Rejoice Always: Part 1

I am always amazed to see green peeking out of cracks in the ground where one would think no plant should ever be rooted. Surrounded by dust and dry, hard earth, these tiny reminders of hope spring forth with leaves stretched out toward the light—life and growth where there should be none.

Friends, I’ve mentioned “faith over fear” a few times now in previous posts because that’s simply the season I’m in. Moving forward in faith hasn’t always been the way for me and is something that hasn’t come easily.

Anyone else an over-thinker and overly cautious mover?

There were times not so long ago that moving anywhere other than in familiar circles—even unhealthy ones—seemed too much and times when my hope was so thin, as though a strong breeze could carry it away at any moment.

The valleys have this sneaky way of trying to keep us there, and what I struggled to see with the eyes of my heart—despite knowing it with my head—is that God is with us when we’re at our lowest, our weakest, our most conflicted, our most out-of-control, or—as in my case—our most controlling.

I struggled to see that He has a plan even then.

Fourteen years ago, I was a lowly medical student. I knew from an early age that I wanted to be a doctor. Helping people and their quality of life was my biggest motivator, but the love-a-good-challenge side of me also liked the academia and the thought of those two letters at the end of my name, things I could be proud of after all of that hard work.

Everything was going so well … until it wasn’t.

I began having sudden panic attacks (although I didn’t know that’s what they were at the time), anxiety, uncontrollable shaking spells that left me feeling like I’d run a marathon, difficulty concentrating, fatigue, muscle weakness, shortness of breath, unexplained weight loss and then rapid weight gain, debilitating migraine headaches.

There were times I couldn’t drive to class or get home without a friend’s help. I couldn’t even sit through a lecture or lab without having to leave early because I would have collapsed right there in my seat or worse—in the gross anatomy lab.

I had to read single paragraphs in my texts five or six times to finally get the material to sink in for the first time, which meant an even more incredible amount of work and study.

It was beyond concerning and frightening since I’d always been healthy and active. So, I sought guidance from my doctors to no avail those first couple of months. They truly tried but nothing helped.

As a medical student, my mind went straight to the worst-case scenarios we were learning about in class, and it felt at times like I was wasting away. I was usually level-headed, calm, cool, collected, optimistic, but this felt out-of-control and hopeless.

---

Finally, after a long holiday break, I got the answers I was searching for.

Lab results came back that indicated I had an autoimmune disorder (Hashimoto’s thyroiditis), possibly two. My body was vigorously attacking itself, and there was nothing I could have done to prevent it.

Relief—not an emotion I’d expected—swept over me for just having a diagnosis and one that could be acted upon.

I had some hope back.

What I didn’t foresee is the years it would take to get my body and mind back to “normal,” that normal would look so much different, that additional diagnoses (ADHD for one) would follow, and that I’d walk through even more years of inward grief and guilt over things lost.

My efforts to get well all felt too little too late, like I couldn’t catch up no matter how hard I tried.

I would feel better for short bursts of time—a week or two here and there—but would then deteriorate again. Added to the stress of school and a move to a new city for clinical rotations and planning a wedding (truly the very best thing to come out of all of this), my body and brain just couldn’t keep up anymore.

Here’s the thing about autoimmune disorders. They often leave a person looking completely like themselves on the outside—maybe looking a little more tired—but battling physical and mental and emotional challenges on the inside. You could walk by a person on the street—and probably do every day—and never suspect they were struggling with one of these many deceptive disorders.

Using that to my advantage—or disadvantage depending on how you look at it, I had become incredibly proficient at hiding my symptoms and smiling through the pain and anxiety and uncertainty, at pretending in front of family and friends and professors that everything was “fine,” at putting on a mask and trying to do everything on my own.

I thought I was doing the right thing. I didn’t want to be a burden. I didn’t want anyone to think less of me. I didn’t want to talk about my health problems again and again or have to answer twenty questions. I didn’t want to admit that I needed more help.

That was my pride and perfectionism talking, and I was about to get another major wake-up call.

---

At the end of second year, medical students are required to take the first step of their medical licensing exams (commonly called “boards”), and passing is critical to being able to move on to clinical years three and four.

I knew I couldn’t make it through the all-day exam without serious physical and mental challenges arising but stubbornly tried again and again. Dogged determination, friends! For as long as I could remember, I’d never quit anything in my life without giving my very best shot and exhausting all my options, and I wasn’t about to start then. There was a narrow window of time to pass the exam, and I pushed myself harder than ever to do it.

And guess what happened …

…

I passed and all my dreams came true!

…

Just kidding! Part of me wishes I could tell you that all that work and struggle and perseverance had paid off, but the truth is … it didn’t, at least not where my goals of practicing medicine were concerned.

I simply had failed—bigger than I’d ever failed before, and it felt like a death of sorts. All those years and years of planning and study and perfectionism and self-reliance and of learning how to learn all over again (ADHD can be both a blessing and a curse) …

GONE.

My body had failed me.

My mind had failed me.

My board scores had failed, though narrowly, which just made the feeling of defeat worse. I’d come so very close! But close isn’t good enough, nor should it be for this grueling profession.

Nearly passing out while on call during an internal medicine rotation was the final straw.

I knew my health was suffering because of physical and mental stress, and the thought had been swirling around in the back of my mind that I would have to do something drastically different with my life to begin to truly heal and adapt to my new normal.

So, after several health challenges and zero successful attempts at my boards, I would have to leave medical school and would need to abandon those childhood dreams, right there on the floor where I fell to my knees in tearful prayer.

Obedience to God’s plan would require that.

He had to close some big doors and tear my world and sense of self apart for me to truly understand how very much I needed Him, for me to stop relying only on myself and trying to control every little thing … in order to let Him be Lord of my life once more. It took that much, friends.

I am nothing if not strong-willed, haha.

The Lord was faithful to give me new dreams and new purpose and a new realization of worth and identity, ones that rested solely in Him, but all of those wouldn’t truly take root in my heart until much later.

At the time, in the midst of one of the biggest storms of my life, my faith and hope had been shaken to the core. I had so much doubt and hurt and anger bubbling below the surface, like I would burst into a million little pieces at any moment and there was nothing I could do to fix it.

I simply couldn’t see the bigger picture for the walls I’d put up to protect myself. My world had suddenly become very small and very isolated.

The Holy Spirit in His goodness was having none of that, though, and 1 Thessalonians 5:16 kept finding its way into my day:

“Rejoice always and delight in your faith;…”

1 Thessalonians 5:16 AMP

One evening, I was reading a favorite book to distract my anxious thoughts before bedtime, and a note card from way back in high school fell out that had “find joy in the journey” written on it.

Another time, I was running errands around town, and every time I got back in the car that day the radio was playing “There Will Be a Day” by Jeremy Camp:

"Troubled soul don't lose your heart
'Cause joy and peace he brings
And the beauty that's in store
Outweighs the hurt of life's sting"

Joy and peace, friends. God clearly was doing a new thing in my life, but all I could muster up were more questions:

“How can I be asked to rejoice at a time like this?”

… “You called me here, God; why are You now moving me?“

… “What on earth is Your purpose in all of this?”

… “What’s next for me?”

… “What will people think?”

… “Have I completely let down my husband and my family?”

… “Am I still able to have children?”

… “What else is wrong with me that I just don’t know about yet?”

Let’s get real. Medical school is expensive …

… “How in the world will I be able to handle this ridiculous amount of student loan debt? My sweet husband didn’t sign up for any of this. It’s not fair to him, Lord.”

For someone who had often placed much of her sense of self and worth in academic success and in achievement and in work—in precarious places with no eternal significance, those were such tough questions. I was humbled and ashamed and broken and felt incredibly alone despite being happily married to a wonderful, supportive, loving, rock-solid man.

Friends, we may be surrounded by people who love us, but depression and anxiety can make it feel like we are completely alone in our struggle. It’s a lie, but it feels like truth all the same.

I was that tiny seed, planted in the lowest crevice of the deepest valley, surrounded by what seemed like drought and darkness, needing any little sliver of light the heavens could spare.

I needed a breakthrough.

I needed community.

I needed my Savior.

And that’s exactly what was on the horizon.

---

Read Rejoice Always: Part 2 HERE!

Feature photo by Aachal Lal on Unsplash