Evelyn adjusted her head on the pillow so she could feel the tears run down the sides of her face, her eyes stayed on the white ceiling. Her worn-out body lay on the bed as though detached from her spirit, a corpse propped up in bed. Some days, she could tell she wasn’t yet dead because the walls of her room had not transformed into a mansion of gold, transparent as glass.
This wasn’t the life she’d planned for. A relapse had not been in the agenda when she’d meticulously crafted a template for her life’s weekly schedule on Excel.
Her days were supposed to be useful. Useful days that began at 4 AM with intimate moments of worship followed by her regular intense Bible reading. Then, after a productive day at work, she was supposed to run down the evenings in intercessory prayer.
She had bought a prayer rug and transformed part of her apartment into a War Room for that one purpose of building her prayer muscles so she could become a kingdom warrior. A Deborah. Fridays were supposed to be for Spirit-led evangelism in the town. Sundays for home visits with the brethren.
But here she was, fastened to her bed by the unbreakable cords of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, a nice name for feeling exhausted after doing nothing. In her case, too tired to even whisper a word in prayer. Too tired to bathe. Too tired to get out of bed. Sometimes too tired even to eat. Fogged mind, faltering memory, achy joints and muscles, sleepy wakeful eyes, irritable nerves, unceasing headaches, fear of never returning to normalcy, panic about the future…
A relapse she never thought was possible.
After her initial diagnosis five years ago, she’d tried everything from faith proclamations to medication to diet to exercise to even meditation. Each offered relief only for a season until her body would develop tolerance for the new treatment. Work suffered, relationships suffered, and most painfully, her usefulness for the Lord suffered.
Then one day a year ago, her symptoms just disappeared! Victory at last.
She testified in church and on social media about total healing from chronic fatigue syndrome aka myalgic encephalomyelitis.
To make up for the lost time, she plunged her entire being into busyness with whatever her hand could find to do for the Lord. It felt great to operate at maximum potential again. But her greatest passions lay in evangelism and intercessory prayer. Until four months ago, when her energy died away. Again. Only this time, it was more severe—bed bound. Not only feeling tired from doing nothing but feeling worthless.
Some brethren said things. She didn’t have faith to overcome sickness. She was lazy, alleging an invisible illness to not be held accountable for absenting church programs. What hidden sin had stolen her publicized healing?
Apart from sweet Auntie Rose, nobody among the brethren cared. Evelyn’s biological family lived in the village, far away from the city, awaiting funds from her.
“Lord, let me come home.” More hot tears rushed down the sides of her face, fueled by disappointment with herself and a general feeling of helplessness. “What’s the purpose of living a purposeless life? I’m useless to myself, useless to the church, useless to you.” She could feel this too: God’s disappointment in her. His hot displeasure at her uselessness. “Have mercy and just let me come home!”
Then she heard his voice. Yes, it was his voice.
In the evening, Auntie Rose walked into the bedroom with a food flask. She was in her fifties, fair, short, and plumb with coarse greying hair. She’d gotten a key to the apartment to spare Evelyn the effort of answering the door each time.
One look at Evelyn and Auntie Rose’s warm face took on more wrinkles. “You’ve been crying.” She kept the food flask on the floor and sat on the bed, her right hand flying to Evelyn’s brow. “What’s wrong?”
“I feel so useless, but God told me this afternoon that he loves me all the same. That my value in his sight is not tied to my busyness for him.”
Auntie Rose’s face loosened up in smiles. “That should’ve brightened your face, not give you this bleak expression I see.”
“I know. But it also made me realize how far I’ve lived from the truth that God’s love for me is not tied to anything I do. It’s so hard to believe that God loves me when I’m lying here more dead than alive, feeling useless.”
“I understand,” Auntie Rose said sarcastically. “It takes no faith at all to believe God hates you unless you’re busy here and there to earn his love with your good works.” She snorted; she actually snorted. “How dare you think he loves you for what he can get from your miserable self, as if he’s disabled without your awesome religious services? You think God hates you because you’re sick!?”
Evelyn responded with the twitch of her lips. Auntie Rose had no clue what it was like to be fastened to a bed, months flying by, years threatening to fly by, while your dreams suffered a slow, painful death, while others achieved great things and left you behind. “I want to be useful for the Lord,” Evelyn stated firmly.
“Evelyn,” Auntie Rose’s tone softened, “I want to see you up from this bed, too. But obviously, this sickness is bringing things to the surface you need to deal with. You have a bad image of who your heavenly Father is.” She walked out.
Guilty as charged, Evelyn knew she had to deal with the seething anger, self-blame, fear, anxiety… that fueled her feelings of uselessness. If God had spoken to her—and he had—wasn’t it wise to listen to him than to cling to her version of what worthiness in God’s sight meant?
“You’re still his Hephzibah,” Auntie Rose said as she returned from the kitchen with a plate and spoon. “Whether you remain on this sick bed or are out there talking to a thousand souls per day about the Lord, God’s delight in you is because of his mercy, because of Christ’s merit, not because of your worthiness.”
Hephzibah? Evelyn had never known the meaning of that name.
Days and weeks passed as she renewed her mind with God’s word to the truth of his unfailing love for her. How could she have ever doubted it when, even in her weakened state, God had graciously provided all her needs? For four months that she’d been unable to work, he’d provided her rent and food. He had never stopped loving her, even when she was too weak to talk to him or too weak to go win a soul for him.
‘Alpha, your love preceded my acts of righteousness’, said a song by Gael Music Evelyn loved to sing back in those days when she still had the energy for singing. Yes, she loved that song, but it is easier to confess it when you also have the validation of your own worth from self and people. Now, she had to go by faith, not feelings.
As her image of God cleared up, her faith in his willingness to heal her budded. Though his love would never change, even if she remained fastened to the bed, she knew this bed wasn’t the end. Gradually, God graciously restored her strength, and she rose up from the bed of sickness healed.
Today Evelyn is active in her Father’s business, no longer as a means to earn his love, not as a source of self-validation, but because wholehearted selfless obedience is a natural response to God’s unfailing love.
#Fiction. © Janet Bengan
Featured image: Image by pch.vector on Freepik
Second image: Image by pikisuperstar on Freepik