Courage to Live (Epilogue from A Night Bird Sings of Blindness and Fear)

Sickness begs us to evaluate our lives. Are we dragging our feet to the tomb? Do we count each day that passes as a miserable step toward the grave, or do we live with purpose? With love? With delight? Is God real in our lives?

I trust that God has fully delivered me from paralyzing fear. I now enjoy eating out, riding various vehicles, and going to the mall without fear of losing breath. However, I still live with some of the effects of the AVM. For one, I am still partially blind. I bump into people and objects when I’m not careful. I walk down a flight of steps seeing only one foot. I miss some handshakes because I don’t see them. During stressful days, I still see black splotches on people’s faces and bodies, and when a headache comes, I stop, rest my eyes, and take a paracetamol. I still get full blindness seizures (although they are now few and far between). What do I do when these things happen? I smile, listen to the song of life all around me and within me, and thank God that I am still alive.

When people ask me if I’ve prayed for my full eyesight to come back and for my headaches to stop, I say YES. Definitely. In fact, I’ve prayed for healing more times than I can count my fingers and toes. I’ve also had great men in the faith lay hands on my head and command complete healing. The result? Nothing much. I am still partially blind, and I still get headaches. How do I feel? Good. Peaceful. I’ve realized that healing can take many different forms, and that God has already healed me in a very big way. Perhaps my full physical healing will come in the future after I die—when God himself carefully carries me into eternity. For now, at least, I am content with having my Healer take me step by step through the adventures of each day.

The films from my latest MR-Angiogram show that my AVM is gone and that water has filled up the area where the tangle, rupture, and affected brain cells once were. My brain has its issues, but I am certainly glad it is functional!

I believe that when God chooses not to heal a person completely, it is only because He is weaving an incredible story: a testimony of grace where human weaknesses showcase His power. I’ve had to use my imperfect eyes and my gamma-radiated brain countless times in my profession as a writer and teacher, to the point where my weaknesses have become my strengths.

I am aware that not all anxiety and fear in people originate from AVMs or other physiological causes. Yet AVM or not, the reality and terror of these emotions are real, causing great anguish. God can deliver anyone who feels the imprisonment of fear. Remember: Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom (2 Corinthians 3:17).

Indeed, sickness can make us so human, so weak, and yet at the same time, so undeniably strong. It forges in us a skeleton far stronger than bone or steel. The quivering stuff—the tears, and nights of pain—make us look deep within ourselves for courage we never knew we had. The song we sing during the dark days is a song that beats with the rhythm of God’s heart. If we are quiet enough, we can hear this song pulsating for us when the stars shine, or when light streams through a window, or when waves rush to the seashore. God is near, always wanting to speak our identity over us—the way He sees us—no matter how awful we see ourselves, whether broken in soul or body.

God knows our questions. Nothing is hidden from Him. He knows our cry when we can’t climb mountains with healthy legs. He knows our pain when we can’t wiggle our toes in the sand. God sees our desire to live life in all its fullness, in all its delight.

Because of this, I find the best kind of question to ask each other is: “How are you today?” And it is our joy to say plainly: “Today is about finding my legs again,” or about “searching for God,” or about “shelling a crab with my bare fingers and sucking its juice.”

Today is about living.

It is always a matter of attitude to choose to look at our experiences as beautiful; to learn from our suffering. Wherever we go, we have a choice to kiss the sky like a bird with silver wings, take in air, and smile the way a child does.

I hope that somehow, my story has given you, my dear readers, the courage to live.

This is an excerpt from A Night Bird Sings of Blindness and Fear by Janina Marie Rivera.

At age fourteen, Janina Marie Rivera fought a battle against Arterio-Venous Malformation (AVM), a fatal congenital condition of the brain that left her with recurring headaches and a permanent, visual half-blindness. She unveils her secret world of anxiety in the pages of this book, openly discussing her struggles to live courageously. Her story of self-acceptance, maturity, and wonder is an extraordinary testimony, especially in a time where sickness has its different, and sometimes invisible, forms.