I chose “light” as my word of the year, with my interpretations of the word as far-reaching as light itself. I have a lot of special “things” with the Lord, but one of my favorites is the stars. There were many nights in college where I’d wander campus after midnight until I found a well-enough lit spot to sit to write in my prayer journal, pausing to look up at the stars whenever my cold hands lost feeling. And even though I was in the middle of Nashville and light pollution meant the sky would often glow purple or orange even in the dead of night, I could always find at least one star. Always. And when I found it, I wasn’t the only soul still awake; I was alone with my God and all His creation, and maybe it was the most seen I’d ever been.
I adore the stars, but I’ve had years where they’re all I see by. The Lord has cultivated such joy in my heart, and every day I thank Him for a dozen small, precious blessings: the guitar riff in my favorite song, the way my dog’s face lights up when she first sees me in the morning, a text from a friend just checking in. One of the greatest blessings from a life of chronic illness has been the way it has fostered a thankful heart while pushing me further into Christ’s arms. I treasure each joyful moment, but I've always hoped there would be seasons where I wouldn’t have to work so hard to find the light. This hope has never been in vain—I’ve spent years cultivating a relationship with Christ, and in those years, He has placed desires on my heart, asked me to start praying for them, and promised their fulfillment in His perfect timing. These promises have provided hope during desolate years, but their sweetness doesn’t erase the pain of prolonged waiting and suffering. I can be so thankful for the hope I hold each day and ache with hope deferred.
My mom was the one who first introduced me to the concept of hope deferred; it comes from Proverbs 13:12, which says, “Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but desire fulfilled is a tree of life.” I’ve spent the last nine years trying dozens (literally) of medications, keeping up with multiple appointments with different specialists, and implementing every lifestyle protocol my doctors have recommended—and it hasn’t been enough. Nothing has worked. I’ve prayed for years that I could find any amount of relief from just one of my conditions, however He would choose to bring about that help, but that hope hasn’t yet been fulfilled. I have every Christ-given hope that there will be years here on earth where my health affects far less of my day-to-day life (and, of course, every assurance of full healing when I’m reunited with Him in heaven), but I still struggle under the weight of both my current pain and how prolonged my suffering has been. I can be so thankful for this hope and ache from its deferral.
Five years ago, the Lord sparked another hope in my heart, one that restored brokenness that occurred when my illnesses first became treatment resistant. One night, while researching a potential medicine, I saw an article on whether people with chronic health issues should get married or have children. I was so taken aback that I couldn’t help but click on the article. The author and commenters were in agreement—it was incredibly selfish for someone with health issues to marry or become a parent. They believed anyone with health issues would burden their spouse and could not give a child the parent they deserved.
The article shook me, but I did my best to forget it. I tried the new medicine, and though it didn’t work, I went into my next appointment ready to try again. Instead, my doctor told me there was nothing she or any other specialist could do for me. She said that maybe years down the road someone could offer a treatment, but for the foreseeable future, my life would be overwhelmed by illness. And so, at the age of 13, I decided I would never date. I would never marry. And I would never have children, even though being a mom was one of my first dreams. I knew my family loved me, and I knew I couldn’t spare them from the parts of my life dominated by illness, but I vowed to keep anyone else from experiencing the bad times.
I could cry to recount all the subtle and bold ways the Lord worked on my heart over the next few years. He showed me my identity in Him—how worthy I was in His eyes and how fully He loved me. He reminded me that my life is beautiful, hilarious, and spectacular even if my health also brings harder moments. And he told me he had created someone who would fully desire to be a part of every moment of my life. He nudged me to start praying for my future husband and future marriage when I was 16, and it has been the sweetest honor to pray almost every day since.
I’m forever thankful for five years of hope, but that doesn’t mean my heart doesn’t sometimes ache with hope deferred. I love supporting, praying for, and celebrating with my friends who have found their partners, but I can also wonder why God put the desire for marriage on my heart years ago and hasn’t yet fulfilled that hope. I can wish at least one hope, whether about health or my relationships, would be fulfilled someday soon after so much prolonged waiting. I don’t know what 2022 holds, but I know light will guide (Psalm 119:105) and hold me. After all, Jesus was the one who said, “I am the light of the world. Anyone who follows me will never walk in the darkness but will have the light of life” (John 8:12). It would be the greatest gift if I didn’t have to cling quite so tightly to the hope of things yet unseen because the light was shining on their realizations, but I’ll love and praise Him either way. Whether I’m surrounded by stars or sunshine, I’ll adore every day spent by His side.