For three and a half months I felt like a balloon had swelled in my belly. Sometimes, sharp jolts would move through my colon and fold me over, my breath catching in my throat and my eyes widening in pain. It was the dead of summer in California’s Central Valley where temps often reach well over 105 degrees . . . and I couldn’t even put on a swimsuit, let alone button my jeans. 

Then finally, it had a name: Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS). 

If you’ve ever experienced a digestive disorder like IBS, then you know it knocks the breath right out of you. When I’m in a season where I’m experiencing an IBS flare (like I was for those three and a half months), it can be all I think about: the planning around meals, the invitations to lunch or dinner with friends, the sudden need to go to the bathroom, or taking triple the time to figure out what to wear because I can’t fit into anything. 

Sometimes, I hear whispers in my heart telling me how much I hate my body, and it takes the breath right out of me. . .

“What do I need to do? How do I manage this?” I desperately asked my doctor after she delivered the diagnosis.  

“You need to limit the amount of stress in your life,” she replied.  

I was at a loss. I thought I’d done everything right — I was in therapy, I’d set the appropriate relational boundaries, I started doing Pilates and breath work, I nourished my body, removed the irritating foods, watched my caffeine intake, prayed, read my Bible, and went to church.  

What else was I supposed to do? 

“That means I’ll have to quit my job.” The words fell out of my mouth before I could even think about them.  

Quit my job? But my job’s not stressful. And where else can I go? This is all I know. 

It was a fight with denial and pride to realize the effect my job was having on my body. I’m a chronic minimizer and a lifelong church kid. I learned that we’re to “crucify our flesh” and make our bodies our slaves for the sake of our cause.  

But it wasn’t true that my job wasn’t stressful. I drove home in tears, knowing in my gut that the time to leave this job was coming. After the IBS diagnosis, I heard author Annie F. Downs say on her Instagram that she’d asked God to remove everything that was “sick or secret” from her life. Surprise and a sob welled up in my throat as I listened. 

Me too, God. Please, I want everything sick and secret out of my life.  

I was done dealing with this sick body and tired of minimizing myself. I wanted the truth, and I wanted freedom. 

Mercifully, the Lord showed me the truth very quickly. I finally realized the environment I worked in was growing increasingly hostile. In time, the stress and anxiety in my gut would move to my chest, giving me chest pains every day I went to work for weeks on end. I found myself disassociating from my body just to get through the day, staring at my computer like a deer in headlights and unable to follow along in a conversation.  

But did I leave? No.  

I’ll leave as soon as I find another job, I promised myself and God.  

One month went by. Then two. Then three. Still, no job. And still, I was sick. Then, one day, in the middle of all of this, I read Psalm 147:10-11, and it came alive before me: 

“He is not impressed by the strength of a horse; he does not value the power of a warrior. The Lord values those who fear him, those who put their hope in his faithful love.”
Psalm 147:10-11 (CSB)

I sensed the Lord asking me, “Do you fear Me more than you fear leaving your job?”  

The question was so gentle, so kind. This gracious rebuke didn’t leave me feeling shamed or condemned, but resolved and confident in my God who was offering me His faithful love.  

“No,” I confessed. “I’ve feared everything else before I’ve feared You.”

It was a simple exchange of exposure, confession, and repentance. I didn’t even cry. But I sure felt fortified by it.

It wasn’t up to me to provide for myself or to fix what was going on at work. I didn’t have to muscle my way to find a job I would feel safe in, where I could heal and come alive again. There would be no ribbon or trophy for impressing God. Maybe I’d impress my parents, but not my God.  

Two days after this exchange with God, I resigned. No job lined up. At the time of this writing, I still don’t have a job. But in fearing this outrageously good and faithful God, I have found that, even if everything else fails, I still have Him.

I know relief in my body like I’ve never known — and I have a peace and hope that can only be found in God . . . the One who longs to show me His faithful love.

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