Discovering the closeness of God in the least likely place. by Leslie Williams
The morning sun streamed through my bedroom window, but I couldn’t appreciate its warmth. Instead, I lay motionless, afraid to trigger another wave of debilitating pain that had become my constant companion.
At thirty-two, I should have been in the prime of my life. Instead, I found myself trapped in a body that seemed to have turned against me, wrestling not just with physical agony but with questions that shook the very foundation of my faith.
Diagnosis
Three years earlier, I had been diagnosed with fibromyalgia and chronic fatigue syndrome. The conditions had crept up slowly at first — a persistent ache here, unusual fatigue there.
But like a tide gradually rising, the symptoms eventually overwhelmed every aspect of my life. As a former athletic trainer who had always prided myself on helping others heal, the irony wasn’t lost on me. Now I could barely help myself.
Questions
“Why, Lord?” became my daily cry. “Why won’t You heal me?”
I had grown up in the church, had always been the “strong” one that others leaned on. But now, my prayers seemed to bounce off the ceiling, returning void and hollow. The scripture I had known since childhood — “And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose” (Romans 8:28) — felt more like an accusation than a comfort.
Added pain
My husband, Mark, did his best to support me, but I could see the helplessness in his eyes as he watched me struggle. Our young children, ages seven and five, couldn’t understand why Mommy couldn’t play with them as she used to.
The guilt of not being the wife and mother I wanted to be added another layer to my physical pain.
Honest admission
One particularly dark morning, after another sleepless night, I found myself facing what I later recognized as my spiritual crisis point. The pain was intense, radiating through every muscle and joint, making even breathing feel like a conscious effort.
In my despair, I whispered words I had never dared speak before: “God, I’m not sure I believe in Your goodness anymore.”
The admission shocked me, but it was honest. I had reached the end of my own strength, my own understanding, and my own ability to maintain a façade of unwavering faith.
Different journey
In that moment of raw vulnerability, something unexpected happened. Instead of feeling condemned for my doubt, I felt a profound sense of relief. It was as if God were saying, “Finally, you’re being real with Me.”
That morning marked the beginning of a different kind of journey — not one of physical healing, as I had hoped, but of spiritual transformation. I began to see that my relationship with God had been built largely on my performance, my strength, and my ability to have the “right” answers. Now, stripped of all that, I was learning what it truly meant to depend on His grace.
Sufficient grace
The words of Paul took on new meaning: “‘My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me” (2 Corinthians 12:9).
I had always read this verse through the lens of temporary trials, but now I was learning to apply it to chronic suffering.
Hidden gifts
Gradually, I began to discover small gifts hidden within my pain. Unable to maintain my usual busy schedule, I found myself with quiet hours to really study Scripture, not just read it quickly for daily devotions. During sleepless nights, instead of fighting the insomnia, I learned to use that time for prayer — not just for myself but for others who were suffering.
I discovered an online support group for chronic pain sufferers, and to my surprise, God opened doors for ministry there. My own struggle gave me a unique ability to understand and encourage others who were wrestling with similar questions. “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort those who are in any trouble, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God” (2 Corinthians 1:3, 4).
Shifted perspective
One day, while mentoring a newly diagnosed woman from my support group, I realized something profound. My questions hadn’t all been answered, and my pain hadn’t disappeared, but my perspective had shifted dramatically. Instead of seeing my condition as something that prevented me from serving God, I recognized it as the very tool He was using to shape me and reach others.
The journey wasn’t linear. There were still days when the pain felt overwhelming, when doubts crept in like unwelcome shadows. But I was learning to anchor myself in God’s character rather than in my circumstances. The psalmist’s words became my daily meditation: “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me” (Psalm 23:4).
Family transformations
My relationship with my family transformed as well. While I couldn’t be the active, doing-everything mom I’d once been, I learned to be present in different ways. My children and I had deeper conversations as they helped me with simple tasks. They learned compassion and empathy at a young age, and our bonds grew stronger through vulnerability rather than capability.
Mark and I discovered a new dimension to our marriage vows. “In sickness and in health” became living reality rather than just ceremonial words. Our love deepened as we learned to navigate this challenge together, finding strength in our shared faith and commitment.
Spiritual transformation
Five years have passed since that morning of crisis, and I still live with chronic pain. But the story God is writing through my life isn’t about physical healing; it’s about spiritual transformation. I’ve learned that sometimes God’s greatest work in us happens not through the removal of our struggles, but through His presence within them.
The apostle Peter wrote, “But may the God of all grace, who called us to His eternal glory by Christ Jesus, after you have suffered a while, perfect, establish, strengthen, and settle you” (1 Peter 5:10). I’ve experienced the truth of these words firsthand. My pain has become a teacher, teaching me patience, empathy, and, most importantly, absolute dependence on God.
Deeper healing
Today, I lead an online ministry for chronically ill believers, something I never could have imagined during those early days of struggle. When new members join, often angry and confused about their suffering, I can share from both my scars and my healing — not physical healing but the deeper healing of the soul that comes from encountering God in the valley.
I’ve learned that strength isn’t about the absence of weakness but about where we place our trust when we’re at our weakest. As Paul wrote, “For when I am weak, then I am strong” (2 Corinthians 12:10). This paradox has become the testimony of my life – not despite my chronic pain but because of it.
Faithful God
My struggle continues, but so does God’s faithfulness. Each morning, as I face another day of unknown challenges, I remember the words of Lamentations 3:22, 23: “Through the Lord’s mercies we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness.”
And in this truth, I find the strength to not just endure but to live with purpose, showing others that God’s grace is truly sufficient, even in our deepest valleys.
Scripture quotations are taken from the New King James Version.
Leslie Williams writes on faith, community, and personal growth. Her work has been featured in various publications, and she is known for her thoughtful and inspiring contributions. Leslie’s faith deeply influences her writing, and she is committed to sharing stories that inspire and uplift. She lives in the UK.