A few weeks ago, I was feeling rather depressed.  I had just come from a beautiful wedding where I watched two people beam as they pledged their lives to each other.  The reception was beautiful, and I thoroughly enjoyed the company at my table and the dancing later.  As I was driving home, the tears started falling.  “God, do you know how hard it is to watch people be so happy and not know if I’ll ever have that too?” I asked.  “Why am I still alone, God?  What am I not doing?  Am I not good enough, pretty enough, loveable enough?  Do I come with too much baggage?  Am I too intelligent for the men I meet?  Everyone else around me is so happy that I feel like I have to put on a smile and pretend like everything is okay.  But it’s not.  Is it wrong for me to want to share my life with someone, is it wrong to want a relationship?  Are those desires that will never be fulfilled by a person, but only by you?  Why have you called me to walk such a difficult road?”  As I lamented my situation (which, oddly enough is where the last post came from), I decided that I would simply be still and listen to God’s voice instead of continue talking.  But all I heard were the devil’s lies.  You’re not pretty enough.  You’re just not loveable.  Who could love you, when you carry so much baggage, so many medical bills and doctors visits?  Why do you even think that you could be loved?  Why are you trying anymore?  Just accept it.  You’re going to be alone.  The devil whispered (okay, screamed) his lies.  And I believed them.

After church the next Sunday, I went to ALDI to buy groceries.  Just your typical day at the grocery store, not really crowded.  As I rounded the corner onto the aisle with all the papertowel and toilet paper, I stopped to check my list.  Just then, a man came up behind me and said, “I think you forgot something.”  Confused, I looked around to make sure I hadn’t dropped anything behind me and that my outfit was still intact and that I still had my wallet and keys.  The man continued to walk ahead in the aisle, clearly on a mission to get some cheese.  I finally decided that I hadn’t forgotten anything, and the man was just messing with me, as some people are apt to do.  As he came back up the aisle only minutes later, holding his cheese, he leaned over to me and said, “You forgot that you are beautiful.”  Utterly taken aback, I turned around to see if I knew who he was, and he was gone.  Nowhere to be seen.  (And ALDI is a small store!)

I subsequently put this event out of my mind, assuming that the man was just messing with me to get a reaction.  Until now.  Until I’ve finally gotten up the courage to face the devil’s lies.  On my drive home yesterday, I started thinking about these lies of the devil again, and this event came to mind.  Bewildered, I began wondering if God had placed this disappearing man (dare I say angel?) in ALDI that day because He knew what I needed to hear.  This stranger reminded me (albiet weeks later) that I am beautiful because I was created in the image of God.  He reminded me that I am worth everything to Christ because He died for me.  He reminded me that I am loveable – Jesus loved me enough to stretch out His arms and die on a cross.  He reminded me that although I carry baggage, it is worth every pound of medical equipment, worth every dollar in bills, and worth all the time with doctors because it has brought Him glory, and it has brought me daily to the foot of the cross.  I may not be worth anything to anyone else on this earth, but I am worth everything to God.  I may not matter to anyone else on this earth, but I matter to God.  I may not be beautiful in the eyes of the world, but I am beautiful to God.  And that’s all that matters.  Who I am in His eyes.

The devil still screams his lies.  And there are sure to be days that I will still believe them.  But I know that God has placed me here, in this place, at this time, with these people, for a purpose.  It’s going to be difficult – that’s a promise.  But He is with me.  And to Him, I am a beautiful mess.  With all my screw ups and fake outs, with all my lies and wrongdoings, with all my doubts and my fears, with my stubbornness and defense mechanisms, I am beautiful.  With all my baggage and intimidating intelligence, with all my love for people and my faltering resolve, with my heart for worship, and mouth that sings His praises, with that same tongue that is the downfall of much, with my instruments and my voice, I am beautiful.  And I am loved.  In His eyes, I am a treasure in a field, a rare find.  And in His eyes, I am worth everything.

Beloved, you too are worth everything to Him.  Please don’t be tempted to think otherwise.  But if you need a reminder, remember that God knows what you need, and he may even send a stranger to tell you what you needed to hear.

Tears fall as emotions flow

Storms threaten and the seas rage

Lord here I am again.

I’ve lost faith, lost hope

Can’t even see the end of this rope

Lord here I am again.

Help me to dream again, sing again, hope again

Restore my faith, give me grace

Remind me of your love

Sun peeks through dark clouds

The wisp of a rainbow in the sky

Lord here I am again.

Help me to dream again, sing again, hope again

Restore my faith, give me grace

Remind me of your love

Break down my walls, build me up in you

Penetrate my heart, fill me with your love

Give me hope that I could wait for the things you have for me

Help me to dream again, sing again, hope again

Restore my faith, give me grace

Remind me of your love

Have you ever prayed for something, something big – and waited and waited and waited for God to grant your request, and then been devastated when it felt like He didn’t come through?  I have a lot of friends right now praying for big things – a house to sell, a new job, healing for their son – and for many of them, it seems like God is silent or that God has a different plan for right now.

With whatever is going on in your life right now – whether it is big or small, wonderful or difficult – take heart that He does hear your prayers, your cries, your praise.  Remember that His time is not ours, and that He has a bigger plan.  So, even if the house doesn’t sell right now, He is working in it for His glory.  Even if the new job doesn’t pan out right now, ask for God to use you where you are right now.  Even if God doesn’t heal your son or daughter, put your trust in Him and ask for His strength to get you through each day.

I would be lying if I said I had never asked God to take away my CF.  I would be lying if I said that it was easy for me to trust Him every day, or to praise Him every day.  I would be lying if I said that I had never been angry at God.  But He gives every breath that I take. He sustains me.  He loves me.  He died for me.  So, even if the healing doesn’t come, I will still praise.  In the midst of difficult and trying circumstances, I will find joy.  And I will continue to pray, until God grants my request, or until He changes what I ask for in accordance with His will.

Dear Abigail,

You are a superhero – you can make smoke come out of your mouth with your nebulizer.  You can make the earth shake with your vest.  You can have an extra arm (or two) with a PICC line.  You wear a mask to hide the sneaky smile on your face, and because it’s cool to wear a mask.  But you are a superhero for more than just that.  You are strong because you do these and other medications every day, and because you are fighting this disease with everything you have.  You are powerful because you have so many people around you, lifting you up over fences, breaking down doors, and fighting alongside you.  You are a superhero, and don’t ever forget it!

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But don’t let your superhero cape get caught in the little things.  There are doctor’s visits and hospitals and more medications than you care to count.  There are colds and viruses and times when you don’t want to get out of bed.  But you are still a superhero because you keep fighting.  You get out of bed, and with other people’s help, you’re able to get things done.  You keep fighting.

There will be days when you feel like giving up.  There will be days when you don’t want to do this any more.  There will be days, weeks, months, years – when it seems like there is no end to the cycle of medications, doctors visits, hospitalizations, and feeling terrible every day.  There will be days – good and bad.  Sometimes the good days are few and far between, and it feels like the gloomy skies and rain will never end.  But you have been blessed.

People may treat you differently because you’re a superhero, and it may not always be good.  People may laugh at you, but others will help you out.  People may give you a hard time, but others will play with you because you’re fun to be around, and they won’t care about your disease.  They may even think that your superhero powers are cool.  Some people may tell you that you can’t do things – like play outside, have your prince charming, be anything you want to be.

But I’m here to tell you that you can do things.  Lots of things.  Run, sing, walk, play an instrument, have friends sleep over, play a sport, dream, love, and so much more!  As you grow up, you’ll see people around you that are doing different things than you are.  They may go out every night when you have to stay in a few nights a week.  They may get done with their homework and go to the softball field when you have to sit at home and do medications.  They may have more dates with cute boys than you do.  They may have a part time job and you don’t.

But here’s the thing: God has a plan for you, and He has from the very beginning.  He put you in the family you’re in, so that you could grow up loved.  He put you in the position to get fantastic medical care, so that you could learn how to take care of yourself.  He gave you a beautiful smile that lights up other people’s worlds.  He gave you the ability to run around and play sports and stay active.  He gave you the drive to keep fighting CF every day.  He gave you people around you to lift you up and carry you when  you need them to.  He gave you a voice to be heard in the CF community and everywhere else.  He gave you the chance to go to school and learn about history and science and literature and sports.  He gave you life.

You were born into this world at an incredible time.  The Human Genome Project (this effort let primarily by Dr. Francis Collins) has discovered the gene for our disease.  They have named the protein that is defective in our disease.  Thousands of researchers all over the world are working to find new therapies and potential cures for us.  We are blessed.  Beyond blessed, really.  I can tell you from personal experience that it’s not easy to get up every day and keep fighting.  But there are people who help me every day.  And God keeps putting more people in my life who continue to encourage and inspire me, including you.  I can tell you from other’s experiences that Prince Charming does exist (although he usually comes without the horse!) and that when the time is right, God will place the right man in your life.  Regardless of what people may say, know this: you are beautiful, inside and out, and your CF doesn’t change that.  Don’t let it dictate who you are or what people think about you.  You are beautiful and don’t let anyone ever tell you differently.  I can tell you from personal experience that it is possible to do well in school and to go on to college and even graduate school, to have a job and still be healthy at the same time.  Yes, it can be difficult, and it’s not a bad idea to take some time off sometimes to take care of yourself, but it is possible.  I can tell you from personal experience that you have so many people working for you and for CF in the scientific community – I am one of them.  I can tell you that you are a superhero, and that you are beautiful, and that your CF makes you stronger, but you have to believe it too.

Thirty-seven is just a number.  Don’t let it scare you, in fact, don’t even think about it.  Live your life like today is your last day, but go ahead and plan for the future.  None of us know when we’ll go home to heaven, but those of us with shorter life expectancies may have a better idea of how short life really is.  But that doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t plan for fifty or sixty or a hundred years from now.  We should dream and plan and love like everyone else, and then we should do it.  Go outside and play.  Put out a job application.  Go on a date.  Apply to college, graduate school.  Love people.  Take care of yourself.  Listen to your doctors.  Do your medications.  Stay active.

And say thank you.  To the people who have raised you since you were a baby – parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles; to the people who have helped you stay healthy – doctors, nurses, social workers, technicians, phlebotemists, secretaries, nutritionists, physical therapists; to the people who have loved you from afar – other CF patients, church family, and others; to God.

You truly are beautiful, and you are a superhero.  Don’t ever let anyone tell you differently.  Don’t let your CF stop you from doing things – enjoy life, inspire people around you, and live.  Live because you can, and because you fight for every day.

Love,

Kristen

Let me paint a picture for you.  It’s storming here in mid-Michigan.  Watching the radar on the news this morning, it seemed that there was a break in the thunderstorms and downpours for about an hour, in which I planned to get to work and walk the mile from the free parking lot to my building.  If you’re thinking that the best laid plans often get foiled, you’ll be heading in the right direction.

It wasn’t raining on my drive to work, nor when I parked in the free parking lot.  No, it waited until the exact moment when I got out of my car, slung my backpack on my shoulder, and started walking the mile to my building.  And not just raining.  Pouring.  Thunder and lightening, pouring.

By the time I reached my building, I was soaked to the core.  My rain jacket, apparently, is not waterproof.  My jeans,either.  Or my shoes, socks, backpack or laptop.  Perhaps, at this point, some of you are laughing at my predicament.  For those of you who are not, thank you.

I tell you all of this not for your sympathy at my still-wet jeans, shoes, and socks, but because the rain taught me a lesson this morning.  Sometimes in life, the steady drizzle goes on for what we feel is too long.  But more often, the storms we weather show up on the radar and we think we can get between them, but most of the time, we get drenched.  But the beauty of water is that it evaporates.  Even the most terrible storm has an end, and we dry out.  It may take a while, but eventually your jeans dry, your socks dry, your shoes dry, and for a time you’re comfortable again.  But then there is another storm.

We need the rain.  The storms make us stronger.  Yes, we get wet.  But hairdryers and heat guns and good old-fashioned air do the job, just like the people and circumstances around us help us weather life’s storms.  The storms will come.  But it’s only water.

I know that I’m not the easiest person to get to know, or to get along with.  I’m very guarded, and I have a lot of walls.  Walls that are thick, and high.  Walls made of bricks and mortar rather than dirt and sand.  I have carefully built those walls, and am loathe to let them fall.  Some people are better at tearing down those walls than others, and some people just vault the walls and root themselves into my life (for which I am grateful, eventually).  But, nine times out of ten, my walls are so high and so thick that people go running, and I let them go.

As much as I try to let my guard down, shrink my walls to ankle level, I can’t.  At least I can’t here and now.  I could back at Gordon.  There I felt like people really knew me, and they cared.  Even if it was superficial, they cared.  And then I came to MSU, where I immediately put up my walls again, and may have even built them higher than before.  I feel safe behind my walls, albeit lonely many times.  I can be myself behind my walls, dance when no one is watching, sing when no one is listening.  I can be afraid behind my walls because no one will see.  I can miss people who are many states away behind my walls, because they will never know how I really feel.  I can break down behind my walls, because I can put myself back together again (outwardly presentable, at least) before anyone sees me.  I can be honestly vulnerable behind my walls, because my walls are there to protect me.

My walls are my security, my facade to the outside world.  They hide my true feelings, my fears, my shortcomings, my CF.  I come off (unintentionally, many times) as know-it-all or holier-than-thou because I am afraid of what people will think of me if they see the me behind the walls – the vulnerable, scared, unsure, doesn’t-think-she’s-worth-it, constantly learning, haltingly praying, messed-up me.  There are seldom few people who have been able to fully penetrate my thick walls, and to those people I say thank you.  You have shown me grace and mercy, which hat I only hope I have reciprocated to you.  You have helped to show me that my walls are a hindrance, a hurdle that I must get over.  It’s not going to happen overnight.  When I wake up tomorrow, I’ll still have those walls.  With God’s help, they might just be one brick lower.

As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another.  Proverbs 27:17

I’ve heard this verse a million times, and I don’t think I ever stopped to think about what it really means, until an extremely wise man made me think about it in a different way this week.  He said it like this: Iron sharpens iron, no matter their age.  

Huh.  I guess I’ve always assumed that this verse applied to two different relationships in a person’s life – one to sharpen someone else, and one for someone else to sharpen you.  I’ve always looked at it as mentoring relationships, where one person gives and the other takes, in unequal but appropriate proportions.  We all need some mentees and some mentors in our lives.  I know that I have had many people come along in my life to whom I’m able to be a mentor, and many who have been a mentor to me.  Many times, my mentors are older than I – professors, teachers, people who have just had more life experiences than I have.  But over time, these mentors have become friends, family to me.  It is no longer a disproportionate give and take relationship.  Rather, it has become a give and take in nearly equimolar amounts to each person.

I think that’s really what this person was getting at this week.  It doesn’t matter if you’re 16 and I’m 22 – if God can use you to teach me something, to humble me, to finally get through to me, then so be it.  It doesn’t matter if I’m 22 and you’re 38 – if God can use you to show me my shortcomings and faults, and to inspire a change in me, then I’m all for it.  It doesn’t matter if I’m 22 and you’re 52 – if God can use me to give you encouragement, to instill a change in your life for the better, then I’m in.

I don’t want this to sound conceited – that’s not my point.  My point is this – never underestimate the way in which your life can impact someone else’s, no matter their age, or your own.  Never sell yourself short in your relationships –  by listening to Satan’s lies that you’re not good enough; be willing to be vulnerable, no matter the cost, no matter the outcome.  Be willing to laugh, cry, sing, mourn, dance, love, hug, smile, live in the moment, and be honest.  Be willing to dream for the future, even if you don’t think you’ll be here.  Let people in, and they will change you.  Let people in, and they will challenge you.  Let people in, and they will sharpen you, no matter their age.

There is much that I aspire to.  Firstly, to reflect God’s character and love in my life in everything I do.  Second, to live for His glory, having counted the cost and stepping out in faith.  I want to be an inspiration to people, young and old, Christian and not.  I want people to look at me and say, “Because of what God has done in your life, I didn’t give up.”  These aspirations ask much of me, and are difficult at times.  These things reflect Proverbs 27:17.  I want to be iron, and I want to be sharpened by iron.

Thank you to those of you in my life who have lived this verse, whether in mentoring relationships or “equimolar” friendships, or in other capacities.  I am thankful for you and the work God is doing in and through you every day.  May He continue to sharpen you and bring you closer to Him daily.

The Cystic Fibrosis Foundation recently released their newest promotional film for their fundraising activities, entitled .  Click the link if you want to take a look.

When I watched it, there were a lot of thoughts running through my head, which I will try to put into some sort of order here.  Right now, science and school are my life.  Singing is my solace, my praise to God in the hard times and the good times.  One of my biggest fears is that my CF will one day take away my ability to sing, and I will lose the greatest way I have to praise my Maker.  I cannot imagine how difficult life was for my parents nearly 23 years ago when I was born.   I know from some journal entries that it was incredibly hard and that they were surrounded by an incredible pastor who cried with them instead of offering meaningless words.  Did they think of worst-case scenarios?  Do they still?  I’ll be honest, I do.  But it is not in hopelessness – it is in the faith that I will meet my God face to face when that happens, and I take great comfort in that.  As I get older, I know that CF will begin to dictate more of what I can and cannot do.  That is difficult for me, someone who tries to do everything by herself, and is reluctant to ask for prayer, let alone help.  I’ve always been the one who people come to when things go wrong, for advice, for strength, for prayer, for help (particularly with chemistry homework).  It’s hard for me to be the other person, the one who goes to others.  Too often I shut myself up in my room, with my own thoughts and fears, when what I really need is someone to rely on.  “Staring down this number” – yes, I do that.  I work really hard so that I can accomplish as much as possible for the Kingdom before God takes me home.  I have a real sense of how short life really is, and that drives me to do what I do in the time that I have.  I view every day as a gift, and I want to use it for His glory.  Yes, I stare down the number 37, while many of the rest of you don’t even know what your life expectancy is.  I want to fit in, do the things that you all do, go to a bar and have a drink with friends – I can’t because of a med I’m on right now that has a deadly interaction with alcohol, and I don’t want to have to explain that to people.  I want to be able to dream decades into the future – to see myself with someone, starting a family and teaching.  I want to stay up until midnight just because I can.  I want to be able to sleep in until ten minutes before class some morning.  I want to go on vacation without lugging pounds of medical equipment with me.  I want to go through TSA security, just once, without getting stopped for the “questionable package of liquids and air compressor” that I’m carrying.  I want to fit in, be like everyone else.  But I can’t.  Because I don’t.  It’s hard to live with CF, and it’s hard to watch someone you love live with CF.  How do I ask someone else to carry that burden, to be tied down by the early expiration date, “different” girl.  How do I ask someone to love me, knowing that I carry so much baggage?  How could I ever burden someone else with the medical bills, insurance claims, medication lists, doctor’s visits, and everything else that defines my life with CF?  I’ve never been afraid of dying, per say, but of whom I’ll leave behind.  I’m afraid of becoming too attached to people because I know that, very likely, I will leave them on this Earth, and meet up with them in Heaven.  I’m afraid to let people in, because I don’t want to hurt them.

I’ve never told anyone this before, in these words.  It’s going to take a lot for me to hit that publish button and let you all see a glimpse into my heart and into my life.  What I don’t want is pity.  I know that this is what I’ve been handed in life, and I will make the best of it and serve God with every day I have.  But that doesn’t mean that it’s not difficult sometimes.

“You have to be the change, you have to be the hope.”  I’m not called to be the voice of the CF population for CFF – they would probably fire me from volunteering for my realism.  I have been called to be a voice, a scientist, a scholar, a teacher, a friend, a sister, a daughter, a colleague, a follower of Christ, and to have CF.  I believe with my whole heart that no matter how difficult each day and each circumstance may seem, God can use me in a more powerful way than I ever could do on my own.

You who are reading this, even you who are not: Thank you.  You are part of the reason I get up in the morning and can face a new day.  You are the encouragement I need, the friends and family that I value, and inspire my hope – that someday there will be a cure, and I keep striving toward that goal, not with the intention of doing it for myself, but for others living with CF.  Thank you for strengthening my faith through your own stories and struggles, for crying with me, laughing with me, singing with me, forcing me to dance, praying for me, and for loving me.  I can never hope to repay you for your kindness.

It truly is by God’s grace and provision that I sit here writing this, and it is to Him that I give all glory, honor and praise.

Many times I view God’s blessings as the spring flowers poking out of the ground, the rainbow in the sky, or the sun shining down on a beautiful summer day on the beach.  But we tend to forget the things that come before the flowers, the rainbow and the sunshine: rain.  Sometimes the rain is light and misty.  Other times it is a downpour with cracks of thunder and bolts of lightning.  The dark comes before the morning, the night before the day, just as the storm comes before the reward.  Yet it’s not just the product that we should view as the blessings of God.  The rain beforehand is just as important, if not more important, than the flowers poking through the ground.  In fact, for the beautiful flowers to grow or a rainbow to appear in the clouds, it must rain.  Rain is what feeds the resulting beauty, and darkness must come before the dawn.  The trials, the sufferings, the hardships, the things we don’t understand in this life – those turn out to be the real blessings of God.  They bring us closer to Him, closer to His purpose for us, and makes the dawn that much brighter, the flowers that much more beautiful, and the rainbow a more poignant promise.