them, and I showed her that I was wearing a bracelet she had made for me and written her name on with the help of one of the groups who took a trip to Tegucigalpa over spring break.

Seeing me wearing the bracelet she had made for me made her little face light up and she decided she could talk to me a little.  She said she had a photo of me, so I told her that I had photos of her too, and I showed her that the background of my phone was her picture.  Upon seeing her picture on my phone, first she smiled this huge smile and then, this timid little girl reached over, unprompted, and gave me the biggest, most heart-melting hug I have ever received.  I truly can't imagine a more meaningful hug.  I could have melted into a puddle right then and there.

 

Keisi went home that day and told her mother that I was at the POI center, so the next day her mother came to meet me, and she thanked me for all I'm doing for her little girl.  She said that Keisi takes very good care of all the gifts I have sent her (In fact, the sandals Keisi wore all week were some I had sent her with a spring break group.) and that she talks about me even though she had never met me.  Keisi's mother also let me know (when I asked if they had any specific needs) that she and her 5 young children are sleeping on the floor.  Praise God that through POI, I am able to help meet that need and little Keisi will no longer have to spend her nights sleeping on a concrete floor.  So now I have not only made a connection with this 7-year-old girl but with her mother as well.  That was truly a humbling experience.

My eyes brim with tears as I think of the impact that this tiny girl has made on my life when it was I who set out to make an impact on hers.  By the last day we spent together, she came and found me, grabbed my hand, and said, "Vamos!" (Come on!) as if we had been best friends for years.

I now keep the following photo as the background on my phone.  It's from that last day, and Keisi's countenance is so different from the moment we first met.  We are friends now; we are family.  I am her madrina (godmother), and she is my ahijada (goddaughter).  This face is the face of a child who feels loved.

I hope and pray that the Lord gives me the opportunity to wrap my arms around this baby girl again and again and again.  Thank you, POI, for giving me this amazing opportunity.