(Trigger warning: chronic illness, hopelessness, dissociation)
Hello! My name is Amanda Villena, or Amanda Libby to those who know me as a writer, and I’m an aspiring author and chronic illness survivor. I’m so excited to be here and share how God changed my life.
His grace is so much greater than we can fathom. It extends even to those who persecute him (Acts 9:4), who reject him (Romans 5:8). And man, did I reject him. In fact, I did much worse than that.
Five years into being sick, I challenged him.
~*~
The sun filtered in through the car window, warming patches of my skin. I clutched the steering wheel a little tighter. The white stripes on the high-way sped by, pine trees on either side stretching into the sky as if they, too, were looking for freedom.
I shifted, the leather seat sticking to my thighs. I glanced at mom, her body rigid, her eyes fixed on the road as if, at the end of it, there really would be a miracle.
I knew better.
“I can’t do this anymore, mom,” my voice was as cold as the blood in my veins. The weight on my chest pressed the words out before I could think about how they might scare her. “I’m serious, if God doesn’t heal me, it’s over.”
Mom glanced at me, pain in her eyes I refused to recognize. “Let’s just see what this chiropractor can do.”
I snorted and glanced up at the sky. I’m serious. If you don't fix me, that’s it. It’s over.
I wasn’t going to live the rest of my life as an insane person. I couldn’t bear living like I was.
The panic attacks were getting worse. Daily. I screamed and cried and lost focus on where I was or who I was with. There were moments I forgot who my own parents were. I couldn’t live like that anymore.
I rolled my fists around the slick leather of the steering wheel as we turned off the freeway. We’d tried everything. Gone to every doctor, asked every question, but there were no answers. Mom thought this chiropractor might help, but I knew better than to hope.
Five years ago, I'd been diagnosed with a case of Epstin Barr that never fully got better. Seven doctors resulted in nothing more than micro improvements. The year before, I'd finally started recovering when I stopped stuffing my emotions and instead processed them through meditation. But even that was quickly succeeded by a pain much worse—this insanity. Hoping was a waste of time.
The car jolted to a stop. I yanked the gear into park and stomped the parking brake into place.
“Alright, let's go.” Mom’s voice lacked the luster it usually held. I shook the echoes from my ears and stepped outside, slamming the car door shut behind me. We went inside the small room. I crinkled my nose. Musty.
“So, it says here you’ve been having headaches?” The chiropractor tapped the clipboard with a pen. I just nodded.
“Yes,” Mom said. “Amanda fell down the stairs about a year ago and hit her head really bad. She just hasn’t been the same since.”
“Alright, then, let’s take a look.” The doctor beckoned me to sit. I folded my hands in my lap as his fingers, and then a massage gun, prodded my scalp. Pain radiated through my skull. I bit down on my tongue to keep from jerking away, and after a few more moments, he switched the gun off and patted me on the shoulder.
“No wonder you’ve been so miserable. The sutures in your head were out of place, pressing on your brain. That would make anyone feel crazy.”
I just stared at him. After dozens of “Nothing’s wrong with you,” this man said something was? I swallowed down a lump of hope, but it kept swelling in my chest. I couldn’t explain it, but something in my head felt better.
Half a smile tried to slip across my face, and I let it. “Really?”
He nodded. “Lots of people think there aren’t bones in the head, and there aren’t. But you have sutures that can shift, especially after a head trauma like that. You had quite a few of them out of place.”
“Thank you,” I said, heart skipping. I didn’t know how, but deep inside my core, I knew I was better.
I barely heard the words he was saying, barely felt the floor beneath my feet as I glided back to the car, barely heard Mom get in after me, barely felt the weight that had laid on my chest for such a long time, lift.
I’d rejected God. I hadn’t read my Bible in a year. I hadn’t prayed. I didn’t care about Him.
Yet, He healed me, at the very moment I was about to lose hope.
Why? I glanced up at the sky and a wave of warm love flooded me. Tears stung my eyes. God had never left me alone in this darkness. He held me, pulled me against His chest so I might hear the heartbeat of the universe, and realize I was known. (Psalm 34:18)
It had taken me five years to realize, but He wasn't done with me.
I’d grown bitter over that time, but He’d only held me with love. Patience. Gentle care. He cherished me, I was His treasure, and He was taking care of me. Protecting me. Providing for me. (Isaiah 41:10b)
I sucked in a long breath, blinking the world back into existence. This love, such love! I felt like I was breathing for the first time in my life. How could anyone love me in such a way? But God did. (Jeremiah 31:3, Romans 8:37-39)
I turned to Mom in the car, grinning. “Mom, God is so good. I didn’t deserve it, I just challenged Him, but He-He healed me.”
Mom grinned, eyes glistening, and hugged me.
Thank you, Jesus. I-I don’t understand, I didn’t deserve this, but thank you, thank you, thank you. Thank you for healing me. Thank you for not giving up on me. Thank you, Father!
From that day on, I was completely free of the dissociation I’d been having (although I hadn’t known that was what it was called.) My body still isn’t fully healed from my chronic illness, but what God did that day has forever changed me.
I’d known of God, grown up in a Christian household, but I’d never experienced Him or known Him for myself. I’ll never fully understand why He’d heal me when I’d so blatantly, so arrogantly challenged Him, but now I understand His love for me so much better. His passion and patience and gentle care for me. And I’ll never forget that God pulls His children from the mire. (Revelation 21:4)
You may be walking through hell, you may be in a darkness too void of light to explain, but God will deliver. It may not be in your time––it sure wasn’t in mine––it may not be in your way, but He’s with you. He loves, adores, treasures, and chooses you every day. He’ll never leave you. And He will get you through this. (Psalm 18:2)
So hold on. Because our God is one of forgiveness, of restoration, and redemption.
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you, and not to harm you, plans to give you hope, and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11
~*~
Amanda Villena (Libby) knows what it is to fight for a dwindling hope. A chronic illness survivor, she spends her days pursuing her writing dreams, sipping herbal teas, and maintaining a determined belief in God’s deliverance. She shares deep ponderings about her relationship with Christ and the adventures of her new life in Nebraska on her Instagram, @amandalibbyauthor. You can also find her on her website, amandalibby.com.
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