Apparently, 34 is the year you get old. Well, maybe not you, but me. I’ve been very healthy my whole life. I hit 34 and fell to pieces. At least it feels that way right now. I made a chocolate raspberry torte yesterday. I was pretty darn proud of myself, but all I kept thinking about was that this is something my Grandma should be making, not me! I’m not old enough to make something like a torte! Perhaps it was because I was having a pity party for myself.
I found out this week I have rheumatoid arthritis. I was shocked and saddened by that piece of news. You know it’s bad news when it’s the doctor’s voice on the other end when you say "hello" and not his nurse calling to tell you everything’s ok. The rheumatoid arthritis wouldn’t be so bad in and of itself. On top of it, I have a torn nerve in my back, scoliosis, a herniated disc….and bone spurs. Ouch. Next thing you know I will be pouring bacon grease on all my family’s meals like my Grandma did.
I’m trying to be brave. Trying to tough it out and put a smile on my face. Trying to learn. Trying to grow. Trying to stay close to Jesus and find out what He has to say about all of this. Mostly, I’m trying not to have any more pity parties. The torte turned out just right. It only took me 34 years to make one. Perhaps Jesus knew he could trust me with this trial just now. And so, I walk (or should I say limp) ahead into the unknown and wonder….