It’s Called Ulcerative Colitis

She Chose Hope – Introductions

Today’s She Chose Hope Story is by blogger and writer Celia Miller. She has a touching story titled, “It’s Called Ulcerative Colitis” about receiving an autoimmune diagnosis and how she wrestled through what that would look like in her life and where her ultimate identity lies. It’s touching, heartfelt, and I am so thrilled to share it with you today.

To check out the entire She Chose Hope series, click here.

It’s Called Ulcerative Colitis – By: Celia A. Miller

I stared absentmindedly at the doctor, a little groggy from the anesthesia that had yet to wear off. He was speaking to my mom and my husband who were sitting to the left of my hospital bed. They were both silent, not knowing how to respond. The doctor picked up on the tension and awkwardly shifted his feet and cleared his throat.

“It’s an autoimmune disease that affects your colon. She’ll have to manage it for the rest of her life, but with the right care and treatment plan, I’m confident she will live a normal, full life.”

I don’t remember much from the day of my procedure, a victim of an anesthesia daze. But I do remember how blue the bedsheets were and that my hospital gown had been a size too big. I remember the fear and uncertainty that entered my heart at the words autoimmune disease.

Up to that point, it had been months of severe, doubled-over on the floor, kind of stomach pain, along with other alarming symptoms that don’t belong in the body of a healthy functioning person. So many ‘what ifs’ had run through my head, stealing my peace like a thief in the night. 

Now, I finally had a diagnosis and although I was thankful to have an answer, the fear only bred bigger questions. 

What is Ulcerative Colitis?

What does ‘autoimmune’ even mean?

I have a disease?

How do I manage this?

Am I going to have to change my entire life?

Is this disease going to limit me forever?

Instead of getting answers to those questions, I was discharged from the hospital with a handful of informational brochures and a business card with my new Gastroenterologist’s contact information on it. I was instructed on the way out to call and make an appointment with her as soon as I was back to my normal state of mind. 

As if that is ever going to happen, I remember thinking. How could my life possibly go back to being ‘normal’ after today?

More fear, more questions, more doubts. Uncertainty, the unknown, has a cruel way of making you feel like you’re alone. 

That diagnosis was handed to me, unwillingly and with a bit of an attitude I might add, two years ago. I would love to sit here and tell you that the fear has all but dissipated and the questions of ‘what if’ finally went away. I would be thrilled to tell you that I am totally owning this part of what makes me, me, 100% of the time!

But then, I would be a liar, and I don’t really want to be one of those. 

It is true what the doctor said; with education, different treatment plans, and adjustments to my diet, I do live a relatively normal life as far as ‘normal’ lives go. But I still get scared and angry when flareups happen that keep me from leaving my house, and the phrases ‘inflammation’ and ‘colon cancer’ still battle for my peace more than I would care to admit. 

I still get embarrassed when I have to explain to my girlfriends and family members that I can’t eat the cheese quesadillas with the chips and salsa because gluten and dairy make me feel like I’m dying or tell them why I have a carton of supplements and medicines I take with me everywhere I travel. 

What I can tell you though is that I’ve learned a lot about myself, about life, and about God since being discharged from that hospital two years ago. 

I’ve learned that my joy and security can’t be rooted in my circumstances, or even my health because those things are fleeting and unreliable. 

I’ve learned that I am not my disease, I am not what happens to me, I am the daughter of King Jesus. 

I’ve learned that most people aren’t going to understand my disease and limitations, and that doesn’t mean I’m weird and alone, it just means that I’m different — and being different isn’t something to be embarrassed about. 

I’ve learned that God works and moves in the most mysterious of ways and it’s in the moments when I’m the weakest that I feel His presence the strongest. 

I’ve learned that it’s ok to be scared, sad, angry, and uncertain and that God wants me to bring those questions and emotions to His feet so He can wrap His loving arms around me. 

I’ve learned that God is Lord and Master of my life, but He is also Shepherd and Caretaker. He simultaneously gets the last say on what happens to me while also providing for my every need. This proves that my fear of the future regarding my health is a lie from the deepest pit of hell and that God has already overcome it.

He’s been the only constant One there to remind me that I am never alone, no matter how lonely and afraid in this disease I may feel.

There’s a popular verse in Jeremiah that I have consistently clung to when my mind tries to convince me to doubt God’s goodness,

I didn’t use to think this way, and sometimes it’s a terrible, ugly struggle to live it out, but I find comfort in knowing that I am not in the driver’s seat of my own life. I am in the passenger’s seat. I do have some say on where I’d like to go, and I do have a choice on whether or not I get out of the car. But mostly, my job is to be led and take in the beautiful life happening around me that I would otherwise miss being in the driver’s seat. 

You can’t really have two hands on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road, and not miss out on what’s passing you by. 

But even on my best days, I still tend to wrestle with the last part of Jeremiah 29:11. The part that proclaims God has plans to give me a hope and a future.  

How does disease lead to a hope and a future?

Maybe you, too, have struggled with this question and if so, take heart, friend — you are not alone. I believe the answer to that question is hidden in the verses following the one we just looked at,

“Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.” (Jeremiah 29:12-13, NIV)

The point isn’t my future, my plans, my purpose. 

The point is living a life that brings glory to God’s Name, no matter where I am or what I’m doing. 

Even in the struggle. 

Even in the angry tears and questions of ‘why me’?

Even in the loneliness and the pain and the heartache. 

And I do this by seeking His presence on a daily basis, just as Jeremiah 29:12-13 tells me to do, and choosing to believe that God has a purpose for my pain. 

I bring glory to God when I choose to be honest and authentic with Him about my pain, my weaknesses, and my struggles. 

When I am able to lay down my ego, my fears, my questions, my ‘right’ to live life how I want and expect to live it, I make room for His plan and purpose to shine through me. 

Jesus is the answer, friend, and He always will be in whatever season of life you find yourself in. 

I wish, again, that I could tell you seeking Jesus makes life pretty and perfect. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t. The road of the Christian faith is messy, a little broken, unpredictable, and subject to grief and sorrow. 

But it is also filled with unimaginable hope and unwavering mercy in the presence of the One who constantly goes before you. 

I pray that in the struggling and wrestling, in the suffering and sorrowing, you would remember to seek His sweet, life-giving presence — no matter how messy and imperfect it may feel. 

Because when you do, He comes close like a soft breeze on a summer day and brings refreshment and rest, drawing you in with the tenderness of His heart. And it’s in that moment you are made whole, remembering that your identity, your future, your worth doesn’t lie in the life you live, the diagnosis you’re given, or the people around you. 

It lies in the immoveable, unshakeable truth that you belong to Jesus and you were created to let His will for your life move through you. 

xo, 

Celia 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Celia and her husband reside in Greenwood, Indiana with their two dogs, Henry and Hattie. Celia is a Grace College graduate with an undergraduate degree in counseling and psychology and currently works full-time in the insurance industry. She is a writer and blogger whose passion lies in creating resources and content to help you deepen your relationship with God by teaching you how to uncover His heart and notice His presence with you in the everyday. If you would like to connect with her, check out her blog at https://celiaamiller.com or go say hello on Instagram.