Friends I wanted to say thank you for all of the support! I wanted to give you all a sneak peak of my book On The Wings of Triumph In this chapter I talk about believing God for my healing and the ways in which He has dealt with me on all of that. Please share if you think it will help someone in their journey for healing... TO BE HEALED From the first time I could remember up until now, it has been awkward. Struggling to stand up in front of a church crowd with my hands pressed down on my legs and the firm grips around my ankles, I can’t help but wince and flinch because it’s painful. I feel guilty for not having the kind of faith that people have had for me to be healed. I’m half in, half out. My ambitious, hopeful side says, “Wouldn’t it be great to stand in line and not get tired? It would be great to jump rope, roller skate, and wear high heels or any kind of shoe that wouldn’t hurt my feet all the time.” Meanwhile, the prayers intensify and so do the tight grips. My heart is racing. “Is it really going to happen today?” I’ve asked God for very specific things for when I do get healed. For example, I want to wear a five and a half shoe, and I want to be five-feet and five-inches tall. I’d leave disappointed, guilt-ridden, or with the idea that “maybe God wants me to stay this way.” Disappointment led to accepting things just as they were and maybe, just maybe, God was using me to help others. The very thought that I could be helping someone, somewhere, somehow was enough for me to shrug it off and bite the bullet. Life goes on. I’d shove the thought of running or jumping rope far back into the corners of my mind. Then, out of nowhere, I’d be minding my own business at church, and people would randomly come up to me and say, “God’s going to heal you.” My eyes would light up with hope again. Surely, God wanted them to come up to me and say something like that with such conviction. If I’m being really honest, it made me bitter. I got to where I would dodge people like crazy. Duck and run! What was so wrong with me anyway that God had to fix? I’d been around my friends who had disabilities my whole life. Some were in worse conditions than I could ever imagine. If He were going to heal anyone, heal them first. When someone so graciously approached me, asking if I’d like prayer, I never wanted to say no because then it would show doubt, but I didn’t want to say yes either. Moreover, I didn’t like that kind of attention. I was brought in front of a church audience when I was around five years old. My grandpa (Dad’s mom, a devout Christian) insisted that I be taken to the front of the congregation to be prayed for. Legs shaky from holding my weight up on my tiny ankles and my ankles sore, I remember struggling to walk back to the pews. I didn’t feel anything but shame. Maybe I was just too flawed for God to do anything about. The never-ending battle I fought with myself then and even now has been dizzying enough. Fast forwarding to the present day and time, what prompted me to begin writing something so raw and deep? It’s July 2014, and I’m sitting in the Los Angeles International Airport, awaiting my departure for Atlanta, Georgia. Like always, I check my phone every five minutes or less for emails, texts, and tweets. I’m impatient, excited, tired, and mostly excited to embark on a new journey to where I believe God is opening doors for me in Atlanta. The familiar “ding” sounds from my phone. Instantly, I scroll through the new emails I’ve gotten since the last time I checked just minutes before. Sender: Amber: To Misty. Dear Misty, Sometimes, you just need to be celebrated. Not only on your birthday, but on ordinary days like this one. Days when you’re just going about your business, doing what you need to do, being who you are, and thinking all of that is nothing really special. But it is because a God who is a master of design created you. Each part of you, from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet, is a miracle. When you look in the mirror and wish the reflection could be different, he looks at who He’s made you to be and declares that it is good. The same goes for all that’s inside of you, too. Your strengths, your gifts, and your abilities—all of those are handpicked and lovingly placed within you. You look across the room and wish you could be more like someone else. God looks at who you are and sees the ways he wants to use you to make a difference in his kingdom. It was then that I realized I still didn’t like me. All of those emotions of guilt, questioning whether or not I really had faith to be healed, and when and if God really wanted to heal me came back to me. As usual, I knew this was much deeper than I was allowing myself to go. What is this really about? As I began searching and having internal dialogue with myself in the busy airport, the soul scavenger hunt began. I recalled events just hours before when I was frustrated and in pain, trying so hard to clean my home and pack my bags without any sleep for two nights in a row. I began to get mad at God for not healing me yet, and then I got mad at me for being mad at God. I started to tear up a bit before I wrote back to my dear friend, Amber. I wrote, “I needed this so much. How timely. I’ve been told God was going to heal me my whole life, and sometimes I get mad at God, and then I get mad me for being mad at God. I like me from the waist up, but my legs I hate.” Hate is such a strong word. Sure. But I felt that the word, hate, was too diluted to describe what I truly felt. It was far worse than hate could even touch on. I made sure that my hair, nails, and makeup were done. I dressed nice, and from the waist up, I felt pretty, looked pretty, and radiated confidence. I understand that I am fortunate to have only a mild case of cerebral palsy, and I thank God everyday for what He has given and done for me. Even if this were a pity party, I can assure you, I have plenty of friends and family that wouldn’t dare allow me to stay there. But what I want you to understand is the beauty of being flawed is only captured by being flawed. This is me being flawed. There I was in the airport with my makeup and hair in place, nails done, and I was about to go to a place I’d dreamt of going for over four years. But the realization I had come to made me feel so small yet so liberated at the same time. I only loved half of me. How then could I ever receive love from someone fully if I didn’t know how to love all of me? I’d dreamt about getting married one day and meeting a godly southern man who works hard and puts God first, me second. Beaming from ear to ear as I daydream about someone loving me so deeply, all of that comes to a complete pause when I realize that, even though I could have that, would I receive it? How could I when I can’t even fully love myself? Right then and there, my internal dialogue of struggle became a dialogue of prayer. “Lord, help me love me.” God and I spend a lot of time dialoguing. I am alone a lot in my apartment, working on this memoir, reading, cleaning, and whatever the day may bring. But throughout my day, I talk with Him, and He keeps it real with me. We’re cool like that. We chatted in the busy airport even though I was slightly distracted by the loud speakers ahead and the mob of people lining up to board their flights. Jesus gently took me back to the day when He showed me a very real picture of why He hadn’t healed me yet. I remember asking Him, “Why haven’t you healed me yet?” “You’ve crafted your identity around your disability,” he said. Oh. Ouch. I realized how true that was. “You don’t know who you are without that disability.” I suddenly feel embarrassed by that truth, and just as quickly, I was liberated. Free. Guilt is no longer in the forefront of my journey. In my pursuit to love me, I’ve begun to unravel this identity I’ve managed to create around my disability. I’m tempted to write, “It’s a work in progress,” but I stop, realizing that “work” implies something I have to do. It should be, “It’s grace in progress,” because it’s something only God can do through me. Alright, Jesus. Have your way in me. I’ve since promised myself to find me, including the quirks, the funny, sarcastic, Jesus-loving geek, the girl that loves football and has absolutely no clue what’s going on in the game. As I’m rediscovering more and more of who I am outside of the label I’ve put upon me, I’ve promised to learn to like every bit of me, unapologetically.
Posted on: Tue, 06 Jan 2015 04:31:18 +0000
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