I recently wrote a post on endurance based on Colossians 1:10, and that triggered some further thoughts rooted in my study of theology over the years and my experience of chronic illness in the last year.

In this third and last post I want to share some personal, practical observations on dealing with persistent illness. These are my own thoughts, but they are (I hope) seasoned by and anchored in the theological commitments I discussed in my last post. Nothing below should make you think I’ve achieved and am looking back—I am still early in the process of learning to “walk with a limp.” Right up to today, I am searching my way forward in Christ. My bad days (I've had several while writing this) still feel discouraging and sometimes fearful (“am I always going to feel this way? is it going to get worse?”). But as I’ve said, God is sovereign, purposeful, and merciful, and I’m pressing on to what lies ahead with that assurance. Here are a few ideas I’ve begun to formulate.

Determine your sphere

I have known people with chronic illness who feel like they can’t live the Christian life like everyone else because their condition places limits on them. Sometimes their capacities are frustratingly unpredictable. They get involved in a ministry or make a commitment, then they can’t follow through as they would like or can’t enjoy it as they should. I’ve tasted this uneasy feeling—in my worst days this past year, I began to seriously wonder whether I’d be able to continue full-time pastoral ministry.

Don't overthink this. Your path forward is like every other Christian’s—love the Lord with all you are, and love your neighbor as yourself (Luke 10:27). Live your life to reflect the love of Christ to God’s people and to the world (John 13:34-35). Find something you enjoy doing to build up the church (your spiritual gift) and do it as much as you can (1 Peter 4:10). But remember, your Heavenly Father doesn’t expect you to do something you are not equipped to do. He doesn’t need any of us, but he has prepared good works for us to do (Ephesians 2:10). Just do what he has prepared for you—draw near to Jesus, and do what he brings into your path. Sometimes you’ll have to pull back. You will likely miss opportunities that you would otherwise jump into enthusiastically (I had to postpone and then cancel a ministry trip to Ireland that I’d eagerly anticipated). But God is sovereign, purposeful, and merciful in all that planning, anticipation, and  disappointment. You haven’t let him down. Your father knows your weakness and treats you gently because of it (Psalm 103:13-14).

That said, be alert to the tendency to undersell your ability and get spiritually lazy. Even if your restrictions become severe, you can shine Christ’s love and build up his church in some meaningful way. My dad died of chronic illness in 1982 when he was only 46 (I was 15). He was as active as one could be in our Baptist church: he led the choir and congregational singing, taught Sunday School, served on the deacon board, and more. But in the last year of his life he was severely weakened and couldn’t do any of his regular ministry, so he decided that his sphere of service would be writing letters of encouragement to missionaries overseas as well as other friends affected by chronic illness. He found something he could do while sitting in a dialysis clinic for many hours each week.

Living faithfully and victoriously does not mean acting like your illness doesn’t affect you. You can do less than others and still hear the same “Well done, good and faithful servant” from King Jesus when this life is over. So determine what that sphere will be, and serve. And adjust as necessary.

Own your situation

While your experience of chronic illness will inform your ministry to others (and theirs to you), don’t compare your illness to others. It leads to weird and broken thinking. Maybe a personal confession would be the best way to explain what I mean. Some months ago as I engaged with other people with persistent suffering, I began to compare my situation to theirs. Some were obviously worse off than me, others probably less so. When I focused on the former, I began to internalize how I felt about my own symptoms and to even scold myself for giving in to them: “so and so is way worse off than I am, and she copes with it—why am I being such a wimp?” Then I would stop sharing with others—even my wife—the fullness of what I was experiencing. It got lonely because I was putting distance between myself and those who loved me. On the other hand, when I paid more attention to those whose illness seemed less severe, I easily slipped into self pity: “must be nice to have a chronic thing that’s so well controlled, sure wish I could get ME some of that.” More darkness.

You see the common thread: self. When I centered myself and my feelings instead of Jesus and his grace for the hurting, I lost perspective. More importantly, I lost my ability to authentically encourage others because I wasn’t being honest with myself or them. Now, when talking to someone about their trial (chronic or not), I want to simply listen, weep with those who are weeping, and do what I can to lead them toward hope in Jesus. And my experience so far can inform my ministry to them while not taking away hope (“gosh, that’s so much worse than my experience, I’m sorry!”) or making it all about me (“well, let me tell you what happened to ME!”).

Instead of a posture of comparing, adopt a posture of mostly listening and a little encouraging. Let your experience inform your care for another without centering yourself in the conversation. Invite them to look to Jesus with you, and you’ll both find encouragement.

Find your confidants

God created us to be communal creatures, so it’s not surprising to find in Scripture that he has redeemed us to experience life in Christ together. The gospel creates a community of believers that are bound together in Christ by his Spirit so much so that the church is called the “body of Christ,” made up of interdependent body parts (“members”) that complement each other so that the body can function effectively as a whole. When body parts are connected like this, they feel each other’s pain and compensate for the injured member.

God’s redeemed community is a key pipeline for his grace to flow into the individual lives of his children. All of us need it desperately; how much more do those who experience chronic suffering? If that’s you, then you need to find a small circle of one or more people who will pray for you, check up on you, listen to you, physically help you, and call you out on your self-pity when needed. People that you are completely open with (see below). If you’re married, your spouse should be in that circle but not the only one in it. The reason is simple: your spouse needs the support of gospel community also. And make sure the encouragement flows both ways in these relationships—encourage your confidants as well, especially when God is answering their prayers.

Maintain your authenticity

I’ve had to wrestle with the question, “how much should I tell people about what I’m feeling?” Especially as a pastor, I want to live authentically with the people in my church family. Over the years I’ve seen lots of hypocrisy among church leaders who seem to think that a pastor is supposed to be a heroic figure, admitting to weaknesses rarely and only so he can give the impression that he has piously overcome them. Never let them see you struggle. I don’t see that anywhere in the Bible.

I’m not sure I’ve got it all figured out, but I'm trying to operate on this principle: be honest with everyone, but you don’t have to tell everyone everything. I have a few confidants as described above (my fellow elders and my Life Group), but I will tell a summarized version of the truth to anyone who asks. Sometimes it’s as simple as, “to be honest, I’m struggling with the relentlessness of the (pain, fatigue) lately. Thanks so much for being interested, your prayers mean more to me than you know.” But this authenticity also opens up the chance for me to say, “Man, I’m so thankful for the improvement God has given this week! He’s answering your prayers!” and likewise, “it’s been a daily battle lately, but you know, I can feel God strengthening my soul to endure with patience. So it’s worth it. Thank you for praying!”

This kind of honesty is a ministry of grace to God’s people, including me. I’m free to weep and rejoice along with my family in Christ about my own battles, and to walk with them in theirs rather than hypocritically float above them, separated by the space of false superiority.

Settle into your Savior

One of the most potent passages of encouragement I’ve found recently is Colossians 3:1-3:

“So if you have been raised with Christ, seek the things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things. For you died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ, who is your life, appears, then you also will appear with him in glory.”

When you feel pulled down by the pain, lift your eyes up from how you feel and remember that your life is hidden with Christ in God. He’s got you now and forever. In the lowliness of affliction you can seek the things that are above, where you—in spite of your infirmity—have been blessed in Christ with every spiritual blessing heaven has to offer (Ephesians 1:3). While your experience of this life may be disadvantaged in some way, you already have everything you will ever need in Jesus Christ. Settle into his sufficiency and let him be enough.

There's so much more to be said, and some of this may sound trite to you. I get it, really. These are not so much rules I live by as much as they are patterns I aspire to.  Maybe this will help you (or help you help someone else) along the way of grace in Jesus.