I’ll never forget the drive to the neuromuscular specialist. I had been experiencing some very disturbing muscle weakness and difficulty breathing and swallowing. Thanks to the information overload I had given myself via the internet I was fairly certain that I would be receiving one of two possible diagnoses: ALS or Limb-Girdle Muscular Dystrophy (LGMD). Both options were far less than favorable outcomes, but one potential diagnosis in particular—ALS—filled my heart with fear and dread. 

My husband and I made the more than hour commute mostly in silence. I found myself too consumed with how I might respond to the dreaded words that I would be facing when the specialist would enter the room. I thought about how ALS patients generally have a very short prognosis. I thought about my toddler and infant waiting for me back home. 

Many wild and crazy doubts and fears filled my mind. Deep breath in. Slow breath out.

“Okay, God. You are not surprised that this day has come. You knew it from the foundations of the earth. I know it breaks Your heart that I live in a broken world and that I have a broken body as a result of sin entering the world. And I know that even in the most dreadful circumstance You are still good and You are at work in my life to bring about my good and Your glory. I will trust You.”

We got to the office and looked at each other. Robert prayed. We stepped out of the car, gripped each other’s hand, and made the walk to the office. 

The doctor stepped in, listened to my story, and gave me the diagnosis: Limb-Girdle Muscular Dystrophy. 

I found myself initially feeling relief. Thank you God that it isn’t ALS. 

Robert and I walked out of the office feeling a certain amount of triumph. We now knew that barring an unforeseen circumstance I would still have longer than five to ten years with my family.

I’ll never forget the weeks to follow. We learned more about the disease. Terminal. No cure. No treatment. The best medical advice we were given was for me to essentially just “go home and do the best I can.” No one could say with certainty how fast the disease would progress but that I could have a decade or two before I saw major complications like a wheelchair or breathing helps. 

The initial feeling of relief drifted into an almost overwhelming despair. I really felt at that point I began to move into what I now recognize as survival mode. All the extras in my life began to move into the shadows. 

No desire to put on make-up; why bother fixing my hair when I have hair ties for ponytails? I transition putting my energy into only those things I have to do. I lost the desire to spend time with friends. Fear gripped my heart at the thought of doing anything beyond the essentials of life. 

I’ll never forget the phone call from the big university hospital near me a little over a year after the initial diagnosis. We think you may not have been given the most specific diagnosis for your condition and would like for you to participate in a study. 

The voice on the other end of the phone told me that she believed I may have a more specific form of LGMD called Pompe disease. The bad news? There was still no cure; the good news – there was a treatment available to slow the progression of the disease. 

I agreed to give some of my blood to participate. It couldn’t hurt anyway. Worst case scenario, I wouldn’t have what they are testing me for and all I would have lost was eight milliliters of blood. Then I could just continue following the professional medical advice of “doing the best I can.” 

Best case scenario – I do have Pompe and I finally have a treatment! I began to feel an ever so slight warmth in my heart as a small sliver of hope began to cut through some of the despair that had set up house in my mind.

I’ll never forget the nearly four-hour long visit at the genetics department of the big university hospital. We received confirmation that I did have Pompe. I still have no cure. But I have a treatment now. I can now slow down this monster in my body. And I learned that slowing down this monster is vitally important. 

This disease is nothing like the original diagnosis of a slow-moving disease that would give me decades before seeing debilitating results. I learned Pompe is an unreliable and unsteady disease. I learn that the unrelenting progression of the disease could move me from decently normal lung function to a ventilator in a little as six months. While I feel hope at the thought of a treatment, fear began to invade with the threat of never releasing its grip.

There are many moments of fear and despair that I will never forget. But the most important moments I’ll never forget are the moments that God has overcome those fears with promises from His Word. I have learned that true rest and victory over fear comes from God’s Word. His Word has infinite power to cut through the deepest fears.

If there is one thing I could encourage you to do in your times of fear, I would encourage you to hide God’s Word in your heart. I don’t mean the mindless regurgitation some people called memorization. Yes, I do want to encourage you to memorize His Word, but I would like to ask you to take it a step further and let His Word mold you as you store it up in your heart. 

It’s those moments when I have allowed God’s Word to shape me that I have seen Him move mountains of fear out of my heart and show me that I am already more than a conqueror even in the most fearful and dreadful circumstances. 

He has promised us that the Comforter uses His Word to teach us all things and bring all things to our remembrance. But if we are not in His Word and allowing it to work in our lives, we make the Holy Spirit’s job difficult! How can He teach us things and help us remember things if we are not giving God’s Word the time it deserves in our lives?

It’s all about His Word.

If you’re battling fear, dive into His Word. Spend time in it. Allow it to revolutionize your life. You are already a conqueror. And the secret to it all is in His Word. Let it dwell richly in your life!