(via Pinterest)
       My hands shake as I bring the mug of tea to my lips. My hands always seem to shake. I know this isn't true; that I have more still hours than trembling ones, and I strive to be grateful for this, but when the shaking begins, it seems as if there was no beginning, and there will be no end. This is a part of my life now. I have to confess, it isn't my favorite part. “I'm not the healthiest specimen,” I laughingly tell my friends, but it is true.
      I'm not sure when this all started … I only know that it has been a long battle. At first it was my joints. I used to rub my mom's feet when I was little. I remember even then, I had to massage my own hands afterward, because of the pain it brought to them. I was too weak to do the ordinary tasks without a struggle. To this day, merely opening cans is a breaking point. There are days where I find myself crying on the kitchen floor, just overwhelmed.
      While my joint aches and shakes are the most significant of my problems, they are in no way the sum of them. Just in this past year, I have fought with insomnia, fatigue, nausea, digestive problems, almost daily headaches, and more. I wake up nauseated every morning, and breakfast has become a source of dread; an ordinary, simple thing that taunts me mercilessly. Most days I just feel weary to my bones; like an aging woman might, I assume. And yet, this isn't the case.

      It is easy to become discouraged about such a situation, but I have learned to cry out to God when times get rough. When the natural medicine I am taking makes me gag. When just not knowing exactly what is wrong with me threatens to crush my spirit. I cry out to Him because He hears. He does not forsake me, even in this. 'But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."' (2 Corinthians 12:9a, NIV) When I am weak, He is strong, and He can use me for His glory. I take joy in this: my frailty is a constant reminder that I need Him

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