On Being Well

A few years ago, when pain felt like it was destroying me from the inside out, undoing my very being—physical, mental, and spiritual—I started to write about the intersection of faith and illness. I should instead say “intersections,” for I found endless points of connection once I started to view life through the lens of health and wholeness.

Much of what I write is autobiographical. But once I answered the call to risk my thoughts and feelings beyond the private page, I discovered my story is the story of many. I’d call it the story of all, but not all live with daily debilitating health issues that can impact life and shake faith.

Even when faith in the solid rock of Christ’s love and salvation is rock solid, one can lose faith in the church when it fails to offer a safe space for lament or forgets to pray for those who grew weary of being on the prayer list. The temptation to give Job’s-friends-type advice remains, often taking the subtle form, “Have you tried . . .?” Prayers for healing, even when offered with good intentions and sound theology, don’t always feel helpful or hopeful. Chronic health issues demand patience and humility, as much from the community as the person who is struggling to be well. 

After a decade of chronic health problems, the idea of anointing with oil had been thrown at me a few times. But I didn’t want to approach it from a “tried all else—hope this works,” place. It needed to be the right thing at the right time. And I needed to know I wouldn’t dwell on “Did it work?” questions after the fact.

I don’t know how prayer “works” other than knowing it transcends our transactional modus vivendi and results-based language. What I do know is that I have felt truly lifted at times when people have prayed for me. Or lowered through the roof, rather, to rest at the feet of our Savior, healer, and friend. Did those prayers “work”? My health is up and down, often more down than up. Diagnosis and treatment remain elusive. 

When I started to write about health and faith, I kept it to myself. Sharing it with others felt self-centered and indulgent. I shouldn’t complain. Maybe it’s not that bad and I’m just weak. Clearly others have worse problems. I didn’t want my thoughts and emotional processing to cause pain for others. I didn’t want to be seen as insensitive if I landed in a place of hope and peace while they were in a very dark place. May my words never appear as a callous dismissal of anyone’s pain and sorrow.

I can speak of blessing, but there are no trite silver linings here. Illness sucks. Pain is real. Death is wrong. We were meant to have life and have it to the full. Even when I do land in a place of hope and peace, I’d still like a fuller life by being pain free. And to be honest, if it’s a bad day, I don’t always land in a place of hope and peace. But I can bring sorrow, fear, and anger to the feet of our Savior, healer, and friend too. If the gospels tell us anything, it’s that he invites us to do just that. 

So I wrote a poem about what it means to “be well,” inspired by a holy moment of anointing that was offered to me in April, the right thing at the right moment. I did not hesitate to receive it. Since then, I have not felt the need to ask, “Did it work?” but rather “How is God at work?” And the fact that I have been led to ask that question leads me to believe that God is indeed at work, in this as in all things. Make no mistake, I desperately want to feel better. But I’m learning to want, above all else, to be well.

“Healing”

hands
prayer
oil

to be well

well enough to walk
well enough to work
well enough to rest — finally rest

well enough?

don’t you want more?

to be free
to be calm
to be whole

do you want to be well?

heart
mind
soul

show me

wounds that need healing
sins that need confessing
people who need forgiving

so I may be well

truly well

though I remain

pained
perplexed
downcast

help me

walk in light
work in truth
rest in faith

though I feel

fatigue
sorrow
fear — always fear

it is a gift

to see beauty
to know love
to desire peace

would I, if I were well enough?