It’s not something that I want to do. I’m completely frustrated yet overwhelmingly exhausted and desperate for relief. So what choice do I have?
I resent being here. In this place. It’s the point where the line of helplessness and the line of control intersect. You see, I chose this. Hence, the line of control, or rather, the line of faith. Contrarily, I am helpless because I cannot make my body do something that it doesn’t want to do. I can’t fix it. Only the One mightier than me has that power.
Two months ago, I decided to get off of my hormone replacement therapy. If you asked my doctors about this decision, they wouldn’t be happy with me. Which is why I have not shared this with them. Moreover, this isn’t the first time that I gave my body a break.
It takes about two or three weeks for the hormones to wear off and the menopause to kick in.
I rebuke it. I’m not in agreement with it. I ignore it. I cast it out and speak life to replace it.
If this is the result of ending treatment, then why stop and interfere?!
Because each time, including this time, that I stop taking my HRT, I take a leap of Faith. Asking my Father, “Heal me this time. I give you full range.”
I do believe that God gives us doctors, medication and so much more to use for His Greater Good. But is it too much for me to ask of Him that I want MORE than that?
I want what Elizabeth, Hannah, Sarah and the rest received. A miracle from the ground up.
This isn’t about infertility for me. YES, I want biological children! I want to experience pregnancy! BUT, I also want my body not to go through a physical battle each and every day. I want a healing. I want my inheritance.
The last two Sundays in church were very emotional for me. A couple of Sundays ago, I decided to visit a Church that was a town over from mine. This church is on fire for God!!! The community, the people, the ministry is full of the Holy Spirit. I wanted to put myself in this environment in hopes that I can experience a supernatural healing. The sermon was about the Prodigal Son. The preacher shared about how the Son asked for and spent all of his portion of his father’s life savings. His sinful ways left him poor, broken, alone and desperate. Conflicted, he made his way back home with the intentions of serving his father as one of his servants, knowing that he would be well taken care of. To his surprise, his Father welcomed him with an open embrace. He celebrated and feasted his son’s return. The older brother was confused and frustrated. He didn’t understand the celebratory dinner or excitement. He was angry and didn’t know why he never received such a Feast. He questioned his father wondering why he never received this type of celebration. His father told him, “What is mine has always been yours.”
I’ve heard this parable many, many times. But this particular sermon frustrated me to tears. I couldn’t help but place myself in the oldest son’s shoes. I thought, “I am the older son.” I have always chosen to stay with my Father. Never leaving. Always faithful and grateful despite the journey it has been.
As I was listening and hanging onto every word the preacher was saying, I looked up to heaven in the midst of the never ending hot flashes and exhaustion asking God why haven’t you healed me?! I’ve always been HERE! By your side. Honoring you. Loving you. Should I leave and come back to THEN receive the healing feast?!
I wanted to feel at home in this church. I wanted to feel welcomed and embraced. I didn’t. Instead, I felt misunderstood. Overlooked. Unimportant because of consistency. Not necessarily from the congregation, but from my Father.
Fast forward to this past Sunday. Terry and I went to the 6pm service due to our busy mornings. We arrived at church a few minutes early only to find it filled with people. There was no room to sit besides the “cry room”. So without hesitation, that is where we went.
Mass started, and I could feel it coming. The heat growing and rising in my chest and cheeks. Eventually, spreading throughout my entire body and ending with perspiration on the back of my neck, under my arms and behind my knees. Hot flash... More like heat exhaustion.
Terry could see my struggle. He started whispering prayers over me. “Jesus heal her body. I pray that this is the last hot flash she ever has. God heal her in the name of Jesus!”
Ending with amen, we both were desperately believing.
Uninvited, another came. Terry repeated his prayers over me once again rebuking this dreaded symptom.
We don’t understand why we are here. I know it isn’t about works to receive everything that our Father has for us. The Cross did that. We are just ready for the manifestation of my healing to take place. We pray for it. We claim it. We receive it.
Where is it?
This is why I am here. Back to the patch and the cycle of hormones. I don’t want to say that this is defeat. Because it isn’t. My body is just feeling worn and tired, and I don’t know what else to do. Not to mention, HRT brings its own set of side effects and hurdles.
If these last few weeks have taught me anything, it is that what I am dealing with is real and more prominent then ever. Experiencing symptoms I haven’t yet experienced thus far.
However, we continue to believe and push though this desolate season. I refuse to accept this condition over my life. I still love Him. I still trust Him. I’m so so grateful for Him. I will continue to ask my Father for my inheritance trusting that I will receive it when the harvest is ripe.
And maybe then, I will fully understand that what is His has truly always been mine.