I can’t stand self-help books. You know the ones that advertise ‘Seven Steps to a Completely Successful Life’ and ‘Nine Ways to Be the Best Christian Ever’? Yep, not a fan.
It’s not that I think these topics are trite or unworthy of our time. Quite the opposite. These are hugely important discussions for us to have. My issue is with the formularisation of success, as though happy living or the Christian walk can be distilled down to seven or nine basic principles.
Surely we, and God, are more complex than that? Surely life is more multi-faceted, more nuanced, and more layered than a formula?
That’s certainly been my experience. When I sat down to write my latest self-help book, Surviving Chronic Illness: Grace in the Flames, I had a tiny moment of panic. OK, I had recurring tiny moments of panic. I was overwhelmed by the notion of having to provide some kind of Answer to the massive Problem of chronic illness. Especially as I didn’t have one.
But that’s life, isn’t it? It’s complicated, and slippery, and it evades those simplistic answers. Life with chronic illness has certainly been one complex and slippery ride for me. Trying to boil down my survival into seven easy steps was rather like trying to arm-wrestle a dragon who was also trying to kill me. Tricky.
When I stopped panicking about how on earth I was going to write a self-help book in which I wouldn’t actually be able to help anyone, I realised that this slipperiness parallels our faith quite well. Following God can feel like trying to find answers where, often, there are none—or they are so unfathomable, so deeply veiled by the curtains of mystery, that we can never comprehend them.
In fact, God himself can be quite slippery (if he will tolerate me describing him in such a strange and questionable way). God does not always do what we want. God doesn’t always answer our questions. In my own life, God has not healed me of disease, although at times he has brought relief to certain medical manifestations.
What God has primarily done, in the absence of healing, is sat with me in this disease. He has felt the pain and flare ups with me. He has sat through some very long nights by my side. He has listened to my questions, my self-doubt, my ranting and raving, and taken it all in his stride. When I have turned on him, furiously demanding answers or at least some respite, he has not answered—but he has stayed with me.
It might sound strange to you that I describe God as thusly infuriating. It felt quite awkward to me, the first time I did it. But inside this surprising attribute is an astonishing revelation: that God does not give answers but himself—he who is love, he who is marked by his generosity and grace, he who surrendered his only son in the greatest sacrifice of all—he gives us the greatest sign of love which is his whole self.
And so this book does not pretend there are answers to be found, because chronic illness is one of those great mysteries. Thank God we don’t need to pretend about the Answer, or about seven simple steps; and thank God that he gives us himself so freely and unguardedly, especially in the heights of our suffering.
What Surviving Chronic Illness does offer is companionship as we wade together through the murky waters of illness and ask some very difficult questions about ourselves, about God, about preserving sanity, and about what it means to follow Jesus when faith is wavering or completely absent.
Join me, won’t you?
Has your faith been impacted by chronic illness? Have you ever doubted yourself or God in the process of trying to follow him? What was that like for you—scary, confusing, liberating? Share your story. Let’s have a countercultural conversation.
To buy your copy of Surviving Chronic Illness, click here.