It’s Friday morning, and the guy from H2O Water is coming to service my water filtration system.  We have a ton of iron and other minerals in our well water here in Central Connecticut, and this system filters a lot of it out. 

I’m 4 or 5 years old.  Sleeping in my bed, surrounded by my favorite stuffed animals.  My dog, Ray (named after my grandmother’s dog).  A large stuffed tiger.  A bunny.

The next thing I know I’m screaming at the top of my lungs.

I’ve got a long drive to the doctor.  I know!  I’ll use the time to catch up with some friends.  I dial the first one.  She’s driving too.  To see her dad in the hospital.  Something serious.  I wasn’t expecting that.  Thought I’d hear stories about what the kids are up to and what they’re doing for Thanksgiving.

You never know what you’ll hear when you call someone on the phone.

“What if it doesn’t change?”

That’s the question I finally had to wrestle with, though I’d been ignoring it for months.

It started with insomnia.  Immediately after my husband suddenly died, I couldn’t sleep.  I was too traumatized.  My mind flooded with memories, fears, grief.  And by the time the trauma eventually lessened, not sleeping had become a deep-seated habit.

My job doesn’t help either.  Leader of a technology team with impossible project deadlines, supporting the system when it breaks down, continual merger activity.  Adrenalin flooding my system.  With its inevitable crash.

And then something changes for the worse.  I don’t know what pushes it over the precipice, but suddenly I’m not merely exhausted.  I’m experiencing violent symptoms that are even hard to describe.  I’ve never had anything like it.

I make an appointment with my doctor.  Now I make the rounds of specialists and almost every test you can imagine.  Tests for heart, digestion, brain scans.  Nothing.  They try different medications as an experiment.  Nothing works.  The attacks keep coming.  And they’re getting more frequent.  Each one feels like it could possibly kill me.

My doctor shakes his head and says he can’t do anything to help me.  His only option is to send me to more specialists.  No way.  So now I go to a Naturopathic Physician, and start a whole new round of specialists.  Acupuncture, psychologist specializing in insomnia, Alexander teacher, nutritionist, endocrinologist.

Together they believe my entire hormonal system has gotten out of whack – adrenals, thyroid, everything.  They’re taking action to help build my system back up.

Meanwhile, the attacks keep coming.  And coming.  It’s so bad that I’m shaking all the time.  Sleep is limited to a maximum of 2 hours per night. Often 0-1.  I’m at the end of my rope.

All this time I’ve been praying.  Asking for answers.  Healing.  Comfort.  And the attacks keep coming.  There’s so healing.  Not even a glimpse.  It’s so bad that family and friends drive me to the doctor, cook, and clean for me.  I can’t take care of myself.  I look like death.

My sole focus is willing myself to be better, as if my mind alone can change the situation.  Any time the question “What if it doesn’t change?” surfaces, I quickly push it away.  That possibility is unthinkable.  And I plead with God to take this away.  This is more than I can bear.  Wasn’t it enough that Jerry died?  Wasn’t that enough suffering for one lifetime?  How can you love me and leave me like this?  If that’s love, I don’t think I want to have anything to do with it.

I seriously think about leaving my faith behind.  After all, what has it done except give me heartache? If I didn’t have any expectations, I wouldn’t be so crushed.

One day, I come face to face with the possibility that this might just be my life forever.  I might have to quit my job and depend on others for help.  I say it out loud, sobbing: “What if it doesn’t change?”.

In my weakened state, I lie on the floor saying, “If this is true, then I have to find a way to create a life. There has to be a way to live with this and still have some kind of joy.”

Now I’m looking for alternatives to God.  To the faith that has failed me.  My mind searches through the database of other philosophies, other beliefs that I’ve been exposed to.  And realize that none will solve my problem.  None will heal me.

I see that I have a choice:  suffer alone, or suffer with God as my companion.  And who do I think sent my family and friends to give me comfort?  Why do I think they were willing to sacrifice so much for me?  How did I find my new medical team?  It’s as if my eyes are finally open to the spiritual dimension and all that has gone on behind the curtain to help me cope with this illness.  Help me on the path toward healing.

Even though on the outside it looks like nothing has been happening, there’s been plenty.  I just didn’t see.  I was too focused on my preconceived ideas of what love looks like to see the real help when it showed up.

So, even though I don’t see any improvement in my symptoms.  Even though I’m still sleeping 0-2 hours per night.  Even though the attacks keep coming fast and furious, I turn to God and say, “I choose to believe.  I believe in love.  I believe in hope.  I believe in joy.  I choose to have it here and now in the midst of hell.  Because you being with me and sending these angels is an oasis of heaven.”  Even as I’m in the pit of hell.

The heavens don’t open up, envelope me in light and heal me.  I’m still lying on the floor.  Exhausted and weak.  A shadow of my former self.

But now I know.  The way to life is to sit with God.  Take his outstretched hand.  Let him love me right where I am.

In the end, I had to choose.  Faith or not.  Life or not.  Joy or not. With no promise of circumstances changing.  With only the promise that God will be with me through it.  Even when it might seem like he isn’t.

Now, 8 years later, I find that I still have to ask that question: “What if it doesn’t change?  Am I still willing to believe?  Am I still willing to follow?”  I still have to choose.

If I avoid the question, it goes deep inside and mocks me, poisoning my heart.  When I face it and ask the question out loud, I begin to see that it’s possible to live a full life in the midst of my struggle.  Because God meets me there.

And though I struggle, and even suffer, I still say, “Where else would I go?  You have the words of eternal life.  I choose life.”

If you've ever asked yourself the question, “What if it doesn't change?”, Michele Cushatt has written a book that may speak to your heart.  It's called Relentless.  You can order it here.  (If you buy it using that link, I'll make about $.02.)  After her third cancer surgery, and the treatments that came along with it, she had more than she could handle.  She simply wanted to give up.  It was the relentless love of God that brought her back.  That keeps her going today.  She doesn't pull any punches as she tells her story.  She has too much respect for your pain to sugar-coat anything.

Pain and suffering can feel so isolating.  Please know you're not alone.  If you'd like to talk about your story, leave a comment.

The “clear out the garden” segment of my garden reclamation project continues.  At this rate, I won’t be planting anything new until spring.  It’s starting to get a bit too cold.  It’s probably better anyway.  Give the plants that are there a chance to recover and see what it looks like next spring.