Sunday Stories: Submission Vs Subjugation

Ariel Paiement

Introduction

Last time on this section of the blog, I talked about my best friend, L, and the lessons I’ve learned in my time as his friend. That story and what I learned about myself lead into today’s story well. This story and its lessons, however, are far harder to share. In fact, this might be the hardest post I’ve felt God leading me to write, at least to date. But while it’s hard to think about this chapter in my life, even nearly two years after it all happened, I strongly believe the story could help others like me avoid the heartache I went through. So, I will share it as best I can along with the lessons I learned through it.

My Standpoint and Defining Terms

I’ll start by stating a few things very clearly so no one’s unsure or confused about my standpoint or how I define terms. First, I believe every woman should submit to the man God has placed in authority over her and that she should obey so long as the command given doesn’t go against clear Biblical principles. Fighting words with many, many women, even in Christian circles, which is both saddening and disheartening. But, I believe this is because many of us haven’t been taught a right view of submission, nor have our men, which is why the application of this lesson will be directed both to the women in my audience and to the guys (more as a plea based on issues I’ve observed than anything). 

Defining Submission

But onto point two. I believe that submission varies vastly from subjugation. Because of that, we need to define terms here. Submission, as I define it and as I believe the Bible teaches it, is the choice of the individual to obey and place themselves under the care of an authority. It is something that both men and women do every day when they obey the laws, and it is something God commands women to do (Eph. 5:22-23) for their husbands as well as for children to do with their parents in the same chapter (though the word obey is used instead). Like it or not, women, that’s what the Bible says.

But our fundamental churches are teaching an unbalanced message on submission that barely touches on (or entirely ignores) the men’s responsibility in response to the women’s submission. Though no pastor would intend for the results of this unbalanced message to lead to abuse or harm of women, that is very often what occurs. Why? Because the men hearing the message assume that they are not only owed their wives’ submission but also the right to behave however they see fit toward their wives. Why would they assume differently if the focus is entirely on the woman’s responsibility to submit? It seems to the listener that the man has no dictates for how he ought to treat his wife, and this then leads to subjugation. It is an unintentional but very dangerous result of the one-sided, unbalanced teaching on the role of women and the role of men in the home.

Defining Subjugation

So, how do I define subjugation? It is when a woman obeys not by choice but out of fear of retribution and harm if she doesn’t. It is when anyone, really, is no longer making a willing choice to obey (which would be submission) and instead cooperates because the other person is stronger and may inflict emotional, mental, or physical harm if they don’t get their way. Submission ceases to be submission if it is not a willing choice and is instead coerced. At the point that someone must coerce another to obey, they, at the very least, are not on the receiving end of the other individual’s submission.  

It is very important that this definition includes the point that the obedience is won through either open or perceived threats of some sort of harm. A person may feel forced to obey or obey grudgingly (neither of which are submission) without being subjugated. So please understand that there is a point where a woman may not be submitting but is also not being subjugated or trampled down by her husband. That middle ground is still an issue, to my mind, but it isn’t an issue on the part of the man, at least. Subjugation is obvious, at least to others, because it robs an individual of freedom of thought, a voice or say in matters, and their choices on a broad scale.

Because of how I define subjugation, I view subjugation as a perversion of submission and something that should in no way be advocated. It is, even if subtle, abusive in my experience. It results in men treating women as though they are inferiors, not equals. While I believe strongly that there is a hierarchy of authority in the home based on the Bible, the Bible is also very clear about how men (both fathers and husbands) ought to treat the women and children in their care. Subjugation doesn’t follow that model at all, and in the case of marriage, it eliminates the aspect of partnership that the Bible promotes. In no way is abuse of a woman justified, nor is it excusable to try to wear her down mentally so that she will both obey without thought of her own and avoid ever voicing her opinion on matters that affect her. A man who wants to hurt the woman he should be caring for or rob her of the God-given ability to think for herself is a man unworthy of any woman whether she’s submitting to him or not.

Reasons for Submission and the Commands Surrounding It

Finally, before we talk about how I learned the difference between these two and what shaped my view of this important subject, I feel we need to discuss the commands the Bible gives to men and women regarding submission and authority in the home in general.

In Ephesians, where it tells women to submit to their husbands, it also tells husbands to love their wives. Some of us may wonder why that is. Let’s start with the husbands and why they need to be told to love their wives.

Why Different Commandments to Different Genders?

Simply put, because women and men are different. Like it or not, we think differently and have different aspects of our nature. In general, for example, women are more nurturing than men. And men, in general, don’t need to be told to take charge. It’s built in to their nature, and the only reason men today don’t do so is because modern feminism has taught them not to be men.

So why tell men to love? The men do not love their wives naturally. Sure, they might have the emotional type of love, but the sacrificial, agape love that Christ has for the church? That’s not something they naturally display, so they must then be told that’s how they should respond to their wives.

Women, generally, have an easier time with loving and nurturing, but they instead have difficulties with a fight between taking charge and knowing their place in the home. So, God wisely tells them, submit. That command helps us as women to understand the structure of authority in the home.

It isn’t saying we’re lesser beings or worth less than the man. It’s saying that the man is the authority in the house, and he must answer to God someday for all he allows and commands within that home. The woman’s place is not to usurp that God-given authority but to submit to it.

The Results?

If both individuals obey the commands given to them, then the woman submits without fear to a man who loves her, cherishes the gift she has given, and will sacrifice to ensure she has what she needs (even if not always what she wants). That is a marriage that can last! The marriage built on these principles is a happy one. The marriage that does not in some way act on these principles is much more tenuous, and in my experience, a much, much less happy one. I’ve seen both, and I can tell you that I don’t want the type of marriage that upends the order God has given to things. It isn’t pretty, and even if it isn’t absolutely awful, it certainly has more problems.

Learning to Differentiate

That last section was on the longer side, but a careful and clear defining of terms is necessary for any discussion that may be doctrinal or controversial in nature. Otherwise, misunderstandings or twisting of words may easily arise. But, moving on from that, let’s talk about how I learned the difference.

Growing up, the churches I was in talked about submission frequently, but their focus was only on the women. They rarely, if ever, spoke to the guys about their responsibility as the leaders in the home receiving the submission of their wives and children. They only mentioned it in any real way on Father’s Day, and once a year hardly teaches our men and boys that the subject matters in any way. 

The definition they presented for submission and the way they presented it always made me extremely uncomfortable and frustrated. If their idea of submission was all that was possible, or was what God promoted as good, then why should I want it? It didn’t seem good, and what they taught colored my understanding of God in this area to a less than flattering view. I thought for myself enough to recognize I wanted no part of that, but not enough, yet, to understand why or to search for answers on it. Since my views on the topic were cemented by the time my father got around to really teaching about it, I filtered everything he said through what I already thought. I didn’t understand the differences between what he believed and taught and what our church believed and taught. Not until I was in college.

Changes in Perspective

In college, I might have continued to hate the word and idea of submission as the church used it if not for L. After meeting my best friend, I realized it wasn’t as bad as I thought. At that point, I started looking at the idea of submission more closely as the Bible taught it, not as I was told the Bible did by the church. I was learning to apply my mind to this area too, not just other areas where I already held a different opinion from my church and had Scripture to back it up. I was learning to study and act on Scripture instead of simply reacting to what might or might not be false teaching. 

This led to the realization that we actually choose to submit all the time in our lives. We follow laws, and we often abide by unspoken societal rules. We choose to cooperate with government, usually, even when we might not be very happy with what they’ve chosen to do. Children submit when they obey their parents. Wives submit when they let their husband make decisions with a happy and willing spirit, even if the decision is as small as where they’ll go out to eat. In my case, I chose to give my best friend a lot of say in my life on matters big and small. I chose to defer to decisions he made unless doing so violated my moral beliefs. Others protested on occasion that I gave him too much control, but I was happy with the way things were. I didn’t feel as though he took advantage of it at all.

A Much-Needed Relief

In all honesty, L made it easy to leave the decision-making to him on things affecting us both as well as issues affecting only me. I barely even thought about what I was doing until later, most of the time. Granted, we both had lines and standards we felt were important and wouldn’t cross or break. But I don’t remember ever stopping to think, “Well, maybe I don’t want to do what you said to,” when he would tell me to go to bed because I wasn’t making sure I got enough sleep or when he would decide where we were going to eat. Sometimes, I had my own opinion or preference, but it became habit after a while to decide ahead that I’d go with what he wanted unless there was a reason to voice an opposing opinion.

I really appreciated that he took charge, and I found relief in letting someone else make the decisions. For years, I operated under the motto that I could do things myself and didn’t need any guy to do anything for me. I mean, I fussed about my brothers opening doors because I saw it as a commentary on my capability, not as a sign of respect toward me. I finally gave up control, and just as I’d started to feel grounded for once, L had to leave school.

Less than Bright Decision-Making

I’m not proud of what followed next. After L left, I felt lost. I grew accustomed to having someone there who loved me despite my flaws and who used the control I handed over to help me and to support me. I felt freer than I ever had in ages, and naturally, I missed that feeling. Besides that, I still wasn’t good at dealing with my depression alone. While he was there, L helped me tremendously, but I still didn’t fully know how to cope with the bouts I still had yet. So his departure was a huge blow. Going back to being alone and having that constant stress of always taking care of everything and making all the decisions by myself left me tense, lonely, and cut adrift.

So, when C stepped in, more than happy to take control and help, I was all too happy to let him. I met him before L left, and he and L were friends, so we spent a lot of time together. C wasn’t very controlling, at first. He didn’t offer any real structure in my life, but he did listen and encourage me, and he gave gentle nudges toward the right direction. He encouraged me to read my Bible and turn to God for encouragement, and he generally said all the right things.

Taking Things at Face Value

Since I was preoccupied, I took it at face value. I was so desperate to find someone who could help and bring back that sense of completion I’d felt previously that I didn’t notice the earliest warning signs and ignored my gut on the rest. When he pressed for a relationship, I admit I was unsure and scared. Those two words defined everything that was to follow.

Unable to find a logical reason for the bad feeling I had, I chalked it up to silly emotions—as I at the time prized logic over emotion to an unhealthy extreme—and moved ahead. Neither parent liked the relationship, but they wisely realized that I needed to learn my lesson somewhere safe, so my father didn’t stop me. The school rules protected me mostly in the physical arena, so they let the two of us proceed and prayed it wouldn’t end too miserably.

A Cruel Reality

Sadly, things went wrong faster than anyone expected, and it was worse than anticipated. C changed his tune as soon as we talked about dating, but it really changed when we were dating. He didn’t take no for an answer (unless there was just no way I would budge and he couldn’t get away with ignoring my wishes due to school policies), and he made every effort to assure me that being uncertain was no reason not to move forward or to cooperate. He guilt-tripped me from the start of the relationship by accusing me of stringing him along when I expressed doubts about moving forward so quickly. I was with him for a semester, and I saw firsthand what the difference was between submission and subjugation.

What I Expected From Prior Situations

My relationship with C was a nightmare and not at all what I’d hoped for. I guess in some ways, I was expecting him to respect me like L had. I trusted L implicitly. We had our issues, but I usually felt safe, loved, grounded, and sure of where we stood. At our worst, I sometimes felt unloved or unsure, but that was it. He genuinely apologized when he realized he had caused hurt or negative feelings. In turn, I quickly forgave wrongs or hurts because I knew he loved me, even if things in life sometimes caused him to treat me in a less than kind manner. 

Best of all, I knew where I stood with him. If I stepped over a line, L made it clear in no uncertain terms, and he told me what he would do if I did it again. But I always had a choice, and he never tried to push me into one or the other. He never threatened to cut off contact or shut me out if I didn’t do what he preferred with an issue. Instead, he just did what he could to mitigate the issue. He was there not for himself, but because he cared. He gave me his full support if I wanted to work on an issue he gently pointed out, and he made sure the relationship had a balance of give and take. I did my best to offer him the same: unconditional love, respect, and support no matter what.

What I Got With C

But with C, I was never able to fully trust him. I lied to myself and said I did, but looking back, I never did. I was constantly unsure where he and I stood. Consequences for stepping over lines were never clear. In fact, I rarely knew where the lines were until I crossed them, and then C would make me feel awful for even a small offense. I couldn’t ask questions about anything he felt we’d discussed enough, and I never knew when that might be because it changed for every topic. Talking to anyone but him about my doubts was the only consistently punished offense as it earned me accusations of distrust and censure for not believing him.

I gave him my respect, my heart, and what trust I could manage. He returned the gift I gave with disrespect, broken boundaries, and broken trust until it all fell apart. I should’ve left sooner than I did, I know. But even when he pushed me physically, emotionally, and mentally, I held on. 

Making Excuses

I wanted to believe in him, and I wasn’t able to come to terms with the changes in him. Frankly, I didn’t understand how he’d changed so much. I didn’t really think I could change him, mind you, but I kept hoping that if I waited it out, he’d go back to normal. I kept chalking the poor treatment—and the fights that erupted when I tried to say no or give an opinion—up to stress. He was just too tired or too worn out because of school, I told myself. Maybe this. Maybe that.

Finally, I faced the truth. He hadn’t changed. The person he let me see for the time before we started dating had been a lie. A lie that he wholeheartedly believed, I think, due to the very real psychological issues he had, but a lie, nonetheless. 

Consequences of a Bad Choice

He and I split at the end of the spring semester right before finals and just a few days before I turned twenty. My father asked him to leave me be until school ended for the summer. I needed to focus on school and was in no state to explain why I was ending it immediately. Frankly, I was a wreck. I barely managed to study for finals. Since we were both working on campus for the summer, I figured I could talk to him once I was done with finals so we could part ways amicably.

But he refused to leave me alone. He called my friends and brother (who was on campus with us) constantly because I wouldn’t answer, showed up at places he knew I usually went (to the point that I quit going to my usual spots unless I had to), and gave me a week or two tops to come to terms with things. He didn’t allow me to grieve or try to put the pieces back together, and he refused me the relief escaping him brought. 

A Living Nightmare

During the summer, my brother ran interference wherever he could. But that just made C angry and put my brother (and anyone who helped me or cared enough to support me) on the receiving end of his anger. Eventually, he began avoiding me like the plague. However, he still antagonized my brother, and at times, I was terrified he’d hurt the people I cared about. He treated anyone who supported me with accusations of distrust, and even his own brother, who had initially tried to continue including me in breakfasts Sunday, dealt with C’s anger. I lived my entire senior year in fear that I’d somehow set him off again and restart the whole waking nightmare. I was thrilled about graduation because it meant going home, far out of his reach. 

Friends and teachers started to notice that I withdrew from people, and I spent more and more time in my room to avoid any chance of running into him. But even with that, I couldn’t avoid running into C sometimes. Having classes on the same floor as he did made that impossible. We weren’t allowed in the hallways outside classrooms until five minutes before class, and so the open seating arenas on each floor were the only options for students to sit down or congregate. Those days, my teachers would ask if I was okay when I came into class. Even though he never spoke to me and usually avoided eye contact, just seeing him was enough to leave me trembling for the first five to ten minutes of class. 

At the End of the Day…

My situation was far worse than most regular breakups are. However, when you make bad decisions, even just one, and you involve yourself with someone like C, this is the kind of thing it leads to. My story is tame in comparison to what some women have gone through at the hands of guys like this. (I refuse to call them men because a real man knows how to treat a woman with love and respect.)

The Moral of the Story

This has been quite a long post, but I hope you’ll bear with me just a little longer. Let me level with the guys here first. I’m not going to tell you what you should or shouldn’t do because it’s not my place. But I’ll do my best to give a bit of perspective on this while highlighting what the Bible has to say about the issue. What you choose to do with it is your decision.

To the Guys:

Here’s the thing. I’ll be the last woman you will ever hear advocating that the women should be in charge instead of the men. That’s not Biblical, and frankly, we’ve seen just how well that’s worked so far. It hasn’t…  While every marriage is unique in how the couple handles submission, just as the people involved in that marriage are unique, Scripture is clear on one thing. Women should submit to their husbands. Even if you aren’t a good husband or authority figure. That doesn’t mean you can take advantage of it, though.

If you’re lucky enough to have a woman who genuinely wants you to lead and wants to submit to you, cherish that! Especially if she’s under no obligation to submit to you yet. The world is, at best, unable to understand their need or desire to submit to you and leave themselves in your care, and at worst ridicules them for a good desire. So, it takes a lot of strength to be honest with herself, let alone with you, about that need. Please don’t make her regret being transparent with you on this. You have a very special woman. Both she and her willingness to submit and heart to serve are a gift, whether you recognize it or not.

In the end, no fellow human being can tell you what to do with that gift. Only God and His Word can do that. But I can tell you the consequences if you don’t. If you are one of those guys who don’t or won’t treasure it, she will walk away when she’s able. And if she’s not strong enough to do it alone? Others will be happy to help her to do so. When she does leave, some other man will treat her like the treasure she is. He will pick up the broken pieces you created. He will be glad to show her that she is a treasure, even if it takes time because of the damage you’ve done.

To the Girls:

Ladies, if you grew up in a fundamental church, you’ve been hearing all about how women should submit to men. If you didn’t grow up in a fundamental church, you’ve probably been hearing the opposite. “Women shouldn’t have to submit to a man. We’re strong, independent women, so they have no right to tell us what to do.” Sound familiar? Regardless of what you grew up with, you’ve probably heard the world’s idea of a strong, independent woman both extolled and ridiculed.

I’ll be honest. I can’t stand today’s idea of a strong, independent woman as it’s presented. That said, some women buy into this but in practical life are actually very feminine, kind women. Their personalities aren’t the Type-A sort. So while they may agree with the idea, they’re not exactly the poster child for it either. All of us are different, and we all fit in differently. But I still really hate the ideal that’s presented to our girls and young women today.

Why I Can’t Stand It

The strongest of today’s feminists would tell you that being a strong, independent woman means you don’t submit to a man. Doing so is weak and is, in fact, allowing yourself to be subjugated. Instead, you must get a job and support yourself. And you find a man who will be somewhere in the range of total pushover and caring a little. Heaven forbid you marry a man who wants to be in charge of any areas of your life. Okay, I’m being a bit sarcastic. I don’t have any problem with women working or having a degree of independence. However, I have a big problem with what they have to say about submission. I also take issue with the fact that many mistake equality for having no difference at all in roles.

The Desire to Submit is Not a Bad Thing

Girls and young ladies out there, wanting to submit is not a bad thing! It’s actually a good and natural desire. Don’t let the rest of the world tell you otherwise. They’re wrong. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with being independent or strong. But their definition of a woman who is those things? It’s not the only one, and I would propose that it isn’t even the right one. A woman who submits even when she isn’t happy about a decision is much stronger than one who rebels. Trust me. I know. I’ve done things both ways. Submission is a choice that, though sometimes hard, is a lot more fulfilling than rebellion. 

The Desire to Submit Can Be Used Against You

But also know this. Your desire to submit can be used against you just as it was with me. Please, oh please, be careful who you give that kind of power to! Never give it to anyone who wants to take it without permission or right to it. If you get involved with a man like that—especially if you marry him—submission becomes much harder. It’s easy to shift into subjugation before you know what has happened. And once you’re involved, the road back to freedom and yourself is much, much harder. Wait for someone who will give as much as they’re taking. Wait for a man who recognizes your value and honors you for it. Men like that do exist. They’re not all bad. If you don’t wait for that man, you’ll do a lot of damage to yourself before you meet him. And it’ll be damage you can’t undo.

Conclusion

My greatest regret to this point is what happened with C. I lost a piece of me, and I’m never going to be the same. God’s grace brought me, step-by-step, to a place where I don’t look at every guy with suspicion. But unfortunately, what C did to me, what I allowed to happen, is not something I can get rid of. It changed me as a person. I learned a valuable lesson, but I can only look back on my choices with regret. My choice affected how I look at the world. It affected my ability to look at the guys around me the same way. Even if I get to a point where that’s no longer a problem, it’s still going to color my perspective. And so, it’s likely that things will be harder for the right one when he shows up.

Ladies, please don’t fall into that same trap. Learn from my mistakes. Don’t let guys with ill-intent turn your submission into a weapon to be used against you. Your submission is a gift you choose to give, so choose wisely. The choice you make will impact you for the rest of your life.

Sunday Stories: Unexpected Hardships

Ariel Paiement

If you’re getting the idea by now that much of what I’ve learned has been through suffering, adversity, and seeing how wrong things go around me when people make bad decisions, you’d have the right idea. Today’s lesson I’m sharing about is no different.

Where it all began

I was beginning my junior year of high school and starting out on my journey as a dual credit student in the year 2014. For those who don’t know, dual credit is when a high school student takes college level classes for credit both in high school and towards college later on. I was majoring in business and was there to not only finish out my high school education but also to earn my associate’s degree. But the journey to that goal was anything but easy.

Class work wasn’t as hard as I expected, but I had more responsibility because I’d started working a job that required a lot of long, difficult hours. I wasn’t full-time, but with full-time school and a job that could give me upwards of 30 hours a week, I didn’t exactly have much free time or room to rest. This was fine by me as I frequently did more in a day than most people would consider normal. Granted, I spent most of that time in less physical labor than I was doing at work, but that was fine. I knew how to work hard and had grown up doing a lot of different manual labor tasks around the house.

At this time in my life, I was very withdrawn, however. I had serious social anxiety, and I still remember that my dad’s advice to me my first day of school was: “Don’t hide in a corner. Make friends and avoid doing what you usually do because it makes you look like a snob who doesn’t want to talk to anyone.”

Maybe not the nicest way of saying it, but honestly, it’s what people usually thought. They assumed my reservations about interacting with people was just me being stuck up. Whether it was or not really didn’t matter.

My point in saying all of this is to lay the stage for you. At sixteen, I was doing far more than most high school students would be doing. I thought I could handle it no matter how stressful it was. I was wrong.

My entire first year of college, I had one cold or virus after another. I still had to go to work, though, because how else would I pay the tuition fees? So, I ended up hyped up on cold and flu medications constantly. Had I known how badly all of the stress would start to damage my body, I might have taken it easy, but I’ve never been particularly good about knowing my limits. I’m stubborn, and in my mind, the sky is the limit. If no one steps in and pulls me back down to ground me in reality, my ambitions, passions, and to-do lists can quickly start to drown me and I don’t even really understand why it’s a problem. Unfortunately, by the time someone did this for me in high school, it was too late.

I already had fairly extreme depression and serious anxiety due to still having unresolved issues with my mom and the aftershocks of her surgery, but with all the added stress on top of it, I began to break down mentally, emotionally, and physically. I passed classes with flying colors and was one of the harder workers at work, but inside? Everything was crumbling to pieces, spiraling out of control, and heading toward a crash. But I kept going.

Maybe a semester into my first year of dual credit enrollment, I started experiencing terrible abdominal pain. Usually, it was just a sharp or dull pain in one side or another, and I’d ignore it because what else was I to do? I had work and school, and in my mind, I had no time to lie in bed. I did enough of that on the days when my depression was so bad that I did almost nothing productive unless it wasn’t optional. In my mind, the abdominal pain was probably just my body’s response to all the meds.

So, I stopped taking them for a while and suffered with the symptoms of the cold or whatever viral infections I’d caught during that year. I’d work anyway as long as I could still talk to the customers ordering food from me, and I tried to soldier on.

The pains got worse, and I started to have bad attacks where I would wake up in the middle of the night screaming and crying because the pain was so crippling. The first time it happened, my parents thought my appendix might be rupturing because of the severity and the location of the pain. It wasn’t, but so far as the doctors could tell, nothing was wrong with me. I went through xrays in those first two years when we went in, but they found nothing.

So, I went on with life. I sucked it up and learned to deal with the pain. There were days I was hurting so much I couldn’t go to school or work, and there were days where I would work anyway and people would worry because I looked so sick. But I pushed on, trying to ignore the questions that rose in my head. Questions like: why is God letting this happen? Am I being punished for something I did? What did I do to deserve this? Is this ever going to end, or am I stuck with it for the rest of my life?

I’m Sick? Like, Chronically Ill Sick?

The doctor we were seeing at the time diagnosed me with IBS, irritable bowel syndrome. For those who don’t know what that is, it’s a chronic condition that results in a lot of bloating, cramping, gas, and general abdominal discomfort. Most people end up having issues with having normal bowel movements too. I’ll leave it at that and spare you any graphic explanations. Needless to say, it isn’t life threatening, but they don’t know what causes it and have no cure. I was devastated. She gave me a laxative to help with my constipation and recommended I avoid foods that upset my stomach. She didn’t do any other tests to rule anything else out, and nothing she gave me actually worked.

That was toward the beginning of the ordeal. I refused to go see her after the second time of being given the same solutions that didn’t work. So, I suffered for the next two years while I finished my degree. The summer before I went off to Florida to start my bachelor’s degree, we switched doctors. My parents were worried, scared a bit, and couldn’t stand seeing me in such constant pain with no answers. So, they found a doctor who would do tests.

That whole summer, I went through test after test with every one of them coming back with no answers as to what was wrong with me. I got more and more angry, depressed, and confused with every negative test result they did. Did I want to have some debilitating illness? No. But I wanted answers, and to me, it seemed God was refusing them. How could He let this happen and then give me so little consolation? I couldn’t understand it.

During that summer, I spent whatever time I wasn’t working sleeping and trying to ignore the pain. I didn’t do much of anything, and I spent very little time with people. I was too short-tempered to handle anything, really, and my family wasn’t patient with it for the most part. My mom and dad were supportive, but my siblings either didn’t understand or didn’t care that the constant pain made me crankier than usual. I tried to put on a brave face and act like it was all okay, but I couldn’t.

Answers at last

Finally, after all the testing, the diagnosis was handed down. I did have IBS after all, and it wasn’t going to just disappear. I wasn’t going to die, but I was going to have to live with an illness that would cause my abdominal/intestinal muscles to spasm for no reason, resulting in sometimes crippling pain. I lost it.

When I heard that I really did have IBS and that there was no medication that could do anything to solve it, I shut down. I couldn’t process everything I was feeling, and I didn’t understand how God could allow it. I wanted to trust He had a good reason, but at that point in my life, my trust in Him was seriously failing. After everything with my mom, I was hurting, angry, and feeling betrayed even nearly seven years after it happened. I never would’ve admitted it, but I didn’t trust God at all. I didn’t know what He was doing, but it sure looked like He was trying to wreck my life, as awful as that sounded. I held on and stubbornly refused to admit that, instead choosing to make my head believe that He had a good reason even if it was painful then. My heart, however, knew that it wasn’t real faith, and it didn’t get on bored.

Walking through the storm with God

I’m so glad God didn’t leave me there. He could’ve, but He didn’t. The years that followed at Pensacola Christian College were hard. I had no choice but to attend class even when sick because of the attendance policies. Even though I needed more sick days to give my body the breaks it needed at times, I couldn’t take them unless I wanted to lose an entire letter grade or, if I had two weeks of absences in a class in a semester, fail the class entirely. It didn’t matter how well I did at teaching myself the subject or succeeding even if I missed class, I would fail if I let my health keep me from physically being there. Many classes and church services (or other required events), I barely knew what was going on because my mind was so clouded with pain and trying not to be a distraction to those around me that I didn’t really hear anything going on around me.

But despite all the dietary restrictions, hardships caused by the strict rules they set (which for any other student without a chronic illness would really not have been that bad, to be honest), and my own broken, battered heart, God did work. He taught me that even though life is pain, it can still be joyous anyway. He taught me that others could benefit from my suffering if I was willing to take a step of faith in Him and keep a positive attitude with a willingness to share. It was hard to do that. I’m not an optimist by nature. If anything, I’m a realist who borders on pessimism in some cases. But if I hadn’t chosen to desperately cling to the Scriptures that say He plans everything and works it all out to the good of those who love Him, I would’ve lost my mind, I think. The stress I endured and the guilt I felt on days where I couldn’t attend events and knew I’d get a mark on my record for it or would have to attend the recording later was nearly unbearable, and if I hadn’t chosen to believe, regardless of my emotional state, that God had a good purpose, I wouldn’t have made it.

Gradually, God brought people alongside who, though they could do nothing to solve my physical ailments, were a support system I desperately needed. He brought me healing emotionally and mentally in many, many ways through those people so that, even though He didn’t take away my physical thorn in the flesh, He did show His mercy, power, and love in my life. He grew my faith through the trial, and because of what I go through on a daily basis, He is able to reach people through me that He could never reach otherwise.

In the same way that He used what happened to my mother, and to me as a result, to help those suffering around me, He also used my illness to bring hope, encouragement, and joy to others in similar situations or to those who had family suffering the same way. My illness, as hard as it is to bear some days, is a living testimony to His goodness. I know. That sounds really weird. How can He be good if He lets me suffer?

I struggled with that question constantly at the beginning.

Until I realized, it isn’t about me. It’s about His glory and His honor. In His sovereign wisdom, He knew many things I didn’t about the results of this illness, and He knows there are many more things I will likely learn as the result of being sick. Could He miraculously heal me? Sure. Has He chosen to? In spite of my pleas at the beginning for that, no. And I’ve benefited more from seeing Him work in spite of my weakness than I ever would’ve if He’d healed me nearly six years ago so that I could go on to pursue everything I wanted to with no hindrances. My character has been forged in fire because of this illness. I’ve learned lessons I never would’ve without it. I’ve watched God humble me because of it, and I needed that. I needed to recognize my place and my purpose, and I couldn’t do that without this illness. My own pride would have prevented it.

So, God in His infinite wisdom gave me IBS. Do I still hope that someday it’ll go away? Yes. I worry sometimes about the future because I know an illness like mine will make being a mother and a good wife very difficult, and I hate that. I want a family, and I want to give them all of me and my attention. I can’t do that on days when my illness takes over and lays me out on the bed wishing I could just die in a hole somewhere because I’m in so much pain. My mind and my body aren’t capable of giving people around me my attention or my love in those instances, and I hate that. But I also know this. Someday, if God chooses to bless me with a husband and kids, He’s going to get me through it. He’s never, ever going to make me face a trial that He is not going to walk me through. Sure, He might give me a trial I can’t handle. But never one that He can’t handle or doesn’t intend to handle as long as I choose to give Him control and walk step-by-step with Him. It might be a rocky road sometimes, but what’s on the other side will be worth it in the end.