For the first 16 years of marriage, Wayne and I knew nothing but this: my epilepsy was part of our norm.  We had a jump start learning the “worse” side of “for better or worse”. I felt like I was walking on a minefield- how many seizures might blow up on my face this week?

The trepidation is hard to describe. I only knew that inside my brain, the clock was ticking. And if it had been a few days, get ready, because seizures were inevitable. I lived in a fearful anticipation, wondering when it might happen or how bad the next episode might be.

Counselors tell us not to hold things in, not to deny our emotions or heartache. While I would share my distress with a counselor, for the most part I kept it hidden. I was afraid of judgement, of negative response and I was just plain embarrassed. Even now, I shiver when I read journal entries of my darkest seizure days.
I talked to God a lot about this distress.  And one day Paul’s words to the Roman believers hit me like a bomb: “We have also obtained access through Him by faith into this grace in which we stand….not only that, but we also rejoice in our afflictions, because we know that affliction produces endurance, endurance produces proven character, and proven character produces hope.” -Romans 5:2-4

It’s a passage I could read a bit too quickly before my epilepsy came along. Such a lovely idea! Thank you, Paul, I couldn’t agree more.
But to follow Paul’s attitude and example is so out of our natural ability. You don’t realize this until you’re dealing with a true “affliction” with no foreseeable solution.
When will this end? I wondered and cried out to God repeatedly. Over time, I developed a tempered yearning for healing. I discovered life’s joys to be all the brighter when they shone through my stormy days.  And that discovery buoyed me, sustained me with just enough strength for each day’s need.