Three times I
pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me.  But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my
power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly
about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for
Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in
persecutions, in difficulties.

For when I am weak, then I am strong.

– 2 Corinthians
12: 8-10

 

 

I spent the last six months of 2008
perfecting every last detail of my business school applications. Every “i” was
dotted. Every “t” crossed. In prayerful conversation throughout that time, I
had become as sure as I ever thought I’d be that this was what I should do
next. Without hesitation, I went to the doctor for my routine, quarterly
appointment on December 10^th.. I was sure that this visit would be,
well, routine. Everything would go as it always did and in six months, I would
be moving to a new city and beginning a new adventure.

 

You can imagine how upset I was to
find out that my bones were no longer responding positively to their
medication; in fact, I was losing bone mass (a severe setback in my world). The
next six months involved countless trips to the hospital and scanning beds, and
led to my decision to postpone my plans to pursue an MBA by at least one year.
The excitement I had gained around graduate school escaped me. I was devastated. 

I spent the first six months of 2009 living in that devastation. Anger. Resentment. Confusion. For 26 years, I had practiced a faith that had never been shaken. Suddenly, I was utterly confused, and I had no idea why God had sent me such a confusing message. Wait, God, hadn’t we talked about this? Wasn’t b-school what You wanted? You watched me write those essays. And now… now You tell me not to go? Couldn’t we have done it like undergrad? I pick the school I want to go to, I write the essay. I get in. I go. What was so bad about that idea?

 

LORD my God, I called to you for help, and you healed me. 
You, LORD, brought me up from the realm of the dead; you spared me from going down to the pit.

Psalm 30:  2-3

 

Everything was wrong with that idea. Apparently. With a body made of bones that break more frequently than china in a house with twin toddlers, I could not find my God. I cried out to Him. And He did not answer. So every day at lunchtime, I steered my wheelchair down the two city blocks it took from my office to reach the National Mall in Washington, D.C. I was hoping, somehow, that God would be there, in this  beautiful expanse of grass with park benches. I looked to my left and saw the Lincoln Monument.  I looked to my right and saw the Capitol Building. I looked up to the sky and saw only clouds.

 

When I felt secure, I said, “I will never be shaken.” 
LORD, when you favored me, you made my royal mountain stand firm; 
but when you hid your face, I was dismayed.

To you, LORD, I called; to the Lord I cried for mercy: 
“What is gained if I am silenced, if I go down to the pit?

Psalm 30: 6-9

 

God? Where are You? Are You on this park bench… maybe? And I would sit in silence. I was afraid if I prayed, I would receive more answers I no longer wanted. I didn’t really even have much to pray about anymore. What I knew was that I wanted to go to business school. Did you hear that, God? Business school.

 

Somewhere between anger and winter, confusion and spring, I found cherry blossoms and a new relationship with God. Business school still mattered to me, but what I learned was that my path there involved more than heading south on Route 85.

 

God slowed down my plans by twelve months, the first six of which were miserable, empty, and lonely. Slowly I came to understand: I was to stop looking at my wheelchair and to start walking. Over those first six months of 2009, God did not meet me on the Mall, and He did not just sit quietly with me in the pit, either. He took me daily to the Pool of Siloam and built for me spiritual legs to walk freely with Him. And for the first time in my life, I welcomed the Holy Spirit to abide in me freely.

 

There was no moment or day that stands out in my mind. There was no day I stopped being angry and started rejoicing. There was only a clear vision upon reflection of a remolding that took place. A relationship that was transformed. And legs that found their stride. It is upon reflection that I know God’s promise to us that His grace is sufficient and that His power is made perfect in weakness. 

 

I am a happy (yet in need of sleep) first-year student in business school now, but more importantly, I am at peace with being a member of the class of 2012, not 2011. Abiding in my faith was deciding to pack the boxes and get in the car, but welcoming the Holy Spirit to abide in me was handing the keys over and stepping in the passenger side. 

 

God is in the pit. He’s also on the National Mall and every park bench where we look for him. He’s there. And He has work for us to do. He has weaknesses to conquer.

Julie Hocker, currently a Chapel Hill, NC resident, was born with Osteogenesis Imperfecta, a brittle bones condition; she uses a power wheelchair full-time for mobility.