63 | My Intestimony

Welcome BN fans to Episode 63 Faith During Chronic Illness: A Powerful Story Found In Survival

This week is a special podcast, near and dear to my heart. I often glaze over a shift I had in my life a few years ago. I was either still receiving EMDR or coming out of it and realized I needed a hard stop in my life. I wasn’t able to juggle as many things as I used to be capable of. I got overwhelmed easier. My body was processing all the emotions I never processed in the midst of my battle to survive the fight of my life when I was septic and hospitalized for a total of 7 weeks one summer with more surgeries and hospitalizations over the next year. All the while the in between times were just focused on recovery, resting, pasting a smile on my face when my young boys were home and trying to return to being Penny again. There’s a song by Danny Gokey that nails the feelings I had at the time that I couldn’t articulate very well:

You're shattered like you've never been before

The life you knew in a thousand pieces on the floor. { At that time, although I was out of the hospital, I was not well and I had no idea I would be normal again or for that matter “OK”. I was still at risk and being watched for the sepsis to return while trying to pretend I was OK and be a good mom to 3 little boys who needed a healthy mom and a wife to a husband who had to hold our family together while working full time while I was in the hospital for so long. He was recovering and surviving in his own way. Our worlds had been rocked}

The lyrics go on:

And words fall short in times like these

When this world drives you to your knees

You think you're never gonna get back

To the you that used to be. {I couldn’t push a vacuum and considered it a win when someone would put a basket of laundry on the couch beside me and I could fold one basket. We had fabulous land I wanted to landscape and work in the yard with my husband, yet he had to put a chair outside so I could watch and tell him what to do, but I was too weak to do anything but watch….Im a doer. Not a sitter. It was so hard!}

Tell your heart to beat again

Close your eyes and breathe it in

Let the shadows fall away

Step into the light of grace

Yesterday's a closing door

You don't live there anymore

Say goodbye to where you've been

And tell your heart to beat again

I chose to take that time of mandatory couch time to appreciate the stillness. To work first to walk to and from the front door and back. Then down the sidewalk, then down our long driveway. I had goals. They may have seemed small to most, but they were big to me. I was determined to be a good mom, wife, daughter, friend, sister….all the roles I played before my world shattered. In the midst of this I was managing a temporary ostomy that no one taught me how to manage. As my amazing extended family returned home more, I had so much fear in being alone. I didn’t want my kids to deal with the gross piece of my learning the tricks of ostomy care when the tricks failed. The learning curve was steep.

Returning to that shift in my life when my body was physically healed and we were living in a new city, but I was coming out of having EMDR, my brain was still a little taxed. I decided in order to return to the mentally healthy Penny I had to cancel pretty much all my activities and focus on building my time around my family, processing my mental recovery and learn to say “NO” without guilt. After a year of saying No and slowing down, one day I felt like I was ready, but ready for a new way of managing my time. I would only say “Yes” to the things that were a good trade of my time for life purpose and goals. I even publicly said this on a Facebook live. It was an odd declaration, but one that is public. Within a week, I had someone reach out to me about writing a chapter in a devotional book. I thought it a bit funny, definitely unusual, but I had just declared I would say “yes” to the things, even if they were hard, as long as they were serving what I had determined over the course of many years was my life’s purpose. IN that meeting about the book, where “Yes” was a no brainer as God had completely brought this to me, they said I HAD to have or do a list of things. As she went down the list of marketing commitments, writing goals and deadlines, she said and you must have a podcast to launch a book. I didn’t argue, but in my head, I had a big “NO WAY” to that one little checkbox. I am not starting a podcast. One thing lead to another and another story for another day, here I am. Doing the “hard” because saying “Yes” to the hard was my publicly stated goal. And this podcast has been behind my wildest dreams in fulfillment, challenge, expectations, goals. I love it. Every day. I love every moment of it. To tie a bow on those song lyrics, I know I am providing my own therapy. The final verse says: Let every heartbreak, and every scar

Be a picture that reminds you

Who has carried you this far

'Cause love sees farther than you ever could

In this moment, heaven's working

Everything for your good.

So, phew. We could end there, but today’s podcast is JUST beginning! With that backstory, and last weeks podcast on finding your purpose before setting your GOALS, I thought I would take an excerpt from that chapter I wrote and share a little more of the emotion behind my story. We had a word limit and if you know me, I have lots of words in my head, so its a zipped up version, but straight from my journals and prayers over the years and certainly from my heart.

I show up here on Becoming Natural most weeks with something practical—a natural tool, a remedy, something that’s helped me. And I love sharing those things. But I never want you to think I’m speaking from a place of having it all figured out… or from a life that’s been easy.

I come with experience. And a lot of humility.

Because I’ve been in the deepest trenches. The kind you don’t forget. The kind that change you forever. And even though it may not look like it now—because God has done a lot of restoring—I HAVE walked a very long, very painful road.

I know what it’s like to pray for years. To believe God can move… and still not understand why He hasn’t yet. I know what it’s like to wrestle with faith when the suffering doesn’t make sense.

And I don’t ever want anyone listening to give up. Not on prayer. Not on faith. And definitely not on the incredible power God has to write a story that’s bigger than what you see right now.

Every one of us has a story. And some of the most powerful ones are written in the waiting… in the years… in the moments when faith is all you have left.

Because if faith only exists when things are easy—what does faith really mean?

This excerpt comes from a book I contributed to More Than Enough: The Silent Struggle of a Woman’s Identity. It was written from inside that hard place. Not with answers. But with trust.

This is My Intestine-mony.

By: Penelope Sampler “But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” ~2 Corinthians 12:9–10 (NIV) When I was twenty-five years old, I was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease. It has been a long journey, but not a journey without hope. If I had known then what I know now, I would have avoided an incredible amount of pain and heartache for my family and me. I would have prevented thirteen painful abdominal surgeries. I wouldn’t have missed weeks of work. I wouldn’t have had to move back home twice to be nursed back to health. I wouldn’t have spent nights sleeping on my bathroom floor or tucking my children in and then driving myself to the emergency room. I wouldn’t have missed my boys’ school programs because of tests and procedures or had my sweet children find me motionless in pain on the floor. My husband wouldn’t have missed days of work, and I wouldn’t have missed days of my life fighting through debilitating pain. I wouldn’t have taken an enormous amount of medication or worried for the life and health of my third child as he grew inside of me. My husband, parents, and children wouldn’t have had to worry … if I knew then what I know now. However … If I knew then what I know now, I wouldn’t have suffered nearly as much, but I also wouldn’t have clung to my hope and faith in God. I wouldn’t have found myself praying so desperately to be healed, and I wouldn’t find myself here, writing about hope for those who suffer from Crohn’s or any debilitating disease. Where would the miracle be in my story if I knew then what I know now? Roughly thirty-three years after my first stomach pain, I stand in awe of how the Lord wove together every aspect of my life into a masterfully planned and miraculous story of healing from a chronic and debilitating disease. He used every piece of my life to write His story through me. He opened my heart years ago to desire a true life purpose and to yearn for a personal testimony that would allow me to be used for His purposes. He molded my spirit into one that fiercely desired to deepen my faith and knowledge of Christ. He ultimately taught me to surrender everything I had left in the darkest of hours to trust in His plan completely. “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 NIV) The Spiritual Trifecta By the time I was twenty-five, I had recovered from two emergency abdominal surgeries. Shortly after the second surgery, I met my husband. A year and a half later, we were married and were ultimately blessed with three healthy boys. But the Lord was just getting started with us. I was involved in a great Bible study that challenged me to find my purpose, but the thought of my life’s purpose had never crossed my mind. I had three little boys, and I was struggling to make it one day at a time just being a mom and living with a painful illness. My husband and I also joined a brand-new Sunday school class. Our class spent the first weeks sharing our testimonies with each other, which only fed my insecurities. I didn’t have a testimony. I didn’t even know when I became a Christian. I grew up in a strong Christian family and had always lived with a firm faith. My story was relatively dull, as was my testimony. The third piece of this trifecta occurred when our minister challenged us to pray for trials in our lives. Struggles typically bring you to prayer and growth in your faith. We had no idea what was beyond those prayers, but our world was about to be rocked. We knew at the outset that we were praying to deepen our faith and trust in the Lord. We wanted to lean into His strength and not our own. “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” (James 1:2–4 NIV) Over the next several years, we added many tools to our faith arsenal. My health was already in a sharp decline, and my husband ultimately left his job, his entire career, to work closer to home and be available to our family. Every change he made confirmed that the Lord was guiding his steps. God was putting him in a place that could support him when he needed it the most. The Lord was moving before us with a hedge of protection, yet we couldn’t see what was coming. My doctor’s visits became more serious. Conversations were heavier, and my overall status was becoming more concerning. My stays in the hospital increased in frequency, and more difficult decisions arose with blood transfusions, new medications, painful procedures, and visits to multiple specialists. My determination to be normal was beginning to show cracks, as I could no longer hide my pain or show up consistently as a healthy mom. “But those who suffer he delivers in their suffering; he speaks to them in their affliction.” (Job 36:15 NIV) Prayers Were Being Answered I was accepted to the Mayo Clinic, and we knew this was the answer to all my problems. After having some discouraging discussions, I received a single positive report. I looked the very stoic doctor in the eye and said, “That is great news, isn’t it?” He stared at me blankly, and I repeated myself. He half-smiled and said, “You have lots of room for improvement, but yes, I guess that’s an improvement.” He went on to tell me he believed that if I were on the Oregon Trail, I would have made it to Oregon without a doubt. He said to me that most people in my condition rolled into his office in a wheelchair, looking awful. He said I was a very sick girl, yet I looked nothing like the others. One of my previous doctors told me he put me in the “NCS” category—the “Non-Complaining Souls.” I never wanted to be a martyr or praised for being tough. I did have pain, a lot of it, but I also didn’t want my disease to define me. If I complained every time I had pain, no one would want to be around me. I was in chronic pain. And at that point, my prayer posse had prayed for fifteen years for my healing. On days I was down, I thought, “Why can’t I be that miracle? God can heal me, so why isn’t He? Why do I have to go through this?” I remember asking my mom, “When will I get the chance to be healed?” I knew people were praying for me, and God could heal me if He wanted to. So why weren’t my prayers being answered? As my case worsened, I was referred to the University of Texas Medical Center in Houston, and the parade of residents began, each nonchalantly asking me what was wrong. When I detailed my surgical history and the extent of the pain I was in, one resident responded, “But you look so put together.” I had already been through so much that week and didn’t feel like proving my misery. As soon as she read my chart, she grimaced and told me what a sick girl I was. I already knew. By the frequent shocked looks and the doctors’ desire to share my case with the medical students every time I landed in the hospital, I knew I looked better than I should. I was so grateful for that and knew there was only one reason—I was covered in prayer by legions of amazing friends. “Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.” (Romans 12:12 NIV) I returned to my own doctor for an endoscopy. After I was prepped, he said to his nurse, “This one, she’s a fighter!” While I appreciated his sentiments, I got lost in thought and wished I didn’t have to be a fighter. I had visions of the Mayo doctor telling me I should be in a wheelchair and wondered what it looked like to stop fighting, to just climb in that wheelchair and simply give up. And for that brief moment, I exhaled with the relief that came with those thoughts … but only for that moment, thankfully snapping back into the reality of my wonderful life with my amazing family. Who wouldn't fight for this? It was hard to keep it all together at times, but wasn’t that the lesson I was there to learn, to trust in the Lord and lean not on my own understanding, to acknowledge Him in all my ways? He was taking care of me. After years of standing before doctors as they looked at me in disbelief at the severity of my illness, it finally started to sink in that I really was a sick girl. As I became more coherent following that endoscopy, I heard them say that my procedure was aborted—my stomach wasn’t emptying. I started to cry. My kindhearted doctor knelt beside me and said he didn’t know what to do next. For the first time in my life, I understood the glorious promises of my body being renewed in heaven. I dreamed of my earthly body being made perfect and without pain. I felt very intimately the deepest desire to be pain-free and to be whole again. “Our bodies are buried in brokenness, but they will be raised in glory. They are buried in weakness, but they will be raised in strength.” (1 Corinthians 15:43 NLT) Discouragement filled my very being—discouragement for the years and years of prayer and faith that I could be healed while now facing the possibility that God would not heal my earthly body. But … I was beginning to see that God was answering my prayers. While I wasn’t healing physically, I wasn’t missing out on being a mom, wife, and friend. It was a miracle I was not in that wheelchair. It was a miracle that I had three beautiful boys amid fifteen years of a tough illness. It was a miracle that no one could tell by looking at me that I was sick. My prayers were already being answered. God was healing me, but it was definitely not how I expected it to happen. There was no “you’re healed” moment. However, the Lord was allowing my broken body to do things I shouldn’t have been capable of doing. I was getting to live a full life despite the severity of a typically unforgiving illness. I was completely unaware of how those prayers were being answered in those years, but the fullness of my life was the answer. Those prayers were sustaining me. But … if I hadn’t struggled for so long, there would be no story to tell. I didn’t know it yet, but I was the lead actress in the middle of an incredible storyline, with the most unexpected ending remaining to be seen. The world was hearing the narrative. Friends, family, and strangers alike were praying so hard for me and experiencing the lows alongside me. Not only was the Lord teaching my family and me about faith and perseverance in prayer, but He was also teaching my prayer warriors, those who had been faithful in praying for me over not weeks or months but years. My blog in December of 2014 revealed my renewed battle cry for my family and me: “I fight for my kids, and I fight for my family. I fight because I know God has bigger plans for me through my disease. I don’t know what they are. I don’t know when or how this story ends. But I know that somehow, God is working His purposes through me. I have never been weaker, but also know I have never been stronger.” I was never angry with God, as our pastor once inquired. I just wanted to be sure that the glory would be given to the Lord during this awful time. I didn’t want to wallow in self-pity or lose sight of the ultimate purpose for which I was searching. I knew that I was sustained daily by His strength alone. We knew that God was working through us, and nothing was more exhilarating to me than to know that God knew me and was using me to do something for His kingdom. I still begged for healing. I still cried out, asking, “When is this over?” But, ultimately, God was in control. My husband and I had discussed the “what ifs.” But all those fears were not ours to bear. “For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control.” (2 Timothy 1:7 ESV) I woke up on a Sunday morning in miserable pain. It was my husband’s Sunday to work, so I used every bit of energy I could muster to get myself and the boys to church. I wanted so desperately to be worshiping in the sanctuary. Praise and worship music was a window to my soul. It filled every part of my body with unspeakable joy. I walked into that sanctuary nauseous and in pain, with three boys in tow. I was unsure if I would have to run to the restroom, so I prepared my oldest son to watch the other two if I did. As we stood for the first song, I started to cry. My sweet oldest said, “Does it hurt that bad, Mommy?” which made me cry more. I looked at him and smiled. “No, honey. I am crying because it doesn’t hurt at all.” When we left, I called my husband to tell him I was without pain the entire time I was in that sanctuary. I had a spiritual experience that I had never had before. In that place, I felt like I was standing in the presence of God. The Holy Spirit was there, and I was surrounded. I was so emotional and so relieved to have even a moment without pain. As we walked to the car, my pain slowly crept back over my body, but it could not diminish my amazement at the temporary healing I had experienced by simply standing in worship—I wanted to stay there forever. I had been fighting this battle for half my life, and I hated many things about it. I hated that people worried about me and the pain it caused my family. I hated not being able to eat at any given time and missing out on entire days when I couldn’t function. I felt Satan’s pull. But I knew that he wouldn’t win. I was stubborn, and I refused to be taken down. “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” (Philippians 4:13 NKJV) My blog in April of 2015 revealed the continued severity of my condition and the tenacity of those who fought by my side: “Today, the doctor, for whom the University of Texas Medical GI Center is named, told my husband, ‘She is a strong woman! Most patients in her condition are completely debilitated. She has a strong will.’ Then he looked so compassionately at me, calling me his girlfriend. ‘This is complicated,’ he said. ‘You are complicated. But don’t you worry because we “do” complicated here. We can fix complicated. It is just going to take time.’” I didn’t feel strong at all. In fact, I felt pretty broken. I was not tough. And every day, my optimism and fight were diminishing. There was no way I had the power or the strength to endure the pain for much longer. And certainly not alone. I was surviving completely on the faith that I could be healed and the prayers that were sustaining me. “Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.” (2 Corinthians 4:16 NIV) Soon after, I became severely septic following surgery to remove the majority of my stomach. I spent seven more weeks in the hospital with eight more excruciating surgeries. My frame was now fragile, having lost over forty pounds in only two months. But God showed up in ways that brought us to our knees. The text chains full of desperate pleas for prayer and healing for my failing body during some very dark days slowly shifted to one praise at a time. Discouraging reports from all of my doctors began to show incremental signs of improvement. Step by step, we gathered our miracles in our arms and held on tight as we watched and waited with expectancy for more. Total recovery from that final stage of healing and the restoration of my physical strength took about two years of patience, dedication, and hard work. Healed It has now been six years since my recovery from having the majority of my stomach removed and the sepsis that followed. My Crohn’s is classified as “inactive,” but I know I am healed. Few get to claim healing from such a brutal and painful disease. I know how blessed I am to be living the second half of my life without pain. God heard the thousands of prayers of the faithful who prayed on my behalf for many years. He created the most incredible testimony, one I never thought I would have, and when we prayed for challenges, He certainly delivered. I fought for twenty-one years, always believing I could be healed, knowing God could heal me, and expecting God to heal me. Had I not endured for all those years, I wouldn’t be who I am today. My illness never defined me. But the physical and emotional scars it left behind, in addition to the strengthening of my faith and relationships and the miracles we witnessed, created who I am today. My story is now the platform for which my life’s purpose was divinely created. I unashamedly share the healing mercies I received and the incredible miracle of prayer over twenty difficult years. My minister encouraged me to tell my story to all those who fervently prayed for me for so many years so that they, too, would know their prayers were heard. And I am thankful that my story stands as a witness to them for their faithfulness. I share God’s power that I know was revealed through my weakness when I had no fight left inside of me. I knew I had absolutely nothing left to give. Yet, I was consistently told of my strength. I was no hero, and I was far from strong; I was weak both physically and emotionally, and I was almost completely defeated outside of this spiritual strength that empowered me. The strength people witnessed was my God because His power was made perfect in my weakness. His power that rested on me sustained me. His power alone healed me. Praise the Lord! “But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” (2 Corinthians 12:9–10 NIV)

As I close today, I want to say this carefully—because it matters.

Healing doesn’t always look the way we want it to. Sometimes God brings healing here on earth. And sometimes the healing we’re promised is eternal. What faith asks of us isn’t control over the outcome, but surrender to the One who already knows the whole story. I came to the end of my strength and finally released control, trusting that even if God’s plan did not include healing my body in this life, I would still entrust my life and my story completely to Him.

Scripture tells us that our faith is refined by fire—not so we get everything we ask for, but so our trust in God grows deeper and more genuine. That refining shapes us in both the struggle and the wins.

For a long time, I thought God was working only in my body. But I see now He was working in hearts—mine, and the hearts of everyone who prayed for me and walked this long road beside me. This testimony didn’t just strengthen my faith. It strengthened theirs too. I’m not sharing this from a place of having it all figured out. I’m sharing it from a place of having lived it. From the hard days, the long prayers, and learning to trust God when I didn’t have answers. It comes from survival. From years of prayer. And from learning to release control and trust God’s will, even when I didn’t understand it.

So if you’re still waiting, still praying, still surrendering—please don’t give up. God is not absent in your waiting. He is with you in it, shaping what you cannot yet see, and holding every part of your story with faithfulness. God hasn’t stepped away from your story. He’s right there in the middle of it—faithful to finish what He began.

If my story resonated with you, I invite you to read more stories from women who have wrestled with their identity and found they are more than their struggles. More Than Enough: brings those voices together, including my chapter, “MY Intestine-mony”…a chapter 25 years in the making. They make great gifts for any woman in your life that needs some encouraging words.
You can grab an autographed copy at becomingnatural.com/books.