TBT: Faith is …

Faith is

believing we won’t be let down.

Faith is

hoping there is something beyond death.

Faith is

loving a Being that cannot be seen, touched, or heard.

Faith is

giving up things dear to the heart for His work.

Faith is

leaving everything behind.

Faith is

doing right even when the whole world looks down on you.

Faith is

giving your life to Christ.

Background:

Honestly, a lot of these things are still challenging now as an adult. As we get older, we relearn old lessons in new contexts or with added layers of complexity.

Considering my own context when I wrote this poem, I now wonder if some of this, in particular the line about “hoping there is something beyond death,” is tied to an event that came just a few months after writing this piece, an event that became a defining part of my early life.

I have scoliosis - severe and fast-developing enough that my orthopedic doctors completely skipped the option of a brace and almost immediately told me and my parents that I would need spinal fusion surgery. I don’t remember for certain, but I had probably already been diagnosed around the time of writing “Faith is…”.

My doctors said that I had two curves, one in the top portion of my spine and one in the bottom, and, after a few appointments to take x-rays and track their development, they told us that my curves were growing at a rate and an angle at which they would pose a threat to my vital organs and my life if not addressed.

At that point, I was already in pain; the curves in my back had shifted my muscles so that they were unbalanced. As a result, I quickly felt stiffness or discomfort when standing or sitting in certain positions for too long. PE was rough! And they were telling me that, not only were chronic pain and feelings of self-consciousness as the curves became more and more noticeable inevitable, but death was a threat. Adding to my fear, my doctors were required to tell us the possible risks during and after surgery: nerve damage that could result in paralysis and not waking up from anesthesia being the two risks that lingered in my mind the most.

The process seemed long enough to feel painfully drawn out and fast enough to feel disorienting. Within about six to eight months, I had been identified in a gym class screening, diagnosed by an orthopedic doctor, scheduled for surgery, and had undergone the procedure in the summer between 7th and 8th grade.

I have always been a sensitive person, preferring to observe and learn before I implement what I have taken in, generally disliking overwhelming environments, avoiding risks that seemed unnecessary. So, this unavoidable danger, this needed risk, and this unexpected reality check about the fact that death was real for me specifically, all shook me deeply.

Afterward, my teen years were plagued by intrusive thoughts about mortality and the afterlife, and, as I have looked back as an adult, I trace so many of the roots of those thoughts to the experience of being faced with the possibility of death at a young age.

This experience might come up occasionally as background to some other poems moving forward, though its heavy-handed influence faded a good bit after several years.

I pray that, if you have had similar experiences or thoughts, that you are shaped by them but not defined by them. God is good even when life isn’t; He chose to suffer with us for many reasons, but at least, in part, not to leave us alone. You are not alone.

Whatever it is we have been given or been saved from, we are not more or less deserving than anyone else. Whatever has been placed in our hands is purposeful, and may God help us to employ such blessings and even burdens for beautiful purposes. Thank you, Father, for new chances and grace in every form they come.

Wishing you goodness without end,

Jess