Many, many moons ago, I started out on an adventure I was sure was going to lead to a life of bliss. I was going to accomplish great things. I was going to change the world. Although God graciously allowed me to begin my incredible quest, He cut my dreams short. Despite fighting and fighting to keep on going, God continued to crush me with medical emergencies and debilitating conditions. Soon my life was nothing more than me lying on the couch, trying to figure out what to do with my life.
As the years have rolled by, I have told myself if God heals me, I would go back to chasing my dream. If just one person from university was still going through residency or fellowship, I had time to magically catch up. (Although this is a crazy idea because if I ever wanted to finish my career, I would have to go back to school and would have to start all the way back at the beginning.) Despite all logic, I still had hope that God could do a few miracles.
Year after year, more and more of my classmates finished their training programs. This year was the year in which the last remaining classmates completed their programs. I try to be brave. I am quite proud of everyone's accomplishments. But the tears stream down my face. Perhaps it is reality finally setting in, or perhaps it is the last flicker of hope vanishing before my eyes. But my heart breaks to see so many people achieve their goals, and I am not among them.
I know it is dumb to ask, “What did I do wrong?” I know everything is from God, and my dreams were not His will for me. But still, no matter how much God distances me from my lifelong wish, my heart still yearns for it. I wipe away the tears and try not to focus on the past. I look to the world to come, a place where there are no tears and no disease.
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