Invisible Illness, The Fear of Man, and the God Who Sees

It was a late winter afternoon two years ago, and I found myself lying on my bed, drenched in familiar feelings of shame-tinged hopelessness.

New symptoms.
Results from another doctor. 
No answers. 
Again. 

With eyes staring blankly at the familiar ceiling shadows, my heart cries rose to the One place I knew to turn.

“Lord, I’m so weary of this. I really thought this time I’d figure out what’s going on in my body, but it’s just another dead end. I feel so dumb. People are going to begin to think I’m lying about all this. I don’t know what to do anymore. Please, God, just allow me to have an answer.” 

In that moment the Lord drew near to my hurting, confused soul in a way I will never forget.

But I know, Heather.

I know what’s going on in your body. Because of that, It doesn’t ultimately matter if others know or understand—You don’t even need to understand. Will you turn to me for your comfort? Will you continue to trust me even if answers are never brought to light? I could’ve allowed those to be revealed, but I’ve chosen to keep them from you for now. Do you believe that I’m using this invisible illness for your good? 

Tears streamed down my face, but not ones of discouragement. I sensed God’s love for me in a close and overwhelming way. I knew He was right there with me, comforting my heart. I had renewed confidence that my long-time chronic illness was completely within His sovereign control. And I knew that He would be faithful to me even if I went to my grave in mystery.

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My health struggles have only increased since that day. However I’ve seen the Lord continue to use this journey to evidence His love and care over me.

Talking about my health has always been a vulnerable point for me since it involves a lot of unknowns that have often left me feeling disoriented and unsure about how to process or verbalize it. It’s also far worse some days than others, so sometimes I feel awful and the next day I’m not too bad. That said, I deliberated waiting to write this post until I had some solid answers, but chose to share these things while there are still many unknowns. For one, there’s a good chance we’ll never fully know the root of the issue because it could stem from something I was exposed to in Mongolia as a child. And second, I have a hunch I’m not the only one walking through a trial that involves tough question marks. If you’re in a similar place, it’s my desire that the Lord will use these lessons He’s been teaching me through confusing chronic illness to encourage, comfort, and point you back to His gentle, all-knowing love for you. Sometimes we fall into the trap of wondering if God has forgotten about us and our situation when every direction seems answerless and the way ahead looks bleak. But I’m more and more convinced that allowing these “thorns in the flesh” to remain is not evidence of His forgetfulness or lack of care, but of His perfect wisdom. He knows exactly what tools to use to chisel, smooth, and shape us more into His likeness, and often those tools are painful. But as we surrender to these means of sanctification rather than resist them, they’re able to be wielded by the hand of God to refine us in stunning ways for His glory.

As I’ve worked on this post the past few months—asking God to give me wisdom to know what and how to share—He’s been revealing just how deeply the fear of man has been rooted in me, and the ways He’s using this chronic illness to uproot it. For that reason I’ve chosen to focus specifically on that aspect here. For anyone who’s walked through chronic illness, you’ll know there are countless ways the Lord uses it to grow us and deepen our dependence on Him. But many of those things will remain between us and the Lord, or be shared face-to-face with those walking alongside us. However, if I can share even one lesson a bit wider to testify to the sufficiency of Christ’s grace in my weakness to edify others, I gladly do so. 

First, I’ll share a bit more of my story.

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My Health Journey

It’s been roughly 15 years since I started noticing strange health symptoms. I’d lived in Mongolia for about 9 years at that point, and was in my mid-teens. For a while it was just a few concerning oddities that would come and go. When I moved back to the States at 19 I did a bit more investigating with various clinics. We’d get a hint here and there, some small diagnoses, but ultimately found nothing that explained all my symptoms. I’d drink more water, change my diet, or try another supplement. Sometimes I felt better, sometimes not.

As a newlywed I was diagnosed with something we thought might keep me from having children. But by God’s grace I did conceive, and my OB during that pregnancy told us she thought I’d been misdiagnosed. We were thankful, but still confused by my ongoing health struggles. The symptoms would get better during pregnancy, then come back with a vengeance after each child, adding new ones to the list every time. But with a lack of solid conclusions I felt that I had no choice but to try to push through and “fake it ‘til I make it.” 

Years went by. Another visit to the doctor, another specialist referral, another trip to the ER if the symptoms became alarming. 

Specialist after specialist, going over my history and symptoms. Then test after test. Over and over.

A deficiency or imbalance here, an abnormal finding there. But nothing conclusive or that seemed to fit with any other issue—just enough for the doctors to scratch their heads, ask if I was stressed or anxious, suggest trying this or that, and tell me to schedule a follow-up in six months. Most doctors have been gracious and kind, some have been—less so. But after every final appointment I’d leave with embarrassment emblazoned on my cheeks and discouragement invading my core. With every referral I’d been so sure this doctor would be able to put a name to my struggles. But no—“hope deferred” yet again (Prov. 13:12).

Maybe it really is all in my head. Maybe I’m overreacting and wimpy, and this is typical for everyone. Maybe I just need to keep trying to act normal, and my body will catch up. Maybe I just crave attention in some warped way. Maybe… 

I hated sharing with Judah about the results of my appointments. I hated sharing with family and friends when they’d ask, and after I knew they’d been praying. I felt so silly saying there was not much to relay. I truly cared about what they would think, which is not wrong in itself—it’s just that I cared a little too much.

The Fear of Man

So we’ve come to it: the fear of man, and how it’s reared its ugly head in this journey.

I’m naturally a people-oriented person, meaning I’ll go out of my way to seek to love others even if tasks need to be set aside. This has its strengths, but it also comes with weaknesses, one of which is being too concerned about the opinion of others. You might call it a “besetting sin” of mine. The Lord has used almost every aspect of my life to bring it to light and go through the hard process of uprooting it. I praise Him for the work He’s done so far, seeing so much evidence of His grace in this regard.

It wasn’t until recently, though, I realized the extent to which the fear of man has affected how I think and talk about my health issues. But it makes sense—sin is never isolated to one area of life. It permeates everything. For this reason alone, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God has allowed a lack of answers in my illness to use it as a tool to reveal ungodly fear of others and free me of it to a greater degree.

Over the years it’s been tough to know how to answer the question, “How are you?” when I’m in a hard health season, partly because of the difficulty of explaining my symptoms. But it’s also hard for me to answer because I’m afraid of the response I’m going to receive. I’ve received a few blazé (or seemingly blazé) responses, but for the most part others have been gracious and kind. The issue mostly lies within me.

I don’t want to be viewed as weak. I don’t want to inconvenience others. I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining, especially when others are facing far more serious trials. On the other hand I’m also afraid my vulnerable and painful struggles will be brushed aside as silly. I’m afraid they’ll think (‘they’ being anyone and everyone) I’m overreacting and just need to get my act together. I fear that their possible lack of response might mean they don’t want to hurt my feelings with their true thoughts. I’m afraid their words might confirm my worst fears about being out of my mind. Because of this I’ve often determined what is “true” or “not true” about what I’m feeling physically based on the reactions (or perceived reactions) of others rather than on what is actually true. Let’s just say the fear of man is a dangerous lens.

I’ve committed to opportunities I shouldn’t have because I wanted to look capable in the eyes of others—then I’ve suffered the consequences, as has my family. I’ve chosen to try to act like I’m fine when I’m barely functional, and my poor communication has caused misunderstandings and hurt. I’ve rejected help or simply not asked because I don’t want to be a bother. My lack of sufficient detail in some situations has caused me to overshare in others to compensate, making me feel even more insecure—you know, the pendulum swing.

Goodness, it’s humbling to write these things.

But my heart cry has been as of late: Lord, help me to simply live honestly before you and others.

I’ve always had a sensitive conscience, never wanting to mislead and being quick to clarify if I believe I have. I truly loathe the feeling of lying. However, I’ve been startled to find just how much of a disconnect the fear of man has caused in this regard, having “laid a snare” for me in thinking and talking about my health (Prov. 29:25). But praise God, He’s revealed it, and is showing me that “whoever trusts in the Lord is safe.”

I’m continually learning that when I’m living before the Lord—living in the fear of the Lord—I have no need to fear what others will think about my confusing situation. When I’m living in the fear of the Lord He will give me wisdom to know what a fitting response is for each person asking, whether it’s more details or less. The fear of the Lord allows me to be humble, accepting help from others or graciously receiving advice without taking it as a personal slight or insinuation that I’ve not carefully considered my options. The fear of the Lord enables me to assume the best of the responses of others rather than the worst. The fear of the Lord enables me to admit when I’m contributing to the problem with lack of discipline in one way or another, taking responsibility where I should. The fear of the Lord gives me the ability to hold with an open hand those things that are outside my control, rejecting the lies that say it’s all my fault. The fear of the Lord gives me discernment to know when to rest and when to work, when to say ‘no’ and when to say ‘yes’ for His glory. The fear of the Lord keeps my heart firmly fixed on Him amidst the unknowns, regardless of what others might think or say. Living in the fear of the Lord gives me the ability to walk in the glorious light of truth, to have joy in pain, and to know that God is working all things for my good.

I’m naturally a bubbly sort of person, and I see the bright side of things quite easily (I’ve also heard that redheads generally have a high pain tolerance, so I have that going for me). These God-given traits have been a gift many times in this chronic illness journey. But in and of themselves they aren’t sufficient. Only the grace of God can give me what I need to persevere, to be outward focused and loving, to be patient and kind, and to have hope in the face of hard mystery. But I’m seeing Him do it. I’m watching Him be faithful again and again. I can see so many glimpses of the reality that in my weakness He is strong. 

Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians 12:8-10 resonate more profoundly as time passes, ministering to me in precious ways. Speaking of his thorn in the flesh, Paul says,

“Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that it should leave me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.”

There is wholeness I can’t begin to fathom that awaits me in the presence of my Savior one day. But for now, as long as my Maker allows this physical weakness to remain I can trust that He is using these struggles to chisel and smooth and refine me to display His glory. If that’s not reason to rejoice, I don’t know what is.

God is working through my weakness, and He can work through anyone’s weakness. If you resonate with these things in any way, I gently urge you to go to Jesus. Pour your heart out to Him—He already knows what you’re going through, and is ready and waiting to comfort, strengthen, and lead you. He has not forgotten you, and He is working all things for your good; you can rest in that.

To finish, I’ll share the lyrics to a song that has been a balm to my soul in recent months.

Song in the Night by Shane and Shane

Even though I know you’re able
And I believe that you are Good
Even if You don’t deliver me
O God, you are my God

I will cling to the lover of my soul
Letting go of the rudder in the storm
I will call on the name of the Lord
You’re my song in the night
O Jesus Christ

Even when my life is fading
Even when the death dew falls
Even with my last breath, I will sing
O God, You are my God

And I will cling to the lover of my soul
Letting go of the rudder in the storm
I will call on the name of the Lord
You’re my song in the night
O Jesus Christ

No more weeping
No more waiting
There in Your presence
Forever with You
No more reaching
No more wanting
There in Your presence, God
When all things are new

For now, I’ll cling to the lover of my soul
Letting go of the rudder in the storm
I will call on the name of the Lord
You’re my song in the night
O Jesus Christ

Your friend,