Writing My Life With God
A Story of Faith Written by Emma Heiner
Have you ever found yourself curled up in a ball thinking about how you honestly don’t know if you will make it much longer? Or have you, at times, felt so angry with God that all you wanted was to yell at Him and never talk to Him again unless, of course, you needed to yell at Him some more? If you’ve answered yes to either question, this story is for you.
To keep it short, I’ve had major health problems since I was 9: systemic scleroderma, rheumatoid arthritis, and Raynaud’s syndrome, which also led to major emotional and spiritual problems. When I was 14, my family pressured me to see a therapist, and the experience left me traumatized and determined to keep everything to myself. If I was sad, I pretended I wasn’t. If I was in pain, I didn’t let it show. If I had doubts about God or my beliefs, I forced a smile and kept quiet. The more I suppressed my feelings, the more I emotionally, spiritually, physically, socially, and mentally declined. Unfortunately, I was good at pushing my feelings down into the depths of my soul and locking them away. I was so good at it, in fact, that when I was 19 years old, my disease led me to suffer from severe malnourishment, muscle deterioration, and chronic nerve pain, and no one knew about it except God. He knew. He always knows, but I wasn’t really talking to Him.
By the time I was 22, there were five things I was certain about:
I’ll have consuming, debilitating health challenges my whole life.
I’ll never get married or have kids.
I’ll never have a career.
I’m beyond upset with God. He doesn’t care about me; He’s heartless.
I have nothing to live for.
I blamed God for everything, and after a year of crying and cursing His name, I finally reached the lowest, darkest point of my life. I was alone in my room with the lights off and blinds shut when I couldn’t help but pray the most desperate prayer I have uttered thus far. “This is it,” I prayed. “I can’t do this much longer. I’m not kidding, God. This is beyond unbearable. What do you want from me? Do you want me to smile and tell you I’m thankful? Because I’m not doing that. Do you want me to suffer my whole life? Because I’m not doing that either. I’m begging you... if you care about me at all, which I’m positive you don’t, bring me Home!”
God didn’t bring me Home, but He did hear me. He enveloped me in a peace I had never experienced before, nor since, but one thing is certain: I felt heaven. Indescribable images came and went before I could process them. I was simultaneously grounded and free. I sensed myself running and twirling with arms wide open, which is something I can’t do here on Earth. There was joy, comfort, and a love so extraordinarily strong and deep that I felt it at a cellular level. My entire being longed to be there. In that moment, and to my complete shock, I thought to myself, “I haven’t been through enough to deserve Heaven as a reward. Pile it on me, God. I can take it. My life isn’t that hard. I’ll do anything to end up there.”
Along with that soul-reviving experience, which ended far too quickly, I got a clear request from God. Write. Write your thoughts. Write your story. Months earlier, my mom suggested that I should write to process my life, but before she had finished her first sentence, I shut down the idea. Writing is the opposite of hiding. But there God was, nudging me to open my computer and my heart. So, I did.
Being overwhelmed, I asked my mom to print off some questions to get me started. “Everything is going to be okay.” I would repeat to myself. “Just take one step at a time.” One step at a time. I knew I could do that, and yet I was still terrified. With my former prayer experience fresh in my mind, I softly asked God to sit with me. I was still upset with Him, but I also wanted Him close. I knew the seed of healing had been planted; I just needed to water that tender sprout and keep the Son close by for nourishment. I couldn’t help but wonder why the seed hadn’t been planted earlier. As I began to blame God again, the Holy Spirit whispered a truth I wasn’t expecting: “You weren’t ready. You weren’t willing. God has been ready and waiting for you to come back to Him.” It was at that moment that I started to wonder how much of my suffering was on me. Could I have avoided some of this? Before my anxiety could overtake me, the Spirit warmly responded, “Don’t worry about that now. Write.”
My writing started with timid statements and “pretty” stories, but with practice and God’s tender coaching, my words grew into bold statements and raw stories.
“Go deeper,” God would say to me.
“Be more vulnerable.”
“That’s not how you actually feel. Be honest.”
“That is how you actually feel, but it’s not the truth. Keep digging.”
The more I involved Him, the more wisdom I gained; the more honest and vulnerable I was with myself and Him, the more healing I experienced. God was and continues to be the highlight of my writing journey. We laughed and cried together more times than I can count. I felt His patience in times of frustration. I felt His pain when all I could do was lay in bed crying, clutching my chest as I attempted to weather the storms that hit without warning. I felt His power when I recovered enough to get up and make it through the next day. I felt His involvement when I received spiritual promptings and His support as I took breaks to regain my sanity. I felt His belief in me as thoughts of “You’ve got this!” came to mind time and time again. I felt His love for me. I felt my love for Him.
Two years of writing helped me go from hating my life to accepting my life. After four more years, that acceptance turned into an embrace. I’m not just tolerating my life; I’m building my life with joy. I’m not just okay with it; I’m grateful for it. I feel God smile whenever I express gratitude for my health challenges. It wasn’t long ago that I declared with the stubbornness of a toddler that I would NEVER be grateful for my life as I threw myself onto a chair to weep. But it’s different now. I’m different now. I let Him in, and together we took one step at a time. We wrote one page at a time. We grew our relationship one day at a time. And at the end of all that time, we had written a book. Oh how I’ve cherished these last six years.
Of course, I don’t embrace every day. Some days I feel sad, and I fight my reality. I’ve spent too much time in wakeful dreams picturing alternate lives of mine with details so specific that sometimes it has almost felt real. However, in all the other versions of my life, there has been only one constant: God. That’s how I know I want Him in my life. I can’t imagine any existence without Him.
Now, at 29 years old, there are five things I’m certain about:
I will have consuming, debilitating health challenges my whole life, but God is always ready and able to carry me through.
I will never get married or have kids, but with God, I am not alone.
I have a career in the service of my God.
I am beyond happy with God. He cares about me more than I will ever know; no one has a greater heart than Him.
I have everything to live for and everything to gain as I endure with intention, preparing to enter the presence of my Maker, my Hero.
God is with me, in my five things and in all things. He pushed me to write so I could learn to process my experiences. And when I finished writing my book and closed my computer, thinking I was done, He nudged me further still. “Your story isn’t over. Our story isn’t over. I’m ready, are you?” So now here I am, and here I’ll stay, writing my life with God, knowing that no matter what happens, He is guiding me, teaching me, loving me, and encouraging me until my story really is done and I’m Home with Him again.
