“Verily, verily, I say unto you,
Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone:
but if it die,
it bringeth forth much fruit.”

(John 12:24-25 KJV)

I stepped into the doctor’s office with trepidation. I had read enough online to be almost certain of the looming diagnosis. Honestly, I had avoided setting the appointment earlier in hopes that the symptoms would disappear, or miraculous healing would occur. After all, I had been praying as Jesus prayed before his death on the cross, “Lord, let this cup pass from me.” (Matthew 26:39)

The receptionist called my name. I entered the private waiting room, holding the articles I had printed and the five-day journal of my ability or inability to do various activities. My body ached with heaviness. It seemed every nerve ending was firing. The antiseptic smell inside the sterile room served to reinforce the coldness in my bones. The headache that had become a constant companion intensified as I braced myself for what was to come.

My father sat quietly beside me while we waited. He had come along to offer support.

The highly recommended doctor entered with a congenial smile–an older gentleman who explained that he was no stranger to suffering.

After his introduction and assurance that we would get to the bottom of whatever aisles me, I was immediately comforted with the confidence that I had come to the right person.

I explained how I was unable to sleep well at night. Even when I did, I woke utterly exhausted. I was twenty-six years old and had to take a short nap after showering in the mornings before I could go to work.

As a teacher, it was a struggle to walk down the hall without leaning against the wall every few feet. My head pounded, and my ears rang continuously. My words had begun to come out differently than I planned. At times, I found it challenging to complete a sentence because I would lose my train of thought, or I could no longer remember the words. And I’m a wordy girl. Words were never hard to come by.

My appetite had vanished, and anxiety loomed. I was rushing home to nap-sometimes for hours. I was breaking, and I didn’t know how to stop it.

The doctor did a series of tests, read my daily activity journal, and listened to my frustrated plea for understanding.

The diagnosis was just as I expected. Chronic Myofascial Pain Disorder and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, leading into Fibromyalgia. No known cure. Management was the goal, and acceptance was the first step.

A mixture of relief and terror-filled me. I was relieved that there was a diagnosis. I had this looming fear that this was all in my head. After all, it wasn’t natural for a young woman to experience constant pain and fatigue.

I was terrified of the future as questions swarmed my mind. How would I continue to work? How could I afford not to work my second and third jobs? Would my dreams of independence die?

How would I accept the unacceptable?

As Jesus approaches his death on the cross, he compares his life to a corn of wheat, expressing that the seed must fall to the ground, be buried, and die for it to bear fruit.

He brought me to this time to die to myself––my dreams, strength, and control. He was offering to trade mine for his.

The intensive need for control confined me.

The all-consuming responsibility of being responsible and perfect had left me lacking, wanting, and seeking.

My warped mentality had me thinking that I had to earn God’s love, acceptance, and approval.

I had worked until I was spent, hurting, and sick.

God was asking me to fall into His arms, trust Him with my future, and accept His grace.

The truth is, we can never be good enough. The better truth is––we don’t have to be––because He is.

I wish I could say that I realized it immediately, and my life fell into order and bliss. But, this was only the beginning of a slow process of death–a death I struggled to embrace. And, I continue to die daily (1 Cor. 15:31).

I was forty-years-old before I began to let go and completely die to Christ.

It took God that long to get me to the point where I unclenched my cold hands and gave up the struggle. It was only then that I found a new way of life.

Just as Christ’s death was not in vain––neither is mine. Death leads to glory––the glorification of Christ. And, ultimately, a sweet resurrection of a new life.

Jesus implored, “My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me.” He follows by declaring in surrender, “nevertheless, not as I will, but as You will.” (Matthew 26:39 NKJV)

Here I find the answer to accepting the unacceptable––surrendering to His will.

Have you found yourself in the struggle of surrender, fighting for a way of life that is better buried in death so you may receive new life? Ask God to help you lay down your will for His.

May we continue to surrender to His will and begin to walk in freedom today.