Choosing to Trust When Life Feels Dark | Living Grace Blog

Choosing to Trust

When I was about four years old my family moved to northern California and lived for a short time with my grandparents. My younger brother was just two and he and I were playing together one day in the upstairs bedroom.

He had followed me into the walk-in closet and I was flipping through the coats, pretending they were ALL MINE as I lost myself in dreamland. When I turned around to check on my brother my heart dropped when I spotted his mischievous grin and his little hand on the door.

“DON’T YOU CLOSE THAT DOOR, DAVID!” I bossed, like any good older sibling does. And, like any normal little brother, he giggled in response and threw the door shut.

Now, the top three reasons I didn’t want him to close the door are as follows:

  1. It would be dark.
  2. The door could only be opened from the outside.
  3. IT WOULD BE DARK.

(Obviously, the dark was not my friend).

I yelled at him to go get mom (OR ELSE), but he was clearly gone. Moving on to greener, more interesting pastures…like blocks, I’m sure.

I, on the other hand, was preparing for the long haul. In my four-year-old mind I feared I would be trapped there overnight. Or worse, for weeks to come.

And so I did what any resourceful little lady would do. I yanked down coats to make a bed and then searched in the dark for any miracle bags of candy or snacks (there were none). Proof I have always been a PLANNER.

I remember how afraid I felt, how dark that closet seemed as a little one. Even though on some level I believed that someone would come find me, I couldn’t shake the fear. The fear that I was alone. That this closet was going to be my new home. (Oh, childhood).

Reaching for the Light When Life Feels Dark | Living Grace Blog

There are times when I can feel so overcome by the presence of this fight with Lyme. The constant pain and the heaviness that can linger lead me to wish for the return of feeling “normal” again with every fiber in my being.

I have asked God all of the questions. “Why?”, “how much longer?” and “are you really here with me?”

I know at my core. I KNOW that he is here. I know that he can heal me.

But it’s not easy to hold onto that faith when you’ve been given an unmaterialized hope by various doctors along the way. 

First, hope that healing would come in a couple years. Then another later doctor thought a year with their treatment, and yet another believed a few months would show huge improvement.

But here I am.

Healing hasn’t come as we envisioned. At times we’d see a small improvement in one area only to have several new symptoms pop up in its place. New layers to this complicated illness also seem to be uncovered every few months, adding to the complexity of it all.

I go through more tests. More procedures. More treatment. More time for healing.

And somehow in this mess, I found I am doing what many of us do when we’re in the struggle. Sometimes without even knowing it.

I am choosing to trust. Because otherwise I’m only left with the darkness.

I will grip this jagged hope of mine that life won’t always be this way. In small, moment-by-moment steps I will reach out for that hope.

And though my prayers seem to be met with silence… I believe

I choose to believe he is here. I’ll look for him in the beautiful expansion of the countryside, in the ripples of the lake. I’ll find him in the evening sunset. In the smile of my husband and the kindness of friends, family and fellow warriors.

I’ll open my heart and eyes to see beyond this darkness and believe light can still be found here. 

Lying across my bed of blankets in that childhood closet, I eventually heard my mother’s steps coming towards the door. After what felt like hours (in reality, a matter of minutes), the door was opened and light poured in.

Much like I reached for whatever resourceful ways I could cope with the darkness of the closet, I am learning to find the glimmers of light in this struggle.

As I tilt my heart upward to believe God is here, 

to hold on within these shadows,

and grab onto hope that someday I will be better,

I’m choosing to trust that this is not the end. 

I’m choosing to believe that this is only part of my story.

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20 comments

  1. chelseakim says:

    such good lessons in such a tough time. and you know what else, sometimes you’re allowed to just say THIS SUCKS! because it does. and we’re hurting with you. i love you! xoxoxoxo

  2. Darea Rivera says:

    : ) Enjoying so much the transparency (not what you are going through physically or emotionally) of your blog my precious Kami. Can relate to much of what you share, although the reason comes from different circumstances. The book you recommended, had been such a blessing to me during this season of my life, and current challenges. So grateful that despite how we feel from our present circumstances, He is always with us, gently showing us His divine grace, and relentless love. Very grateful for our foundation that we have received and your mommy that has over and over again ministered into my life when doubts and fears wanted to creep in, and that Christ holds us during those dark nights…shining just enough light for us to take one more step by faith, despite our feelings. I am praying for you, and I too, am asking God some of those same questions right now of what it looks like in the natural or spiritual realm to give over some of the burdens that I have willingly chose to take on or ignorantly taken on that try to bring bondage and fear or discouragement along the journey. My hope stays steadfast in Christ Jesus, the author and finisher of my faith and yours. Praying for both you and Trevor. So grateful God has placed a godly man in your life, for such a time as this. Love you! <3

  3. Sharon Gilmore says:

    I Its funny you are telling a story about the closet, the first time your Grandpa and I were at your folks apartment in Kent, you took me into your closet and we had tea. No one had seen us leave and couldn’t figure out where I was, I remember that so often, I know that your faith and family can help you through this and there will be a time when you will be well again.

    • Kami says:

      Hi Grandma Sharon! Haha, that’s so funny you have another closet story of mine. I love that we had a tea party together. Thanks for sharing this with me and for the encouragement. Hoping for that day! And thankful for the support and love in the meantime.

    • Kami says:

      I understand that…it’s a daily fight for me, too. Thanks for taking he one to read and also share that you struggle, too. We’ll keep trying! Sending you hugs

  4. Janka says:

    Thank you Kami for sharing your voice with us – I find the rhythm of your writing deeply comforting as it resonates with my own struggle with chronic fatigue. Trusting the Divine within oneself and beyond…Many blessings to you*

    • Kami says:

      Hi Janka! Thank you so much for reading and for sharing what this post meant to you. I’m glad my writing could bring some comfort to you, warrior. Sending you love and prayers for strength, dear one. <3

      • Janka says:

        Thank you Kami for connecting with me and for your wishes. I have read accounts of personal experience many times but rarely seemed to have met people who choose to reconnect and commune with those who read. Thank you for being one of them.
        Wishing you a lovely day Kami*

  5. Kim says:

    All things work together for good for those who love the Lord….

    Another one here choosing to trust. Thank you for sharing! I came across your blog on FB today and look forward to reading more. Praying for you and your healing.

    • Kami says:

      Thank you so much for the prayers, Kim. I am constantly needing the reminder I gripped in this post – it is a process, this learning to trust. So glad you found the blog and have enjoyed reading! Thank you for reading and leaving your kind comment. 🙂

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