I don’t usually ask for jewelry. My mother-in-law seems to know exactly what necklaces to buy me, and my mom lends me jewelry indefinitely forever, so I have a cute little collection going. But it’s not something I want to spend a lot of money on.
But this Christmas, I asked my husband for a bracelet. It’s beautiful- a perfect dose of classy with a hint of sparkle to pop. (Fun fact: I do not shave my arms.)
But I don’t want this bracelet that I asked for. Not really. I should have bought a bracelet like this years ago- 7 years ago, to be exact. But like I said…it’s not a bracelet I wanted.
The truth is, it’s really just a glorified medical ID tag.
And underneath all the pretty- the class and sparkle- is an inscription that labels me: “Carrye…type-1 diabetic”. No, I never wanted the bracelet, because I never wanted the disease. And if there are stages of acceptance, of grief over something, I’m not there yet. I don’t like feeling
afraid of exercise.
isolated as a medical minority.
like a financial liability.
left with no cure.
There are so many worse diseases, so many worse problems, and trust me I’m grateful for every last medical achievement that makes my life so that you wouldn’t know to look at me that my life is anything but normal. In many ways, my life is thriving and so absolutely beautiful.
But I have this bracelet, see. And without a miracle or a cure it’s one I’ll wear for life.
And yet…I can let this disease own me or maybe I can own my disease. Maybe in wearing my disease out loud, I can choose to see the power in even this broken part of me. This isn’t who I am, but it is shaping who I am…and as a good friend told me once, God is using this disease to strip me of even the fear that seems like a side-effect of diabetes.
Maybe there’s something being forged stronger in us through our trials than we’d ever know without them.
The storm demands my God be bigger.
I’m letting go of my pretend control.
I’m fighting to know His peace verses the world’s.
I’m weighing the fleetingness of my life.
I’m slowly feeling bolder, braver. Baby steps.
I’m being pushed into a journey to test and know if Jesus really is enough.
So maybe this is Hope.
And wouldn’t you know. That came with the bracelet too. It’s not what I wanted to wear. But maybe it’s producing in me what I wanted to be all along.
P.S. I’m thankful to my cousin for sharing this medical I.D. bracelet site with me. If you have a chronic condition, check out the beautiful designs at Lauren’s Hope. If you have to wear something every day, it may as well be something you like.