Yesterday, I sat in a quiet room, the IV humming beside me, while the slow drip of chemo meds coursed, first through a port implanted in my chest, then into my veins.
This is my ritual, my offering, my stubborn defiance against a disease that damaged my lungs and literally took my breath. Every other month, I return here, not because I am sick, but because I refuse to be.
The battle in my body is unseen—microscopic—yet relentless. The disease that scarred my lungs still lingers in the shadows, waiting for the chance to wreak more havoc. So, I show up. I submit. I let the medicine do its thing, giving me the best available shot at avoiding the need for a lung transplant
There is another battle waged, too. This one, spiritual, but no less consequential.
The grief compounded, the losses multiplied, the wreckage of what once was—I carry the remnants of these wounds as surely as I bear the literal scars that chronicle my physical fight. I am marked in more ways than one. There are both tangible and intangible ways to lose one’s breath, and I have experienced both.
Both are capable of taking my life, albeit in different ways. People die frequently from my disease, but even if my particular case is not currently life-threatening it is most certainly life-altering.
The same goes for the battle waged within my spirit. Struggles grow without intervention, threatening to rob my life of joy and purpose, ensuring I remain mired in the quicksand of defeat.
It would be easy to tend to only one war, to fight for my body and leave my heart unattended. But I have learned this: untreated pain festers.
Neglecting this inner war means not only diminishing God’s work within me, but also forfeiting the unique contributions I could be making for His Kingdom. I want so earnestly to be of service to Him, but Scripture is clear: He will not empower unfit vessels. So I commit to healing in every sense: tending to my body with medicine and to my heart with surrender. I resolve to allow neither battle to define or confine me, but to grow me, instead.
Healing is not passive. It is the continual act of relinquishing to the Mender all that remains in pieces. The losses that marked me will not heal with time alone; they require the same fierce diligence I give to my physical maladies. So, when the pain flares, I go to the One who can soothe it. When grief and sorrow intrude, I present them to the One acquainted with both. When I’m not sure where to turn, I approach the One who sits upon the Throne of Grace. There is no greater, more faithful repository for our sorrows than He.
There are days when weariness sets in; when both battles seem too much. But I remind myself—breath is not just the air in my lungs. Breath is life! Breath is laughter, it is hope, it is purpose, it is unyielding resolve. So, I fight for it on both fronts.
Because, when all is said and done, what is left untreated will only deepen. Because survival is not enough for me—I am here to live—And so are you.
So, suit up and join me, friend. Our victory is assured.
“Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him that loved us.”
~ 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝟖:𝟑𝟕