During high school, I tried not to let myself dream too much about going to college. Although I longed for a flourishing community and continued education, my cystic fibrosis added constant uncertainty to my life. So, it is no wonder that I almost cried when I sat for a Zoom call with my CF care team, an acceptance letter to Moody Bible Institute beside me, listening to my doctor promise me that she would get me to college even if she had to come and sit in class with me.
If it is scary to dream, it is even more frightening to step into those dreams once they are in front of you. I was terribly excited as I prepared for college, but a familiar fear kept prodding me. If I could manage to hold it together and pretend that my health didn’t affect me, if I could show everyone that I wasn’t any different than they were, then maybe I would find the community I longed for.
I didn’t know then that to let others love you, you must let them see you and know you as you truly are. It would only be in the breaking of my facade that love would be able to touch the parts of my heart that were most insecure and uncertain.
The August I moved to college was the worst month my health had suffered in several years. Panic attacks, dizziness, and difficulty breathing are not easy things to hide, especially in the rush of orientation. I look back now and praise the Lord that I was not able to hide my struggles then. The grace that met me and the constant love that carried me through those first months of adjusting spoke tangible truth to combat the fears in my heart.
This truth was spoken to me in little things that meant the world. The friend who would hug me gently before class and make sure I ate snacks when my blood sugar dropped. The group of friends who waited for me to stop and catch my breath on the way to a coffee shop. The afternoon when I was lying on the couch in the lounge at my dorm, and one of my floormates planted a kiss on my head and told me she loved me (I had just gotten off the phone with my dad, crying about how impossible it felt to keep up with school while on a rigorous treatment for Pseudomonas). Their cheerful care was a gentle contradiction to the narrative in my mind that my illness would push people away.
I found that I had thought so wrongly about what it would be like to live with CF in community with others. CF has always been a normal part of my life. Something that is hard and requires extra care, yes, but something that also brings unexpected, beautiful gifts. For some reason, I struggled to believe that others would see it that way as well.
I was afraid that my treatments and meds and lower capacity to do things would build up walls between myself and others. But on the campus of Moody — a Christian community with love as its foundation — I found that chronic illness didn’t build up walls, it opened doors. It opened doors for me to walk with empathy alongside others who were struggling. It allowed me to use the gifts of patience, courage, and hope that God cultivated in me through years of experiencing His faithfulness in the midst of my struggles. It also opened doors for others to walk alongside me, encouraging and caring for me. I found a unique beauty in vulnerability as my story became entwined with the stories of others, and we walked together on a rugged path of courage and grace.
Perhaps the greatest gift God gave to me in my journey of vulnerability was my roommate who took every treatment, med, and symptom in stride. We soon labeled my vest “the dying helicopter” because of the sound it made, packed all of my essential meds and inhalers in a “Josie, don’t die!” bag, and stored an extra dose of pancreatic enzymes in both of our wallets. I clearly remember one night when we were in the library together and she told a friend of ours about my CF. With her few words, she painted the picture of courage and beauty that she saw in me, and I fought back tears of gratitude that she had seen beyond my illness to the goodness that God had brought about through it. After that, it was not so hard to talk about CF.
The attitude that my roommate has toward CF is a rare and beautiful thing.
Chronic illness is a topic that many people don’t know how to talk about. There is often awkwardness and sometimes aversion when it comes to discussing health issues. But even if CF does initially turn someone away, this can change as they get to know you.
College is all about growing and learning to live. The way that we handle awkwardness makes a big difference. I have found that openness and honesty is the best route. If I am not afraid of talking about CF, then others will not feel like they need to avoid the topic. And often, I find that these conversations bless us both. And perhaps, my story will be able to teach others how to walk alongside someone with a chronic illness.
To do this, however, I found that I cannot form my security around the opinions of others. Rather, as my heart settles deeper into the grace of the redemptive, unconditional love of God, my fears of not being accepted are quieted. When I stop being afraid of not being enough, I find that the things I feared would be barriers to community, are instead gateways to a community sweeter than I imagined.
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