A Glimpse of God

This is what 2010 was like for Sara:

I didn’t know that I would go through months of waking up every morning and muffling my screams in a pillow for hours until the pain meds kicked in. I didn’t know my knees would swell to the point where I couldn’t bend or straighten them. I didn’t know I would try to get out of bed and fall because my legs could no longer take the pain of standing.

I didn’t know I would balloon by 70 pounds in four short months, that I would deal with deformities and new medications and the trauma of doctor changes in the middle of the crisis. I didn’t know I’d become allergic to more things, to new foods, that I would never risk opening a window or allowing people into my home without a check list of questions first. I didn’t know I’d have to exist in a room of purified air and seclusion.

Sara, known to many of you on this blog as Gitzen Girl, has Ankylosing Spondylitis, an autoimmune disease that has kept her housebound and in intense pain for the last several years. The illness has robbed Sara of her chance to marry, have children, travel, find a career, and enjoy the kind of life we all seem to think we’re due. On her blog, she’s honest about her illness, the pain it causes, and what it has done to her body.

But she is also relentlessly positive. Upbeat. Happy, even. In fact, her motto on her blog is “Choose joy.” And in that same post I quoted above, in which she detailed the difficulties she’d faced at the age of 36, she ended it with these words:

In some form of all of these “I didn’t know’s” happen to each of us every year. And I’ve never gone through one of those years without everything I needed.

Because He provides me with what I need, when I need it.

He sees the difficult in our lives, and He makes sure that the difficult isn’t overcome with the bad. He makes sure the difficult is surrounded with blessings.

He makes sure that, while the list of difficult things may be longer…

… the list of blessings hold more weight.

Mindblowing, isn’t it? Hope in the face of hopelessness has shone through every one of Sara’s posts that I’ve read, and given me much-needed perspective. In another post, Sara described how she begins each day by lying in bed as a CD plays, waiting for her pain meds to kick in:

I listen to Selah’s Deliver Me CD, which is an hour long, and each song is a perfect prayer in just the right order. There are messages in each song that bring me to center. They are prompts to pray for certain people, certain circumstances, individual requests. And every one of them brings me to a place where I am praising the One who gave me the privilege to live this life, know these people and pray for them.

So at the beginning of each day when my pain is high and I wake with a bit of dread for what’s ahead, my focus is immediately shifted. Rather than letting life run me, I take a simple action. I go from my own circumstance to thinking about others. I remember that this life is not about me and choose to give thanks to the God who loves me.

This really resonated with me because Sara’s focus has always extended outward to those around her. Her illness has mostly kept her from interacting with people face to face, so she’s created a vibrant community for herself online. I’m so honored that she chose to include me in that group. Sara has commented on Suburban Turmoil often over the years, and she has always been supportive. Kind. Funny. Insightful. Obviously, she’s a Christian and my posts on faith are the ones she most enjoys… and that’s why when the discussions surrounding the Beth Moore Bible study began here on this blog a few weeks ago, I noticed pretty quickly that Sara’s voice was uncharacteristically absent from the conversation.

I had heard from her on Twitter not long ago and so I figured she had other things going on and would get around to the posts eventually– but I checked in on her blog Saturday night while watching a movie with my daughter, to see how she was doing.

To my horror, it turned out that in just a few weeks’ time, Sara’s health had taken a nosedive. At the time of this writing, she’s surrounded by hospice workers and family. Her vital systems are shutting down.

She’s about to leave us.

As I read the news, tears began rolling down my face. I left the playroom and went down to the kitchen, where I could sob in private. Sara and I weren’t good friends, but I had come to rely on her wise words, her positive attitude, and her unrelenting support. I cried, selfishly, over the fact that I would be losing that voice in my life. I cried over realizing that her Tweets to me were among the last that she’d written, and that I’d had no idea she was so sick when I read them. And I cried hardest of all because the world so desperately needs more Saras, and here we were losing her.

And yet.

I’ve never been quite so happy about the fact that someone was dying, either.

Sara makes me a believer in God more than anyone I can think of. I look at her life and circumstances and know, know beyond a shadow of a doubt that the love and joy that consistently radiate from her are straight from Him. There’s literally no other explanation.

As I stood singing in church yesterday morning, I found myself imagining the welcome she’s about to get in Heaven. I have no doubt that it will be epic. Angels singing, trumpets playing, cherubs dancing, a red (er, gold?) carpet rolled out straight to the feet of God.

Sara passed her test. With flying colors.

She is an inspiration to me, and to so many others out there. I am incredibly honored to have known her, even in this limited capacity on the Internet.

Thank you, Sara, for giving me a true glimpse of God. Thank you for teaching me to always Choose Joy, no matter what my circumstances may be. If you could do it, I know I can, too.

I can’t wait to meet you face to face.

“Dear brothers and sisters, when troubles come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy.” James 1:2