On Behalf Of Someone

There are moments that feel like destiny. Those moments when you do something because, as crazy as it may seem, you know it will matter to someone. You may never know their name or see their face, but that doesn't make them any less real. You know they are out there somewhere. And you know that your voice or good deed can make a difference for them. It might even change their life. 

I recently wrote a letter to someone who just received a lupus diagnosis. I don't know who I was writing for, but I knew I had to write it. It was one of those moments. It was a very emotional moment, bathed in tears as I relived a season of overwhelming uncertainty and pain. But it was also a beautiful moment because I knew what my voice would mean to someone who is going through what I experienced two years ago.

And it was even more beautiful because it wasn't just my moment. So many people became part of it as they gave strength to my small voice by spreading my words farther than I alone could.

So on behalf of someone, thank you. Thank you for helping my special wish come true. But more than that, thank you for taking a moment out of your day to be part of something bigger than yourself and doing something that can bring hope to someone you may never know. 

To Someone

Dear friend,

I don't know you, but I feel so many emotions for you in this life-changing moment. I feel sad with you. I know this is not what you expected for your life. This was not part of the plan. This was not the way things were supposed to play out. And yet, here you are. I am sad because I know all of the fear and heaviness you feel. I know how deeply your heart aches. I know the questions that are flooding your mind. I am sad because I know the obstacles and challenges that lay ahead. I am sad because I know that in this moment, it feels like your dreams are crashing down. And I so wish I could take all of this away from you and make it all better.

I don't know you or what your personality is like. But I do know that if you haven't already, one day you will ask, "Why?" It is an honest question. It is also a hard one. And unfortunately, I don't know that there is any answer that can truly satisfy. So even though you will find yourself asking that question time and time again, I want to tell you to not dwell on "Why?" Because if you do, you will find yourself at a dead end. Don't dwell in a dead end. Dwell where there is life. Ask life-giving questions: What now? What do I have to live for? What mark can I still leave in this world?

Today marks the two year anniversary of my lupus diagnosis. Two years ago, when I got off the phone with the doctor who gave me the news, I had no idea the immensity of what was in store. The past two years have been so incredibly hard. But my life has continued. Hardship has not in any way taken the good from my life. If anything, it has helped me to see good in places where others cannot and feel hope in ways I never did before. I feel hope for my future. And I feel hope for you. Yes, in this painful moment, there is hope! I feel hope for you because even though your life will be hard, your life is not over. There are still joys to experience, celebrations to have, and beautiful memories to make. Your life will be hard. That does not mean your life will be bad. Choose to dig deep and see the good.

I feel hope for you because as big as this diagnosis is, there is a God who is bigger than your diagnosis. He is not distant. He is near. He hurts with you. He loves you and His love never runs out. He wants to hold you in His arms. He is good and continues to be good when nothing else in this life seems to be. He gives strength to the weary. He can bring peace in the midst of the biggest storm. He can make beauty out of the chaos. He can bring joy in the midst of the greatest pain. He can bring light to the deepest darkness. Hold onto Him. Hold onto Him when your body hurts too much to move. Hold onto Him when you feel alone. Hold onto Him when it feels like you have nothing left to go on. 

I may never have the opportunity to see your face or learn your name. But I pray for you. I pray that you would be full of courage, peace, joy, and strength. And I pray that when you feel like you have none of these things, that you will have a community to support and encourage you. I pray for your family as they walk with you on this journey, for them to experience strength and encouragement as well. I pray that as lupus dramatically changes your life, that your life would be abundant and full of purpose. And I pray that you wouldn't just be a survivor. I pray that you will be a warrior who is more than a conqueror.

- - - - -

I wrote this for someone. I don't know who they are, but I know they are out there somewhere. The anniversary of my lupus diagnosis is 2 days after my birthday, and this year I have a special lupus birthday wish: I want as many people as possible to share this post so that the person I wrote this for will have the opportunity to read it. Please help my wish to come true by sharing this on your Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, etc. 

#lupusbirthdaywish

Why I Write

When I was in high school, I took a writing class. When the semester began, I thought I was a natural. I was naturally terrible. My writing teacher saw how terrible of a writer I was, but he also saw what I could be. I remember him telling me, "I want to turn you into a writer. I want you to be able to write the way you play the piano." This was a struggle for me. Having immigrant parents, the English in my home was utilitarian and often awkward. From an early age, I had learned to express myself with music. I didn't need words. I just needed an instrument. My writing teacher taught me that I could be more. He gave me words and helped me find my voice. I have hidden this voice in the pages of the many journals I have toted around over the years. In a way, journals have been a safe place for me. They are where I pour out my soul, completely unfiltered. They are where the creativity and messiness of my life collide. They are for me. Only me.

When I found out I have lupus, I did what anybody else would do. I googled it. Words like, "Lupus destroyed my life," "I am all alone," and "I had a good life until I got lupus," filled my computer screen. I read stories of broken dreams and husbands leaving their wives because they couldn't handle the weight of being married to someone with a chronic illness. I saw angry, bitter, and hurting words. And my heart began to break. Early on in my diagnosis, I made a decision: I will again find my voice and not hide it in a journal. I will confront a world of despair with words of hope. I will make my life with lupus mean something. This is why I write.

So, to my high school writing teacher who refused to let me stay the way I was, thank you. I hope I have finally become what you always told me I could be.

Autumn Saturday

Fridays nights, I lay on my couch, fatigued from the wear of the work week. Last night was no exception. This wasn't even an exceptionally busy week. But I was exhausted nonetheless.

This morning, I woke up to a slightly chilly, autumn Saturday. I lit candles in my living room and sat cross-legged on my couch with a book and a Bible. I love the start of weekends and I love autumn. I love being able step out of my hectic routine and find moments of solitude and rest. I love being able to sit back and let my mind drift to where it wishes.

So for all of you who have had a busy week and are tired, may you find rest for your body and soul. I hope that you curl up with a blanket and get lost in a good book. Or that you put on a sweater and comfy shoes and go on an adventure. I hope that you have the chance to spend time with someone you love or have a long phone conversation with someone you miss. Or, if like me you are an introvert living an extroverted lifestyle, I hope you finally get a chance to have a moment of solitude. Whatever you choose to do, I hope you wave a wonderful autumn Saturday!


If you would like to read more about solitude, you can read more here, here, here, and here.

TBT: Two Years Ago

Two years ago today, I woke up unable to move. My husband had to lift me out of bed and help me with every step of my morning routine. I was completely helpless and in agonizing pain. As the day progressed, I would get more and more exhausted from the effort and pain of every movement. This was not the first of such days. This had been going on for about two months. And every day that passed, I was more exhausted than the last. I had lost 20 pounds in less than two months and a third of my hair had fallen out. I had seen three doctors at this point. None of them could figure out what was wrong with me. I thought I was dying. I found little reason to believe otherwise.

Two years ago today, I was dreading the doctor's appointment I would have the next day. I was tired of the endless doctor's appointments. I was tired of the tests that yielded no answers. I was tired of waiting. I was tired of being tired. My doctor would ask me, "On a pain scale from one to ten, ten being the highest, how bad is your pain?" I would say, "It's at a nine," being too afraid to admit I was at a ten.

Two years ago today, I didn't know that at my doctor's appointment the next day, I would hear worry in my doctor's voice for the first time. I didn't know that my doctor would send me to yet another doctor who would do a biopsy on the skin on my scalp...the biopsy that would give me the answer I had been crying out to God for. And after these doctor visits, I would write in my journal:

Still no relief from the pain...I am exhausted. I saw two doctors today. They are close to having a diagnosis. Right now I'm waiting for test results. The second doctor took a sample from my scalp and left me with stitches. The first doctor told me I have arthritis in my feet. He narrowed down the possibilities...I don't like some of the words the doctors are saying. But I'm too tired to be stubborn. God is bigger than any diagnosis.

Two years ago today, I didn't know that my days of wondering would soon be over and my life would dramatically change. I didn't know that the following week, I would experience the most overwhelming feeling of relief as one of the doctors would call me to tell me I have lupus. Yes, when I got off the phone, I cried and thanked God for providing a diagnosis. The waiting and not knowing was finally over. I could finally move forward.