I have been excited to return to Maine, to a cabin in the woods- the perfect Sabbath escape, since the day I left it 365 days ago. Honestly, I think I started planning for it on my drive home last year. I thought I planned it perfectly in line with when my pain would still be feeling strong effects from the most recent infusion. But, this disease had other plans. I’ve had to bite my tongue on multiple occasions to not mutter under my breath, “of course.”

As the pain started to rise, and it became clear that Maine was not going to be a possibility for me this fall, one of my dearest friends and Sabbath- companion, came up with a closer to home Sabbath option to create some sacred space before the next infusion and still take some quiet time to sit with the Lord. I could not be more grateful. (Thank you Shel, and thank you sweet nanny-fam who made this possible)

My family has been coming to this beach since my grandmother was a young girl. It’s a family tradition. Every year, our whole family: grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins- we all come to this beach and spend a week together. I have a sweet association with this beach. I’ve jumped the waves of this ocean, filled buckets with it for sand castle creations, stuck my feet in it while sitting on beach chairs with my family, and danced in it. There’s something carefree about the beach. There’s something about this place that makes me feel a little more like myself.

As an adult, I’ve gravitated towards the beach to rest with the Lord. It makes me feel closer to my Creator when I sit or stand, barefoot, in a part of creation that I truly find incredible. I know that we don’t need to meet somewhere special to connect. But doing so feels like a piece of me is home. It’s a different kind of comfort.

So I dragged my weary body onto the beach. I got to the sand, I took my shoes off, as though I was walking on holy ground, and planted myself on the rocks to watch the ocean for a little while. The repetition of the waves, the deep breaths of salty air, the sound of the water, it naturally began to calm my heart to a place of stilling it before the Lord. For a short time, I shared the rocks with a woman whose port and scarf around her bald head struck me with a deep sense of humility. Her daughter was my age. And she proceeded to make her mom laugh as she attempted to do cartwheels (consistently falling) and chase seagulls like a young child. For a short while, we sat together on opposite ends of these rocks, watching the water and it reminded me of a scene I read about often. It reminded me of our own little Pool of Bethesda. Two women sitting by the water, in need of healing.

I’ve sat by Bethesda before. I know this story well. (You can find it in John 5:1-15) In some ways, I feel like I live it. Can I tell you how surreal it was to visit the Holy Land as a lame woman? To be by the Pool of Bethesda and wonder if several years ago, I would have been found lying beside it, hoping to be well. It was especially meaningful to be there with two of my professors and friends who also are in desperate need of healing.

I need to pause for just a moment and say that it is a miracle that I could even go on this trip –and though I do not regret it one bit, if I knew what it would do to my pain- I absolutely wouldn’t have gone. I could not have gotten through it without these friends in my pictures- Doc and Rick, as well as Aaron and Caitlyn. Honestly, I could never thank them enough for all they did for me on this trip from holding me up while I was unable to walk, lending their arms when I needed help because the pain was so bad, holding my hair when I was getting sick from pain, and making me laugh when I felt like crying. I love you so very much.

The man in the account in John 5 has been an invalid for 38 years. Thirty-eight years. Don’t let that seem like just another number the next time you read it. 38 years of his body not working right. When Jesus approaches him, He asks him if he wants to be well and heals him. But the man doesn’t recognize Jesus, and later, when asked who made him well…he didn’t know. The NIV version actually says, “The man who was healed had no idea who it was…” Later, Jesus reveals who He is to this man.

I was blessed with 13 full years without pain. This November I will start my 26^th year of life and my 13^th year of pain. You know what’s so crazy…and hard? That means this year will be the year that I’ve been in pain just as long as I’ve lived without pain.

Jesus, whether it’s 13, 38, or 70 years….may I recognize who you are as I wait for healing, and not be distracted by telling you what all I’ve done and why when I’m asked if I want to be well.

Sitting by this water was me coming to the Lord begging for healing. Anyone who has asked what the highlight of my summer was, knows it was, “feeling the ocean.” I hadn’t felt it in 12 years, but this summer our annual family vacation fell just after an infusion and I was able to feel it. It was incredible. Here I was, almost four months later, and as my feet felt that water- I felt nothing but pain. I danced in those waves this summer and now I cannot feel them.

Who knows what this woman sitting on the rocks was thinking, but I was thinking about waiting. Waiting for healing.

I’m going to take a guess that most of you know what it is like to wait for something. Waiting for healing, waiting for a dream to come to fruition, waiting for an acceptance to your dream college, waiting for a “yes” to a job you’ve applied for, waiting for a baby to be born, waiting to be reunited with a child or loved one who is in Heaven, waiting for change, waiting for God to answer your prayer…I mean, the list could just keep going.

I deeply desire to wait well (note…desire). I don’t think that waiting well means not grieving or processing real emotions- I think that’s actually very healthy in the waiting. Even now, I’m waiting to go back in for my next round of infusion and I can’t even to seem to be chill about this. I think that part of the reason why it’s hard to wait well is because it’s easy to lose your focus. Right? I can’t be the only one whose mind works like this:

Focus on waiting well…focus on waiting well…focus on waiting well…it’s hard to wait…how come so-and-so doesn’t have to wait…you know what’s annoying? So-and-so posting about what I’m waiting for on social media, while I don’t have that…what am I not doing right?…I should try harder…I’m not getting what I’m waiting for because I’m not doing enough…I’m not getting what I’m waiting for because I’m not enough…

Woah. Woah. Woah.

I love this quote from author, Ann Voskamp, she writes,

“Whenever I forget, fear walks in.”

Waiting is hard enough; there’s no room to forget, because there is no room for fear in the waiting. There’s enough of that already.

What a discipline it is to focus in the waiting. That is so unbelievably hard, that I can barely write it. It feels like I could just tack that on to the wandering train of thought, “I’m not getting what I’m waiting for because I’m doing enough…because I’m not enough…because I don’t focus enough…” This isn’t a shame game, this is a reminder: if “when I forget, fear walks in”….then, when I remember, peace tells fear “no thank you.”

That’s what I’m after. I’m after waiting well. I’m after keeping my eyes fixed on Jesus…and to be honest, not because when I do that then Jesus finally answers my cry (maybe, but not necessarily). I do it because keeping my eyes fixed on Jesus helps me remember His faithfulness, and why I don’t need to be afraid in the waiting.

It’s amazing how quickly I forget.
But it’s beautiful how much faster God gives me grace and helps me remember.

Lord help me not to forget what you’ve done for me. Help me focus on you in the waiting. Meet me in the waiting. Meet me in my grief.  Help me cling to your faithfulness, and wait well.

“Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.” Psalm 27:14