For most of my life, I’ve been fairly healthy. I’ve had the usual ups and downs, but nothing that lingered or caused concern. That’s why the last couple of months have felt so unsettling.
I’ve been running a low-grade fever, experiencing stage 2 hypertension despite taking my prescribed medication, and dealing with weakness, dizziness, and occasional heart palpitations. My doctor is puzzled. Blood tests have been taken. A stress test is scheduled. And some of the possibilities he’s mentioned are frightening.
In moments like these, when the body feels fragile and the future uncertain, it’s easy to let fear creep in. It’s easy to feel alone, even when surrounded by people. Some have responded with compassion and prayer, lifting me up before the throne of grace. Others, perhaps well-meaning, have tried to sell me health products or dismissed my concerns altogether. But through it all—through the confusion, the waiting, the wondering—I’ve felt the unmistakable presence of God.
The God Who Sees
In Genesis 16, Hagar fled into the wilderness, feeling abandoned and afraid. But there, in her lowest moment, God met her. She called Him El Roi—“the God who sees me.” That name has echoed in my heart lately. Even when doctors don’t have answers, even when symptoms persist, even when others don’t understand—God sees me.
He sees you too.
Psalm 34:18 reminds us that “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” Whether your heart is crushed by physical illness, emotional pain, or spiritual weariness, He is near.
Faith in the Fog
Faith isn’t just for the mountaintop moments. It’s for the valleys. It’s for the foggy days when you can’t see what’s ahead. Hebrews 11:1 says, “Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.” That kind of faith doesn’t come easily. It’s forged in the fire of uncertainty.
I’ve found myself praying more deeply, more honestly. Not just for healing, but for peace. For trust. For the ability to rest in God’s sovereignty even when I don’t understand His plan. And He’s met me there—in the quiet, in the stillness, in the waiting.
The Ministry of Presence
One of the most beautiful gifts we can offer each other is presence. Not advice. Not solutions. Just presence. I’ve been blessed by those who have simply said, “I’m praying for you,” and meant it. Their compassion has reminded me of the body of Christ—how we’re called to bear one another’s burdens (Galatians 6:2).
If you know someone walking through a health crisis or any kind of uncertainty, be present. Listen. Pray. Encourage. You don’t have to fix it. Just be there.
A Testimony in the Making
I don’t know what the outcome of my tests will be. I don’t know what the next few weeks hold. But I do know this: God is writing a story. And even this chapter—this confusing, uncomfortable, uncertain chapter—is part of it.
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