#MaybeItsOkay - My story ...

It was April 27th, 2018. I was given tickets for my family to go see "We Are Messengers" with backstage passes to meet them and the guys from Tenth Avenue North. I was so thrilled. Not for me. I was thrilled for my kids, specifically, my son, who had just turned six and hero-worships worship leaders and musicians.

Something strange happened that night during the meet and greet. After pictures, we were all preparing to usher through the line asap so we didn't hold up the meet and greet. I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Darren. From We Are Messengers. He told me he wanted to pray for me.

I'm a quiet, country, Baptist girl. The whole "led by the Spirit" thing is typically done internally without a lot of outward action. Still, I'd no intention to refuse prayer. So Darren prayed for me. His hand on my shoulder. The STRANGEST PRAYER ever.

"I pray you will restore her joy"

My joy? I went to the concert and walked away fulfilled but also confused. Joy? I didn't lack joy. I wasn't fighting depression or anxiety. Life was beautiful.

A month later the downward spiral began. The muscle spasms. The exhaustion. The neurological issues that affected my ability to process even the tiniest of a daily activity. The severe anxiety. Throughout the summer, a week long fight of incoherence where I even forgot I had children and didn't know who they were. Tests, MRI's, CAT scans, inflammation of the brain . . . and finally the obtuse diagnosis: chronic Lyme disease.

Joy had seeped far from me.

During this entire summer, I was feverishly writing the most difficult book I'd ever written. "By chance", the topic I'd picked, when I was feeling "okay"was that of anxiety, depression, mental illness, The Curse of Misty Wayfair was born. It was a darker story than I'd ever written, and I wondered if my readers would even receive it.

Finding joy in a curse is next to impossible, and those stories don't have happy endings.

Lyme disease has stolen much from me. Many days, it robs me of joy. Of peace. In their place it leaves regret, guilt, fear, anger, and even denial. I would fight this. I would fight, fight, fight, because I am a fighter. I always have been. From the moment I was born and given away for adoption. I fought by myself for myself.

"I pray you will restore her joy"

One of the memories I have of last summer are those words. That unexplained prayer for something I thought didn't need restored.

To be honest, I don't recall writing a lot of Misty Wayfair. I remember the story vividly. The emotions. The scenes in my mind are as vivid as memories. But when I wrote it, where I sat, I don't recall. It just came. A story. A story of the strong being broken. Of healing that doesn't come. Of searching for a purpose when Purpose was already written on my life. When my identity was already defined by my Creator, not by my emotions, or my circumstances, or my family, or my health, or my performance as a mom, a wife, a career woman, and even as a writer.

As I worked my way out of the darkness, Spotify blipped a notification on my screen. New release by We Are Messengers.

"Maybe it's okay if I'm not okay. Cause the One who holds the world is holding on to me. Maybe it's all right, if I'm not all right. Cause the One who holds the stars is holding my whole life."

I felt like six months later, God was speaking through His same instrument to tell me to STOP FIGHTING.

Maybe it's okay, that I have Lyme.
Maybe it's okay, if I under-perform according to the measure of success around me.
Maybe it's okay, if I just lift my eyes up in desperation and tell God that I am afraid. That I don't have joy. That I feel like a failure. That I'm scared of the future. That I'm horrified I'll let people down. That I don't like being restricted. That I didn't ask for this. That I can't shake the melancholy.

And my Creator whispers: "Maybe it's okay ... "

Isaiah 41:10 “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”