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As Christians, we live with a restless hope, trusting that what is unfinished now will one day be made whole. What does it mean to carry that hope faithfully, learning the slow and daily work of surrender?
My journey with chronic illness started with my little finger. I was on a trip to attend a friend’s wedding, reading a book quietly in my seat on the airplane, when I noticed pain and swelling in my pinkie. That’s weird, I thought, and expected it to pass, like all other aches and ailments had, up until then.
But it didn’t. Now, almost ten years later, I still have that pain—and others—and have an official diagnosis of inflammatory arthritis. Over these years, I’ve mostly learned to carry the burden, but chronic illness has become a major theme of my life story, one that I never could have predicted and certainly wasn’t hoping to include, just like the 6 in 10 Americans who live with at least one chronic disease (National Institute for Health Care Management, 2025).
My experience with chronic illness has pushed me to lean on my community, stripped away layers of pride and certainty, and forced me to find a much greater peace with human limits and mortality.
The most difficult aspect of chronic illness is, for me, not the pain or the uncertainty or even the ups and downs. It is right there in the definition: a medical condition that is chronic (persistent, recurring, or ongoing). Up until that point in my life, I had conquered many obstacles that were on my path with a hefty dose of problem-solving and determination, and it took some time to admit that this was one that I would not be able to overcome, no matter how I set my mind to it. Instead, I had to pick it up and carry it with me. Chronic illness would teach me many things, and this acceptance was the first hard lesson of many that I had to learn.
Chronic illness is also a continual (persistent, recurring, or ongoing) lesson in loosening the grip of control, both real and perceived. Because of my illness, I had to stop clinging to what I thought were core pieces of my identity as a dependable, hardworking person, and instead speak out loud my weaknesses and ask for help, even when it inconvenienced others. My experience with chronic illness has pushed me to lean on my community, stripped away layers of pride and certainty, and forced me to find a much greater peace with human limits and mortality. I learned, in no uncertain terms, that I am not my own, but belong – in body and soul, in life and in death – to my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ.
I have learned the value of watching and waiting, like so many Biblical examples. Hannah waiting for a child, David waiting to become king, Simeon and Anna waiting for the Messiah – all of them a model of long hope, persistent prayer, and patient faithfulness. There is great value in this, in paying attention and waiting on God, in noticing the birds and naming the flowers, listening to the long rambling stories of children and recognizing the image-bearing beauty and worth of those in our community as they work and serve around us.
Finally, and perhaps most importantly, I have learned that chronic illness is an embodied example of living in the in-between, in the already, not yet. Some days the burden is heavier; some days it is lighter. Some days, health and wholeness break through – I can run up the stairs, knead bread dough, and tickle my children. I get a glimpse of how things should be. Other days, that life seems far away, as I sit on the sidelines and cannot engage with my community and serve my family as I would like. I often feel the tension in a tangible way, the push and pull of gratitude for what is and grief for what has been lost, joy amid suffering, and the deep undercurrent of longing, waiting, hoping for better.
We all have within us a spark of the divine, a restlessness that tells us that there is more, that things could be better, and it spurs us on. But our lives are brief, and any efforts to bring permanence are futile. Life ebbs and flows, and we continually learn the lesson of holding onto temporary things, even health and physical ability, loosely. Instead, we trust the Creator, resting in His goodness, and know that there will be a time when all will be made clear. God has "set eternity in the human heart," and "everything God does will endure forever, nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it" (see Ecclesiastes 3:11-14).
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References:
National Institute for Health Care Management. (2025, April 3). The growing burden of chronic diseases. NIHCM. https://nihcm.org/publications/the-growing-burden-of-chronic-diseases