Flashback to the day after I delivered a precious baby girl and fear rushed through me as I was diagnosed with a Pulmonary Embolism (aka a blood clot in my lungs). Flashbacks running through my head about the moments I was short of breath. Flashback to the moments of tears when I didn’t see Josie for a day and a half and my emotions made me feel like I had lost her in birth.
I have something called Prothrombin Genetic Mutation diagnosed from a Pulmonary Embolism related to labor and delivery with our first daughter, Josie. Prothrombin Genetic Mutation is basically a gene mutation that makes me more likely than the average person to develop a blood clot. Being pregnant this time around, I am on a blood thinner to hopefully prevent any type of clotting. Last night I went to OB Triage because I was having pain in my leg and started to fear I may have developed a clot. Praise Jesus there was no clot!
But this all leads me to something I wrote back then after being diagnosed with Prothrombin Genetic Mutation and I wanted to share it.
// From the archives of 2019 @ 26 years old //
When the earth shows it’s brokenness to you, you can no longer run from it because it’s all around you, turn your head because it’s smacking you in the face, or cover your eyes because you’ve already seen too much. When the brokenness of the earth overtakes your ability to see past it, you are left with two choices: either be forced to see from a new perspective or surrender to the lies of our broken situations.
My time to choose between a new perspective or surrender to the lies is now.
You see, on the day to day I’ve strived for perfection in body, marriage, job, success, wealth. When your diagnosed with a genetic mutation that has no cure, what then? The perfection you once strived for is no longer attainable. You come face to the face with the fact that you are broken, imperfect. No matter how much you work out to attain your body goals, or use the best products to maintain your youth, no matter how healthy you eat… you’re still broken and are forced to remember that the world is too.
This is not heaven. This is not paradise, yet we often strive for the peace that comes with perfect. And when that perfect is broken… when that broken is something that we can’t fix… then and only then can we see the truth.
The diagnosis reminds me of something though. It reminds me that no matter how hard I work to try to be perfect even in my walk with Christ (the striving of perfection in youth and beauty aside) I’m reminded of the verse that says even our best works are like filthy rags in comparison to him; I’m reminded that no matter what length I go to, no matter the depth of goodness in my motivation, no matter the time I put into serving… filthy. rags. And that’s all they are. That’s all they will ever be.
Which sounds hopeless, just like my diagnosis. Unfixable. Broken. And imperfect.
Insert grace. Insert Jesus. Insert life after death.
All the songs speaking of “he’s in the waiting” or reminding me that this is “just a season” don’t sound all so true anymore because I now have to push past this lifetime. No matter how long I wait, or what season I face, this is an incurable genetic mutation that will follow me wherever I go. My constant reminder has always been to tell myself that “this isn’t the end, it won’t always be like this.” But those words that used to be my comfort can no longer grant me the comfort they once did because it will always be like this, this isn’t just a season. Truth be told at any moment I could get another blood clot and though slim odds it still rings true. So I have a choice, I can either choose to live in the fear of my brokenness, or I can choose to actually place my trust in Jesus and his promise of the life that is to come after death. On this side of heaven, I will always be imperfect and unfixable, but I choose to know that God is in control of all that happens. My future pregnancies, my mutation, and ultimately my life.
Overall, I insert the undeserved kindness we call the grace of God. The one who takes my “good works” that still look like filthy rags and makes them into something beautiful. The one who redeems. The one who will give me a new body after this life.
He is the ultimate perfection, and covered by his grace I. AM. MADE. PERFECT. TOO. 👏🏼👏🏼
I look back on what I wrote and see just how far God has brought me through this diagnosis. He has saved me from fear that could otherwise consume me. I didn’t know what this pregnancy would look like, would I be anxious through it all? Could I make it through another one? Here I am standing firm on God’s truth to get me through and thankful for the chance to be reminded of his truth, his faithfulness and his goodness. I love that life has moments of hardship for it’s in those moments I feel his presence all the more near.
