I don’t think my mom realized how dangerous it would be to name me “Faith.” At birth, I had a hole in my heart that needed to be repaired so I would survive. My mom told the Lord that, “If He would let me live, she promised I would grow up in the faith.” After a few weeks passed my heart was patched up and I was released expected to live a normal life. And, as promised, I was raised in the church and joined a bunch of ministries. I enjoyed being in God’s house and accepted Christ at a young age. I loved my name and felt sort of popular to see “faith” printed in the Bible so many times.
My upbringing was challenging but seemed somewhat ordinary. Each year I needed to go to the cardiologist to check up on my heart and it seemed like every visit was the same. The doctors could hear a murmur but said I should be fine. I did well in school but noticed I tired easily. My heart didn’t seem to keep up like the other kids. When the PE teacher hollered for us to run around the field it was a challenge. I would walk, then run a bit, then would have chest pain and feel out of breath. The teacher allowed me to “sit out” the activity and I would routinely plop myself on the sidewalk. I’d watch my classmates and pick on the grass wishing I were “normal” (whatever that means) like everyone else.
As I got older I went to a local college and seemed to get by. Tests and projects gave me stress (as any college student would feel) and I had chest pain every now and then. I eventually graduated and applied to jobs but didn’t have much luck in this area. In fact, I got fired from my first real job and quit my second job because I thought that the stress was literally taking years from my life. I felt so incapable and found myself asking God, “Why?”
In 2015, I thought my life was finally coming together. I felt pretty healthy. I was a high school teacher and loved my job. I was saving for my future and everything just seemed to be falling into place. By the time 2016 rolled around I thought it would be a wonderful repeat of last year. In March, I woke up with one of the worse feelings in my life. My heart was pounding out of my chest and skipping like crazy. I couldn’t breath and my thoughts were dark. I kept thinking that my heart problem from birth was back and that my life was over at 27.
From then on I’d have a series of heart palpitations, anxiety attacks, bouts of depression, incredible nausea and vomiting, and migraines. All of this crushed my confidence and sense of independence and I felt like I was in a prisoner in my own body. In my mind I would once again be this kid who couldn’t keep up with everyone else and would have to throw their dreams out. I hated my name so much that when my mom called me one afternoon I said, “I’m Donna—don’t call me Faith.” For weeks I refused to go out in fear that I’d have an episode.
Some time passed before I told myself that I’d thrown myself enough pity parties and from this day on I’d hold unto my namesake “Faith.” I poured over the Bible seeking his truth and listened to sermons. I remember listening to one sermon (by the ever inspirational Joni Eareckson Tada) that told me that even with present health struggles I had to decide to “get busy living” or “get busy dying.” I told myself to choose to get busy living.
I’m still on a constant emotional roller coaster (feeling positive one day and like Eeyore the next) but I keep trying. I’m starting to realize that life wasn’t meant to be easy which helps. That although life gets rough we need to push and keep living life—by faith.
Always,
Faith