For a long time, I thought one of the most encouraging things I could do for someone walking through a difficult season was to say, “I’ve been there.” When I had experienced something similar, I wanted to tell them what God had done for me. I wanted them to know how He had provided, how He had redeemed what seemed impossible to redeem, and how He had made a way when I could not see one. There is something powerful about hearing from someone who has walked through a similar hardship and can testify to the faithfulness of God. The stories shared with me by friends and family over the years have been deeply encouraging and tangible reminders of all that God has done.

The mind is a fascinating thing. At any given moment, our brains are processing an almost incomprehensible number of signals, interpreting information from our bodies and our surroundings, anticipating what might happen next, remembering what has happened before, and trying to protect us. We often don’t even notice most of it. We touch something hot and instinctively pull away. We step awkwardly and our body responds before we have time to think. We experience pain and our brain tells us something is wrong.

Our nervous systems were designed to protect us. But what happens when the very system designed to protect you begins to misfire?

It is an age-old question: Do you see the glass as half-full or half-empty?

We usually treat the answer as a reflection of personality. The person who notices what remains is called an optimist. The person who notices what is missing is called a pessimist.

But I have come to believe the question is more complicated than that.

There have been many moments over the past several years when I've found myself sitting in a doctor's office, waiting for another appointment, another test result, or another conversation about what my body could no longer do.

It's strange what comes to mind in waiting rooms.

Mine often drift back to a high school anatomy classroom.

In my last post, I shared the story of Mrs. Dudley, the teacher who awakened my fascination with the remarkable complexity of the human body. At the time, I simply thought I had discovered a subject I loved. I had no idea God was quietly preparing me for a journey I never would have chosen.

That preparation extended far beyond textbooks.

Have you ever stopped to think about the people who quietly changed the direction of your life?

Not the famous people.

Not the people everyone else admires.

The ones who stepped into your life at just the right moment. The ones who probably had no idea that the ordinary things they did would echo through the rest of your life.

What happens when the calling God has given you seems to slip away because of chronic illness? I prayed for healing. Instead, God met me with sustaining grace. This is the story of a mobility scooter, a room full of students, and the faithfulness of a Savior whose strength is made perfect in weakness.

I was recently at a women’s ministry event that was unlike any I had ever attended. It was called a Silent Retreat and, in the style of Lectio Divina, centered on the repeated reading of Scripture alongside prayer, meditation on God’s Word, and time in solitude with Jesus, followed by a gathering to share what God had revealed during those quiet moments.

Recently, a friend posted pictures on Facebook from their stopover at a serene, deserted beach in the Caribbean. The images were breathtaking, with crystal blue water, calm seas, and full sunshine, evoking such peacefulness that I could imagine myself there with my toes in the sand. I love having a glimpse into their lives as they live and travel on their sailboat.

I love Marvel! Not just the recent movies, but also the comics and animated series from my early childhood. I appreciate the character development and relationships, but my favorite part is learning the origin stories of the characters and how they became who they are.

This has me reflecting on the origin stories of relationships in my life. I have found it easy to forget how they began once a person has become interwoven in the fabric of my life.

Chronic pain and illness have been part of my life for the better part of the last 30 years, but the past year has been marked by some of the most difficult challenges and I now find myself in a time of sorrow with the loss of ability and sense of community. It has come with isolation and time away from everyday tasks that have been a source of joy in the past and yet have taught me a deeper reliance on God and faith in His promises.