I have participated in NaNoWrimo (National Novel Writing Month) several times in the past, but once I achieve the 50,000 word count and the challenge ends, the things I write usually never see the light of day again. They just sit in word documents, collecting digital dust. My hospital stay recently came up again during one of our homeschool lessons, and my son started asking me questions about it. So, I read him and my daughter the chapters from the book I wrote for NaNoWriMo in 2023, that went into detail about my admittance to the hospital and the subsequent stay.
This got me thinking that the whole purpose of that year’s chosen topic was to showcase how no matter the hill or the valley I find myself navigating, God had always been present in my life. I need that reminder myself so frustratingly often, so I decided to start sharing pieces from this book in the hopes you will be encouraged, too, by what God can do even with the messiest of us. This was only a rough draft, so parts of it will be understandably…rough. However, I will keep it mostly as it was, aside from changing a few of the names and places for privacy reasons.
Interwoven
Stories of How God Has Been Inextricably Woven Into My Life
God Created Me
“For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.” (Psalm 139:13-14, NIV)
Introduction
I’d surmise endings are a challenge for any writer to come up with. Whether you are trying to tie up all of the loose ends of a turbulent storyline, or summarizing your thoughts of a lengthy thesis statement, finding the perfect way to put that final punctuation on your written piece can be daunting. Just as daunting, though, are beginnings. Staring at the blank, unblemished screen or paper, poised to form that first word, is overwhelming.
As someone who has dabbled in writing stories since I was a little girl, I can say with sincerity that finding the courage to start is difficult. Knowing how to discern when to put a cap on your pen and lean back, knowing your work is complete, is equally as difficult. Then there is all of the stuff in between. A series of letters, linked together in just the right way to form words, that are also fitted together just so, so that they begin to form a story. If any one of those pieces goes awry, the beginning could be completely disconnected from the ending. It needs to make sense. How did these characters get from this point to that one way over there?
I am thankful that the Author of my life knows my beginning, knows my end, and is the one who pens the story in between.
When I was only seven, I had to choose a verse to recite for an event at my tiny Christian school. My Steve Green cassette tapes had been listened to repeatedly, one of them to the point where Steve and the kids singing along with him sounded as if they were performing underwater. Perhaps, not surprising, listening to those scripture verses set to music as often as I had, nestled the words deep in my heart. So, I selected Psalm 139:13-14, “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.” (NIV)
This portion of the Bible became incredibly special to me. I loved the picture it painted in my young mind, of God with a sewing needle, carefully piecing me together. All of the intricate stitches, pulling together tightly, to form a unique creation. Of course, I think I understood even at seven years of age that this is not literally what God had done when he created me, but to this day I still appreciate the childlike wonder of just imagining the care God put into making me.
If God can put that much care into each and every one of us, then I know His hand has to continue in our lives as we grow, carefully guiding us, weaving a beautiful story with our lives. My life is indeed a work of art in the making, but I think sometimes I only get to see the side with the dangling threads and knots. Sometimes I am afraid that is all that others see when they look at me as well: just the mess that I am, nothing more.
I am pretty sure when we get down to the honest truth, all of us are a mess. Still, I don’t want the bone-deep depression, the all-consuming fear, and the pendulum my moods swing on, to be all that I present to the world. I don’t want my mental health woes nor my numerous health issues to be the banner flying above my head. In the midst of all the ugly, I want people to see God. He has been watching over me from the opening line of my life. He knows where my final punctuation lies. And God has most certainly been with me as my story unfolds in between those two points. My hope is that others see Him at work in my life, more than they see me.
God is Always With Me
“Be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread of them, for it is the LORD your God who goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you.” (Deuteronomy 31:6)
Chapter 1: Set Up for Failure
One sunny autumn morning in September of 1998, my best friend and I walked to school together. It was our first day of seventh grade. Excitement and anticipation compelled us forward. Even though we were not assigned to the same homeroom, we figured we could still make the most of recess time, starting with the time outside before the first bell rang. As seventh graders, we were now assigned to a different part of the yard than we were in sixth grade, so when we arrived we joined up with the rest of the older middle schoolers mingling around.
In sixth grade, Becky and I had been a part of a small group of girls that consisted of Jessica, Melanie and Anne. However, they had apparently collectively decided that Becky was no longer welcome into the friend circle. I could stay, but I couldn’t also hang out with Becky. My twelve-year-old insecurities screamed at this ultimatum. I remembered how I always ended up being the outcast, and panicked. So, in that moment, I traded one good friend for three fair-weather “friends.” Becky was deeply hurt and tore the drawing I had made for her binder into pieces, which were scattered across the grass.
It didn’t take long before those three girls turned on me as well, and told me I wasn’t welcome in their little clique either. Though I should have seen it coming, I was still devastated. I was not very trusting of anyone at this point, so I retreated into myself and didn’t really attempt to make new friends. I didn’t go back to Becky and apologize either, because I figured that was a bridge burned, and my pride was wounded anyway. Instead, I sentenced myself to a very lonely school year.
Depression and anxiety began to swirl up inside of me. The resulting storm had some alarming effects on me. I cared what other people thought of me, but that desire to be accepted was not enough to conquer the dismal emotions taking over. I stopped putting any real effort into my appearance, which meant I didn’t wash my hair as regularly as I ought to have. My light brown hair was oily and without daily shampooing it showed. More than once I heard my classmates sneer, “Grease ball,” followed by giggling. I felt like the biggest loser but didn’t know how to snap out of it.
I was dealing with frequent stomach aches, which made my life miserable too. My parents took me to various doctors, trying to get some sort of explanation, but the best the doctors could do was send me home with a laxative and call it a delicate bowel situation. Unfortunately, this gut issue also made me feel a little icky at times too.
With the isolation, guilt and pain getting to me, I finally cracked one afternoon in science class. I had just taken my seat at one of the large tables, when some kids came in laughing about how someone had just thrown up in the hallway outside of our classroom. I had never been so flippant about that happening in class before, as the majority of my classmates seemed to be, but it hadn’t completely altered my course before either. This time, whatever little bit of me was hanging on snapped. I developed a crippling case of Emetophobia and it altered the trajectory of the rest of seventh grade for me.
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