I am not the biggest, baddest dog on the block, nor do I have the most intimidating bark; it's more like a yipping screech, and embarrassingly more like that of a goat on my weak, shaky days. Never convinced until these past few years that I couldn't overcome crummy health by sheer will power, I found too much satisfaction in going beyond my natural, God-given limits. But now, this pug-nosed bulldog has run into a brick wall that my short legs cannot force me over or around. So I stop and strategize my path.
God took away my freedom, refusing to allow me to continue in my own path of destruction in order to make me understand His love in ways I never before knew. Full submission was only a phrase I claimed and preached to others. I wasn’t intentionally defiant but more like a kid seeking my father’s recognition and approval. I have always chosen a course, pursued it, and gave God praise for the good of it. After much self-inflicted pain and grief, I understand that’s not what God asks or wants from anyone.
Going through a complete shutdown of my body and mind made me depend solely on God. He was all I had, and I knew with more than head knowledge that every blessing came from Him.
I still mess up and face battles, but I have a much deeper fear and reverence for God than before losing everything. As quickly as I realize that I’ve walked away from my father’s hand, I don’t waste time or play games; I get down on my knees and get down to the life-changing business of prayer.
I’ve walked away from being an English teacher, medical office manager, administrative assistant, UPS driver, and more—all things in which God protected and even blessed me.
​Now, I am humbled and grateful to be doing exactly what He has called me to do. While I know the specifics of my call may change, I want to be right there at my father’s side to hear His still, small voice guiding me. I never again want to be so far away in myself that God needs to shut me down in order for me to hear and obey Him.

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