This is one of those posts that I may regret sharing online. However, I’m pretty certain that the worldwide web is not as daunting of an audience as a school assembly would be for this. If you’re hoping for a handy history lesson, document wizardry, or implementation with a nifty tech tool, just close the window and have a pleasant day…no harm done.

As a wife, mom, and teacher, my degree of success is constantly defined by what I perceive the recipients of my daily tasks experiencing. Their happiness and ability to conquer what they face measures my ability to support and prepare them (and, for my husband and our sons, that includes making sure their clothes are clean). In these roles, I find that it’s easy to get caught up in what is probably a variation of narcissism, but is unselfish at its roots.

For a variety of reasons, including the anticipation of Christmas, I’ve been contemplative lately. It has been self-analytic, not for the gains of my husband, sons, or students; however, it strikes me that it is the cornerstone in my ability to serve them.

In college, I was a resident adviser, competed in sports, and spent a couple months student-teaching. Each of these experiences was pivotal in shaping me. Occasionally, I also attended a Bible study with one of my teammates in which a lady guided us through the book of Psalms. One night she had selected Psalm 16 and told me that it had me in mind. I like words, and if she had told me that a song on the radio made her think of me, I would have thought that was cool. The core verse she referenced was Psalm 16: 6 “The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places…” Oh, that. Yeah, even though she didn’t live in the athletic world, it was pretty obvious that I was overmatched where I was trying to compete. When you are almost 20 years old and have a “runt-of-the-litter” body, intercollegiate athletics display your shortcomings. At the time, I believed that those were the boundary lines, or limitations, that God had given me.

Let’s hit fast-forward to two years ago. The 18 years in-between had not been rife with misery nor perfect, but I found that my limitations had hit a new level. In November, I began feeling stiffness in my fingers and attributed it to keyboard and cell phone use knowing that my job and personal life were incorporating those tools and actions around the clock. Eventually, deep throbbing at the bases of my fingers and in the ball of my foot told me that there was something much more fundamental breaking down. It hurt to catch a ball. It hurt to flex my hands. On December 26, 2012, I had an appointment and found out shortly thereafter that I was a “rheumatological nightmare” with both lupus and rheumatoid arthritis.

My “boundary lines” as I saw them that day looked thick. They scared me right down to my eroding joints. An aggressive drug regimen would begin, and I could continue doing other things as long as I felt okay doing them. I am purposely vague in saying “things” because I had just resumed lifting weights around this time and I was well-aware that part of my classroom routine (and effectiveness) demands being on the move. Losing either of these physical activities would have been devastating.

I could elaborate on so many aspects of this – the vitamin supplements, my sister who is truly my “sister” in this disease (she contracted it at about the same age in her life and is years farther in this journey than I am), the need for a weekly pill container, and the support of those whom I have pulled aside to say, “Okay, I need to tell you something about me.” I could write for many more pages and tell about figuring out ways to counter fatigue, a random hip soreness (on my 39th birthday), not being able to be a blood donor (ever) because of the medication I have to take, or compulsively telling a class of juniors and seniors in Psychology that I’m not as healthy as they might think. Each of those items is just a sideshow.

What washes over me in all of this is that 104 weeks later, my quality of life is actually better than it was prior to my diagnosis. I lift better than I did, I live better than I did, and I love better than I did. At the core of that experience for me is being able to recognize blessings. Expressing gratitude has become more of a habit, and I am aware of how much warmth I experience simply because others provide it.

At one time, I tried competing with women while being physically undersized. I became tougher from that. Ultimately, I understand that grace, medication, working at a job I love (most days), and not cheating on diet, sleep, or exercise, are at the heart of positive progress with this condition; however, feeling physically healthy is only part of this equation. I am surrounded by blessings in the forms of my husband, sons, and students. What amazes me is that it doesn’t stop with this core! Celebrations and fun events dot the schedule of the upcoming days. In the presence of the family members and friends who will be part of these, I will experience even more joy. Through these people, I am deeply aware of how the rest of the “boundary lines” situation unfurls. Thankfully, there is more to the story. As Psalm 16:11 states, “You make known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence.” I am strong for those who need me most when the faith and wisdom associated with these experiences undergird my actions.