On letting thieves come in.

20180713_0642533436121910961911423.jpgI’ve been in a bit of a funk lately. I can’t really attach a name to it other than I just feel quiet. If you look at me from the outside, I can still talk and laugh and function like everybody else. But on the inside … my heart just feels strangely subdued. Muted. Silenced. Hushed.

I’ve found myself in this spot before, where I’ve really just got nothing to say, and I know what causes it. In fact, I not only know what causes it, I know what the cure is, as well.

But I just can’t quite get myself there yet.

See, I went to the doctor the other day – my rheumatologist. I love him, I really do – but sometimes when I leave there it takes a few days for me to shake off our conversations. I walk into that office feeling like I’m handling all this Lupus nonsense pretty well, but I walk back out of there with my tail tucked a bit after getting a very honest reality check from my very honest doctor.

Things continue to become more challenging for me – and more difficult to accept. Flares, pain, new joint involvement, ups and downs, starts and stops … the roller coaster has been exhausting. But I think I’ve become so used to it all in the last five years, that it’s just become my own little bizarre form of normal.

The funny thing is that I can talk myself into thinking that, as long as my status continues to remain relatively quo … everything will be alright. But these honest doctor conversations tend to give me a little glimpse into my future. And sometimes these glimpses are pretty disturbing. And absolutely terrifying – I admit it.

He told me the other day that the time has come for changes to be made to my treatment regimen. This is something we’ve been discussing for months now, but Dummy Debi has been consistently putting him off on it because I didn’t want to disrupt my delicate little dance of coping with all the medication side effects. He says it’s time now. We have to protect my future.

And I feel like the rug has been ripped from under me.

Honestly, at this point, he’s just raising my dosages on my current meds. Not such a big deal.

The problem is … and the thing that is quieting me the most … is that this is the final increase we can make on my current meds. The ones I can tolerate relatively well and still function while taking them.

The next step after this is to add the really big gun meds and this scares the daylights out of me. As a nurse, I’ve known these meds have been in my future since my initial diagnosis, but they seemed far, far off in the future.

Well … that future just moved a heck of a lot closer. And Debi does not like this. And Debi does not want this.

Really … Debi does not want any of this.

So, honestly … this is what has quieted me. I’ve allowed myself to become paralyzed by the uncertainty of my future. Again. This bubbles up from time to time. Usually after an honest doctor conversation.

Logically, I’m well aware that none of us can ever truly know what our futures hold.

I know that.

And, from my heart of faith, I also know that it really doesn’t matter anyways because the One who holds our future is far greater than anything that can ever happen to us, right? Nothing can ever rip us from his loving hands.

So what could there possibly be to fear?

Yet, somehow, I’ve allowed this feeling to creep in. Again.

Somehow, I’ve allowed dread to dull my hope for whatever God has in store for me. Again.

Somehow, I’ve let myself become discouraged. Again.

Somehow, I’ve opened myself up to being quieted. Again.

Somehow, Satan has snuck in and filled my heart with uncertainty. Again.

And somehow, I’ve been weak enough to let him.


I confess all of this to you to encourage you through my weakness. Don’t believe the lies, my friends. No matter what you’re dealing with, don’t let Satan dull your hope or steal your joy. He wants to divide and destroy us. Ignore his taunting. It’s a trap. An exhausting, ridiculous, dangerous trap.

Jesus came to give us life. An eternal, hope-filled, beautiful life. More than we could ever ask for or imagine. Even when you’re sick. Even when you’re discouraged. Or afraid. Or feeling hopeless. You’re not. There is always hope. Grab hold of that hope. That hope comes from Jesus. Trust Him. Learn about Him. Saturate yourself in Him.

Fix your eyes and you’ll see … His love is perfect, leaving absolutely no room for fear.

Thanks for growing with me. ❤

“There is no fear in love, but perfect love drives out fear .…” (1 John 4:18)

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.” (John 10:10)


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