Oh. How. I. Have. Missed. You. I have prayed and cried and begged the Lord to show you mercy.
I will keep praying. Thank you for showing your wounds. Screw the idea of only showing scars. Guess what? Bleeding is fucking lonely. And we need to know that we aren’t alone when we are suffering. You are imaging our savior well by sharing this brokenness.
I love you deeply.
As I once reminded you and stitched for you, keep fucking writing. Keep shedding light into the darkness.
Step on the neck of evil and take his dirty breath away.
The God of peace will soon crush satan under your feet.
I had never even noticed how even after the resurrection, Jesus still had wounds. Wow.
Good to hear your words, and as a fellow chronically ill person, it’s truly a balm to hear these words from someone in the thick of it rather than from someone on the other side of the struggle. Thanks for having the courage and perseverance to write to us.
Thank you for calling out those "well coifed Christians" who make us feel like failures because everyday is a struggle and it seems as if there will be no end to it.
You started. One word at a time. God has wounds. I’m so struck by those words. His wounds welcome ours. Your vulnerability and capacity to share from your wound-ness is what heals me. Love you.
Every ounce of this spoke to me. Thank you. Every part of yourself that you shared here, including your face, is a beauty and a comfort to me. Every bit of it is part of you, and thankfulness for your very existence wells up in me every time I think of you. Thank you for continuing to lean into your existence even as it costs you so very dearly. Thank you for sharing whatever part of it you can with us.
“I need to know in every new season that there is room in my relationship with God for my needs.”
As someone who re-entered counseling as of a month ago because of a firestorm of repressed memories that have been popping up left and right for various personal reasons I’m not comfy enough to share on here, thank you for saying that. I absolutely do hear what you’re saying about not having the ability to merely share from your scars, especially in the season that you’re in. Your vulnerability is such a gift, and your retelling of the story of Thomas has inspired me to reread that story, especially through that lens (though I am grateful to go to a church that doesn’t take a moralistic approach towards stories like that, ie: don’t be like Thomas).
I’m grateful that you are still here and your willingness to make healing your job. 🩵
I understand this so well. Especially this line, "Write from your scars not your scabs is great advice for people who don’t have clotting disorders. I don’t have the privilege of writing about pain in the past-tense." I started a whole new Substack because I couldn't not write out my pain. Those words are fumbling, too many that have never come together, in hundreds of notes tapped out on my phone, when my fingers weren't too bent, or didn't shake too much. I hear you when you talk about Prednisone saving your life, and how it makes you not see yourself in the mirror. Or not being able-bodied. To be honest, I had to stop reading about your illness this summer, too close, too triggering for my PTSD mind to handle. And yet at the same time, although I don't know you and you have no clue who I am, I was praying for you. At some point others just assume you get better when they don't hear from you. That really bothered me, the assumptions that our bodies work like they should or that it is binary--better or not. But you live the long road. Eating yogurt covered pretzels. I am glad you are writing from your wounds, for your own sake. And for the sake of those of us who really appreciate knowing we too aren't alone. Because it sucks.
I love what you shared about Thomas too. Thank you for your words.
I have been tuning in daily looking for you and the remarkable and stunning way with words you are so mightily gifted with. Overwhelmed with thanksgiving to ‘have you back’ here- wounds, scabs, sores and brokenness all. Sending you continued prayers for answers about your physical condition and heartfelt hopes for endurance and courage.
Thank you for letting us know how you are doing. You are often on my heart. Your words are real and raw. It’s an encouragement to all of us who struggle with our health and bodies that are changing. May you be blessed and encouraged too.
It's refreshing to hear from you again, KJ! Thank you for sharing your vulnerability with us.
Somehow it's comforting to know that we're not alone in suffering; even when we desperately want that suffering to be healed ASAP. It's an honor to walk with you and keep you in prayer.
Thank you for sharing so honestly! My daughter was on a high dose of Prednisone which probably saved her life, but the weight gain was difficult. I relate to so much of what you write here. I'll just respond to one quote for now: "When we stay silent about struggling, we silence all the solidarity that could strengthen us within it. " The body of Christ needs for us to be real with each other - the hard things and how He meets us there. That's the comfort He wants to give us and the comfort He wants us to give each other.
My words are few. But my heart is full of gratitude and grief at the same time. From one chronic illness human to another, may you find little bits of comfort whenever possible 💙
It is wonderful to read your words again. You are right. I’ve searched for and clung to the ones who are suffering, who will be my companions. These are the voices we need desperately. Everything you said resonated so deeply. Below is a collage-poem I wrote, using words cut out from the beauty magazines that tell me I’m ‘wrong’. I wrote in response to that same feeling you’re experiencing when looking in the mirror, after years of gaining weight through illness and trying to know and be kind to the reflection I now see. Thank you KJ. You are very loved.
Body
Caroline, May 2023.
I look
Stop
And wonder
I didn’t know my body
“This wasn’t part of my original plan”
I fall ill
Hurt
I forget me
I felt incredibly so different
One drifts with the current vulnerable realities of life
I open to acclimatise
Process
And explore
And transform
I grow new cells
To be kinder to the skin I’m deep in
While dealing with the fragility
In the balance
The impact on the human condition
I am starting to stay true to myself
Respectful of the skin I soothe
I hold the power to heal
I settle my body
Validating the natural days
I look and show and include me
I’ll help me
I had to change the way I looked at myself
It’s hard, important to feel beloved, valuable no matter what.
I wanted to hit like but I couldn’t, not cause it’s not well written but because I don’t like, in fact I HATE that you have to be in this place again. My heart aches and my body wants to writhe just knowing that you have to walk this path. And so my thumb hovered over the button but couldn’t press it.
the words you have written here though, they brought so much comfort just like so many of the words you have written before them. They remind me that I don’t have to be ok to be ok. That I can cling to Jesus and be real about my struggles at the same time. That I can want to pound his chest in anger and that does not deny him as my savior. That I can be me, struggles, anger and all and he is not afraid of any part of me. He tenderly holds every precious part.
Oh. How. I. Have. Missed. You. I have prayed and cried and begged the Lord to show you mercy.
I will keep praying. Thank you for showing your wounds. Screw the idea of only showing scars. Guess what? Bleeding is fucking lonely. And we need to know that we aren’t alone when we are suffering. You are imaging our savior well by sharing this brokenness.
I love you deeply.
As I once reminded you and stitched for you, keep fucking writing. Keep shedding light into the darkness.
Step on the neck of evil and take his dirty breath away.
The God of peace will soon crush satan under your feet.
I had never even noticed how even after the resurrection, Jesus still had wounds. Wow.
Good to hear your words, and as a fellow chronically ill person, it’s truly a balm to hear these words from someone in the thick of it rather than from someone on the other side of the struggle. Thanks for having the courage and perseverance to write to us.
Thank you for calling out those "well coifed Christians" who make us feel like failures because everyday is a struggle and it seems as if there will be no end to it.
You started. One word at a time. God has wounds. I’m so struck by those words. His wounds welcome ours. Your vulnerability and capacity to share from your wound-ness is what heals me. Love you.
Every ounce of this spoke to me. Thank you. Every part of yourself that you shared here, including your face, is a beauty and a comfort to me. Every bit of it is part of you, and thankfulness for your very existence wells up in me every time I think of you. Thank you for continuing to lean into your existence even as it costs you so very dearly. Thank you for sharing whatever part of it you can with us.
“I need to know in every new season that there is room in my relationship with God for my needs.”
As someone who re-entered counseling as of a month ago because of a firestorm of repressed memories that have been popping up left and right for various personal reasons I’m not comfy enough to share on here, thank you for saying that. I absolutely do hear what you’re saying about not having the ability to merely share from your scars, especially in the season that you’re in. Your vulnerability is such a gift, and your retelling of the story of Thomas has inspired me to reread that story, especially through that lens (though I am grateful to go to a church that doesn’t take a moralistic approach towards stories like that, ie: don’t be like Thomas).
I’m grateful that you are still here and your willingness to make healing your job. 🩵
I understand this so well. Especially this line, "Write from your scars not your scabs is great advice for people who don’t have clotting disorders. I don’t have the privilege of writing about pain in the past-tense." I started a whole new Substack because I couldn't not write out my pain. Those words are fumbling, too many that have never come together, in hundreds of notes tapped out on my phone, when my fingers weren't too bent, or didn't shake too much. I hear you when you talk about Prednisone saving your life, and how it makes you not see yourself in the mirror. Or not being able-bodied. To be honest, I had to stop reading about your illness this summer, too close, too triggering for my PTSD mind to handle. And yet at the same time, although I don't know you and you have no clue who I am, I was praying for you. At some point others just assume you get better when they don't hear from you. That really bothered me, the assumptions that our bodies work like they should or that it is binary--better or not. But you live the long road. Eating yogurt covered pretzels. I am glad you are writing from your wounds, for your own sake. And for the sake of those of us who really appreciate knowing we too aren't alone. Because it sucks.
I love what you shared about Thomas too. Thank you for your words.
I have been tuning in daily looking for you and the remarkable and stunning way with words you are so mightily gifted with. Overwhelmed with thanksgiving to ‘have you back’ here- wounds, scabs, sores and brokenness all. Sending you continued prayers for answers about your physical condition and heartfelt hopes for endurance and courage.
Thank you for letting us know how you are doing. You are often on my heart. Your words are real and raw. It’s an encouragement to all of us who struggle with our health and bodies that are changing. May you be blessed and encouraged too.
It's refreshing to hear from you again, KJ! Thank you for sharing your vulnerability with us.
Somehow it's comforting to know that we're not alone in suffering; even when we desperately want that suffering to be healed ASAP. It's an honor to walk with you and keep you in prayer.
Thank you for sharing so honestly! My daughter was on a high dose of Prednisone which probably saved her life, but the weight gain was difficult. I relate to so much of what you write here. I'll just respond to one quote for now: "When we stay silent about struggling, we silence all the solidarity that could strengthen us within it. " The body of Christ needs for us to be real with each other - the hard things and how He meets us there. That's the comfort He wants to give us and the comfort He wants us to give each other.
My words are few. But my heart is full of gratitude and grief at the same time. From one chronic illness human to another, may you find little bits of comfort whenever possible 💙
It is wonderful to read your words again. You are right. I’ve searched for and clung to the ones who are suffering, who will be my companions. These are the voices we need desperately. Everything you said resonated so deeply. Below is a collage-poem I wrote, using words cut out from the beauty magazines that tell me I’m ‘wrong’. I wrote in response to that same feeling you’re experiencing when looking in the mirror, after years of gaining weight through illness and trying to know and be kind to the reflection I now see. Thank you KJ. You are very loved.
Body
Caroline, May 2023.
I look
Stop
And wonder
I didn’t know my body
“This wasn’t part of my original plan”
I fall ill
Hurt
I forget me
I felt incredibly so different
One drifts with the current vulnerable realities of life
I open to acclimatise
Process
And explore
And transform
I grow new cells
To be kinder to the skin I’m deep in
While dealing with the fragility
In the balance
The impact on the human condition
I am starting to stay true to myself
Respectful of the skin I soothe
I hold the power to heal
I settle my body
Validating the natural days
I look and show and include me
I’ll help me
I had to change the way I looked at myself
It’s hard, important to feel beloved, valuable no matter what.
Welcome ourselves.
We heal our beautiful authenticity.
A lover could not be more direct.
I wanted to hit like but I couldn’t, not cause it’s not well written but because I don’t like, in fact I HATE that you have to be in this place again. My heart aches and my body wants to writhe just knowing that you have to walk this path. And so my thumb hovered over the button but couldn’t press it.
the words you have written here though, they brought so much comfort just like so many of the words you have written before them. They remind me that I don’t have to be ok to be ok. That I can cling to Jesus and be real about my struggles at the same time. That I can want to pound his chest in anger and that does not deny him as my savior. That I can be me, struggles, anger and all and he is not afraid of any part of me. He tenderly holds every precious part.
It’s so good to hear from you. I don’t know what to say other than I’m grateful you showed up here anyway.
Thank you for sharing this 😭🥹 I’m so so grateful for you and speaking to all of this in this shit season. 🩵🩵🩵