The past month I have battling with the infamous “D” that seems to accompany every Christian at some point in their life. There is a time to laugh and a time to cry, a time to mourn and a time to dance. In the poem that I wrote entitled “Too Tired”, (on a previous post)I talk about the things I seem to face as a person dealing with a chronic illness. I have never felt so isolated and cut off from society and part of me chooses to be this way because the way people treat me. I know they don’t understand what it’s like to feel what I feel, but sometimes I just wish they would be compassionate instead of jumping to conclusions or telling me to stop “speaking illness” over myself. I’m a realist and I’m not a fan of new agey concepts that talk about the power of words and sending out positive energy into the world… Yea, there is the power of life and death in the tongue, but I believe that refers to how we treat one another. I believe in God’s sovereignty. That God is in control of my life and allows certain things to happen to me even if those things hurt me. It’s only through being chiseled, ow, that I can grow and let God remove parts of me that isn’t pleasing or glorifying to him. God is good, even in my suffering and I was reminded of that this morning during my reading about a Chinese woman imprisoned for her faith. She struggled with sickness, hunger, and other atrocities while being imprisoned in a labour camp because of her faith and unwillingness to recant. There were times when she was depressed, but then there were times when God would do something to comfort her during the craziness she faced. Without the hard times, she wouldn’t have appreciated all God had done for her in the midst of seemingly endless darkness. If my dear sister did not give up fighting in spite of the way people treated her, I need to extend grace to those who say hurtful things to me.