Miracles

I've had arthritis off and on in my joints for the past few years. When I got pregnant with Brooklyn in early 2007, I mentioned it to my obstetrician. He wanted to run some tests to find out if I had some sort of arthritic disease, but because I was pregnant at the time and any sort of established treatment wouldn't be safe for the baby, we decided not to run any tests at that time. I think he wanted me to be able to enjoy my pregnancy without worrying about diagnosing an untreatable condition, and we never spoke about it again. A few months into my pregnancy we moved to Dayton, Ohio; Cincinnati, Ohio; and Ammon died all in quick succession. The plan was to return to the doctor after Brooklyn's birth and figure out the cause of my painful arthritis, but I never got around to making the appointment in the midst of life happening all around me.

Sometime two winters ago, I finally made it into the doctor to renew my blood work for a thyroid disorder. I mentioned to my general practitioner that I had struggled with intermittent arthritis for several years. She was of the opinion that the problem could possibly be tied to my untreated thyroid hormone imbalance, and recommended that I take the prescribed medication for three months and return for more blood work if the problem didn't resolve itself. At the end of three months, the arthritis was still persistent, but once again-I put off making the appointment to see what was causing the problem.

In July, I was single-handed packing up our townhouse to move into the house where we currently live, and as a result I was forced to go through the detritus of my life with Ammon. It was an extremely stressful and emotional period, and my arthritis flared again. After spending several nights unable to sleep, I finally broke down and through tears-made an appointment to see my doctor.

The results of the blood work came back within a few days, and they were devastating.

The rheumatoid factor was elevated in my blood work-a key indicator of rheumatoid arthritis-a debilitating, incurable disease that runs in my family. There are a host of other disease possibilities-including some forms of leukemia-and none of them are pleasant.

I sat in the parking lot at Kroger one sunny afternoon, and listened through a haze of pain and grief as the nurse on the other end of my phone recommended I seek out a rheumatologist for treatment. In that moment, I made one phone call-to my in laws-and sobbed bitter, angry, mournful tears.

It wasn't enough that Ammon had been taken from us, it wasn't enough that I was being asked to raise our children alone-now it appeared as though my health would be stolen from me. I was beyond comfort. It was one of the lowest moments since the sheriff stood in front of me and told me my life was over.

Between when the nurse called to deliver the blood work results and when my appointment with the specialist came, my doctor called back. Sometimes, she said, arthritis can be caused by a Vitamin D deficiency.

"Come back in for more blood work" she said "It's probably just a vitamin problem, and we can put you on a supplement to fix it. Don't go to a specialist yet."

I grabbed the life preserver she threw me, and held tightly to it. I made phone calls to everybody I could think of-calling in every spiritual favor I felt was owed to me.

"Pray for me" I begged. "Pray that this is a vitamin problem, not a disease."

We picked a day, and asked everybody who was aware of the problem to spend the day in fasting a prayer that the second round of blood work would come back showing a severe vitamin D deficiency. I spent several days in hopeful but guarded prayer-begging, pleading, and beseeching for deliverance from this set of problems. A few days later, another nurse called to deliver a second set of blood work. To my horror, she informed me that all of my vitamin and mineral levels were within normal range, thereby canceling out the possibility that my painful arthritis was anything other than a terrible, unnamed disease.

I was deflated. I couldn't believe that after everything our family had been through in the past 18 months, that God would choose not to answer this prayer. I had been arrogant enough to assume that I was 'owed' this blessing-that I had earned it through surviving young widowhood, that my faith had secured my health in order to care for my family. Ignoring the many prayers on behalf of our family threatened my sanity and hard-won spiritual balance. I wallowed in depression and sorrow for a few weeks until the appointed time for my appointment with the rheumatologist.

Two days before my 27th birthday, I had a series of xrays done on all my painful joints, and an exam by a Cincinnati rheumatologist who is among the top in his field. In a curt manner, he informed me that through his physical examination and all the xrays, he could find nothing wrong with me.

I left his office bewildered.

I have had less than 5 arthritic days since then.

Here is what I have learned: God doesn't always answer prayers in the way we ask. Sometimes, He goes above and beyond. Sometimes when we're praying for a vitamin deficiency, He chooses to lift the problem entirely.

Sometimes, we don't know what we're asking for.

Always, He knows what is best.

How grateful I am to be His daughter, and to know that He is in charge of my care.