I’m always amazed when God places me in the right place at the right time for someone else’s benefit as well as my own.  I shouldn’t be so amazed, He’s God.  That’s what He does, what He is.  AMAZING.

God placed me in my parent’s arms over 22 years ago, knowing that I would be loved and cared for, supported and with good healthcare.

God sent me to Poland in 2006, where I was given the incredible opportunity to learn and grow with my brothers and sisters in another land.

God sent me to Gordon College, where He knew I would be challenged and changed.  He sent me to the far off places of the Adirondacks to test me and to break me so that He could put me back together.  He placed me at NSCBC, where I would share, for the first time to a large group, my story.  During that testimony, He put me in touch with someone who had a friend with CF who I am still in contact with today.  God opened the door at the right time for me to speak power into the lives of my peers and professors during evening chapel, sharing again the story which I have kept quiet for so long – my struggle and triumphs with CF.

God sent me to China and Hong Kong, where a piece of my heart will forever stay.  With the dying children I held, the Filipino women I cried with and laughed with, with the powerful church in Hong Kong we worked with, with the incredible mountains and valleys in China, and with the mentally ill boy who I sat with.  God knew, somehow, that this was where I needed to go to be thankful for the life I have, to be reminded by the pictures on my wall of the children who are with Him in heaven now, and to breathe in His grace and mercy in a new way.

God sent me to Michigan.  I didn’t get it for a long time.  I didn’t understand why He sent me away from all that I knew in Massachusetts, away from my comfort zone.  But now, I see, at least in part.  He knew that I would struggle.  He knew that I would cry.  He knew that I would stumble upon the greatest adventure of my life (so far) – working in a lab where I get to work on my own disease, but where I can no longer hide from it.

Hiding.  That’s what I’ve been doing for nearly 22 years.  I don’t tell people about my CF because of the negative reactions I’ve gotten in the past.  I don’t tell people about my CF because I don’t want to be seen differently (whether positive or negative).  I don’t tell people because I don’t want it to define me.  I don’t tell people because I’m afraid they will walk away.  Because it’s happened before.  So instead, I hide the greatest ministry tool that God has given me.  I hide the pain, the hardship, the loneliness, the difficulties beneath the tired, worn out exterior that I blame on a stressful graduate school program.  I hide the blessings beneath the ruse of someone who has it all together.  I hide.

But I’m done hiding.  Mostly because I kind of can’t hide anymore, but also because I’ve realized that I can’t do what God has called me to do if I keep hiding.  That doesn’t mean that when I meet you on the street, I’ll introduce myself as “Kristen with CF”.  That doesn’t mean that I’ll tell everyone, ever.  But what it does mean is that I’ll be honest with the people I trust (if you’re reading this, you probably are a part of that group).  It means that I’ll be more open to talking to large groups about my life and what God has done through me.  It means that if I see someone struggling with something related to genetic disorders, CF, doctors, hospitals, insurance companies, etc., I’ll offer my help in whatever capacity I can, because I get it, to some extent.  It means that CF is a part of who I am, and always will be.  It means that I can’t be afraid of what people will say or do once they know.  I’ve got to put that in God’s hands.

Speaking, writing, singing, swimming, running, researching – I’m done hiding.  I can’t do what I’ve been called to if I’m hiding.  So I’m done hiding.  And I can prove it (at least this time).

Yesterday at church, the guest speaker mentioned a young family welcoming a child who has been diagnosed with CF into their home, as an example of people he knew who were struggling.  After the service, I gave him my contact information for the family, if they ever needed anything.  Not screaming from a mountain top, but not hiding.  It’s a start.