Living with a chronic illness is hard. Living well with a chronic illness is even harder. It takes mental and emotional strength. Courage and resilience. A sense of humor. Hope. A positive attitude. Adaptability. Faith helps. So do emotional support and community. And a reason for being.
I think people who live well with chronic illness ought to be celebrated like Olympic athletes. Their unsung accomplishments are remarkable.
Think of it: Beginning each day anew requires grit, determination, and perseverance to push through pain, illness, limitations, depression, bodies that don’t work well, brain fog, disappointment, or depression. Then, the next day they do it all over again.
It takes remarkable courage, as well, to keep moving toward an uncertain future whose only certainty is that things may get worse. It takes perseverance to devise new ways to do what we did before and can no longer do in the same way. It takes a sense of humor to laugh at ourselves and the ridiculous and to lighten the load.
In addition to all that, it takes emotional strength to let go of what we have lost and move beyond our grief, and wisdom to know the proper balance between telling others our struggles and keeping them to ourselves.
Those with chronic illness demonstrate unseen strength and courage, silently doing things every day that others neither see nor imagine. And those who do this with graciousness, kindness, and good humor are even more remarkable. There ought to be awards given to such people.
With that said, if you have a chronic condition or long-term illness, claim the strength, courage, adaptability, and resilience that gets you through and makes joy possible. These are superpowers. When you fall as you will, remember that this has happened before, and you got back up. You can, again. You’re a survivor and a role model.
Lastly, if you know someone who lives with a chronic condition, notice the silent challenges and accomplishments of their everyday life; their strength, courage, adaptability, and perseverance. Be inspired by the model of their life and tell them so. Be grateful to know such people. Those who live well with a chronic illness are a gift to this generation and those to come.
As the United Kingdom began vaccinating people against the coronavirus, the U.S. diagnosed its thirteen-millionth case of the virus. Tears of joy and grief mingled. Hope and despair created a sense of whiplash in my heart. While listening to the news, I was trying to fold beaten egg whites into melted chocolate to make a flourless chocolate cake. The recalcitrant chocolate seemed as slow to incorporate egg whites as my soul was in blending hope with the sorrow that swirled in my heart.
I need hope. I need a light to shine in the darkness. I need flourless chocolate cake.
Making a flourless chocolate cake (click here for recipe) has become my metaphor for 2020. The beaten egg whites create lift when folded into the dense bittersweet chocolate. The stark white of the eggs eventually becomes so incorporated that it blends in and transforms everything into a lighter, fudgy, silky creation. I need the light of hope to do something similar with the dark and bitter times of 2020. I need the hope of a new creation on the other side.
Folding egg whites into melted chocolate, butter, and sugar
I need that hope because the whiplash and suffering continue even as vaccines become available. In the past week, Congress passed a relief bill that brought hope to hundreds of millions of people, but the President has refused to sign it. Therefore, over 14 million Americans lost their enhanced unemployment benefits this morning and more than 40 million become eligible for eviction this week. Just before I hit the publish button on this post, the President finally signed the bill. It’s good news and more whiplash.
Holding onto hope in the face of such interminable tragedy, injustice, and loss is really hard. I need my egg whites to transform the chocolate and bring forth goodness. I need a light to clear away the darkness.
The light shines in the darkness and the darkness did not overcome it. (John1:5)
Like finding hope, folding egg whites into melted chocolate is counterintuitive. If you push it too fast, you lose their transformational effect. You have to be patient and gentle. The egg whites don’t permeate the chocolate all at once (see the picture above), so you shouldn’t give up hope that you’ll succeed. It takes time. You have to persist and trust the process you’ve been told to follow. Eventually the light prevails.
“The light shines in the darkness and the darkness did not overcome it” (John:5).
That’s why, when my husband and I decided to spend Christmas by ourselves this year, I decided to make another flourless chocolate cake. I noticed again how the dark chocolate seemingly resists the egg whites as strongly and resolutely as 2020 resists glimmers of hope. Nevertheless, I persisted.
Then I prayed as I stirred. I prayed a Christmas prayer that light and hope will enter our lives and bear us up. That love will shine in the darkness and bring good from all that is happening. Patiently and gently I folded the eggs and chocolate together, making space for light to transform the heavy darkness. Little by little, the alchemy happened and something miraculous was created again.
Mary and Jesus, India
It may seem odd for a flourless chocolate cake to remind me of the Christmas message, but the Christmas message is odd, anyway, don’t you think? The Creator of the Universe loves humanity so much as to become human? To be born as a vulnerable baby to poor parents under an oppressive government? The Divine becomes incarnate in human flesh and lives among us?
If we believe that, we might as well say that God is present in the suffering of patients who gasp for breath and the medical staff who care for them, in the black and brown people killed by government and the people who work for change, in the families who wait in food lines and those who carry it to them, in all who are lonely or grieve during this pandemic and those who provide comfort.
Believing that God became human and that our lives matter to the Holy One takes a stretch of the imagination or an opening of the heart. Yet this is the meaning of Christmas. And if “the hopes and fears of all the years” are born in Bethlehem, then I suppose it is alright for me to see them in my mixing bowl, as well.
SUNRISE, FLORIDA – An aerial view shows vehicles lineup to receive food provided by the food bank Feeding South Florida and given away by the City of Sunrise. The groceries include milk, chicken, apples, tomatoes, cantaloupe, and eggs. (Photo by Joe Raedle/Getty Images)
I need Christmas and chocolate cake to help me see that God is even now folding hope and courage into our lives. God is even now helping us create something good, true, and wise from what is happening. God is helping us even now to feed the hungry, care for the sick, welcome the lonely, mend broken hearts, and create a better future. Together, we will will help God bring justice and compassion to a world torn by chaos and injustice. Good will triumph over evil and life over death.
The light shines in the darkness even now, and the darkness cannot not overcome it.
Early in the coronavirus pandemic, I put a table with colored chalk and hand sanitizer near my front sidewalk with a sign reading, “Please draw a picture or message of hope. Please use sanitizer before and after. Stay safe. Stay well.”
Almost instantly, people began drawing and writing. When rain washed away the chalk, they drew new pictures. Week by week the pattern continues: hope drawn, hope gone, hope drawn. The resilience of hope visible on my sidewalk.
When I first set out the chalk, I had no idea what would happen. Would we become the crazy people with chalk in front of their house? Would anyone draw? Would it matter? Like priming the pump at a fundraiser, I drew a smiley face to get things started, then took my dogs for a walk.
By the time I returned, there were pictures on the sidewalk. Within days, there were rainbows, flowers, stars, a car and a unicorn. There have been trucks, cats, dogs, houses, families, and smiley faces–even one wearing a mask. Today there are fireworks, pets, mountains, and flowers on my sidewalk.
I was moved by what people drew that first week. I was awed. I still am.
Some people draw, others write messages: Believe hope will come. We will get through this. Love, Peace, Hope. Be Kind. Wash your hands. Thanks for letting us draw. Together.
My sidewalk makes people smile in an otherwise grim time.
People have been leaving messages and drawing pictures ever since. Some people pause to look at the drawings and smile as they continue walking. Parents have said my sidewalk is their child’s favorite part of their daily walk. Teens have shown me which pictures they drew and messages they wrote. Adults have thanked me for giving them a place to share. The sidewalk project has helped build a sense of community that counters our isolation. When I need a lift, I walk out to my sidewalk and feel hopeful that we will make it through.
As the weeks pass and the world around us changes, so, too, have the messages changed. They began with “Stay safe; Wash your hands; Love, Joy, Hope; Hope will come.” After the killing of George Floyd, they’ve included “Black Lives Matter,” and “This Sidewalk Is a Blessing.” June arrived and “Happy Pride Month” appeared. This weekend, someone wrote “Just Mask Up or Stay Home” in beautiful colors. Always, there are messages of “Be kind; It will be OK; We’ll get through this.”
Today the sidewalk art includes green mountains beneath a blue sky and yellow sun, “Black Lives Matter, Just Mask Up or Stay Home,” a house, fireworks, a dog saying “Woof,” and flowers. When my own green shoots of hope wilt in the face of the day’s news, I stand at my sidewalk and feel hopeful.
“Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love,” says Mother Teresa. I can’t do great things to change the world, but I can do small things with love. One of those small things is to set out chalk and sanitizer and create a canvas for people to share dreams, resilience, and hope with others.
Even when it’s washed away, hope is resilient. Breathe it in: We will make it through.
