Battling Myasthenia Gravis: My Journey with God Begins (Part 1)

Standing on the line at Bartle Hall in Kansas City, MO, I drew an arrow from my quiver. One of the young men I was competing against had broken the indoor national record the year before. He told me that he had been featured on Sports Illustrated Junior. Another competitor Bill Korby had placed 2nd at the outdoor world competition a few years prior. This was the pinnacle of my life--young, healthy, and athletic. I had culminated over 70 trophies and medals. But my life was about to drastically change.

In 1993, I graduated high school and worked at the local grocery store. One morning I stood in front of the mirror getting ready for work and noticed that my right eye had radically drifted up. If pianists treasure their fingers, what do archers treasure? That's right...their eyes! In sixth grade, I remember walking down the hill to my grandparents' house thinking about whether or not I would be friends with someone who wore a patch over his eye. Now this was reality for me. Little did I know that this was only the beginning of my nightmare.

My equilibrium and balance were beyond messed up, which is ironic considering that not even a year prior I had received my black belt in Taekwondo. Wearing the patch cut into my hairline and left a mark across my face. The headaches were intense. I was already an introvert, but this only increased my anxiety around people. At this point, I hadn't been diagnosed with Myasthenia Gravis, so I had no idea how long this nightmare would last. My stress levels increased exponentially with all the uncertainty involved. Each passing day, my grandpa urged me to go to the hospital. Finally, I did.

My first trip I saw an optometrist. He suspected I had ocular MG which was a rare phenomenon back then, so interns lined up around the corner to examine my eye. He referred me to another doctor. Sitting in the waiting room for six hours infuriated me and the neurologist only aggravated the situation. He told me that he was going to see his counselor after work, and he recommended a procedure involving shocking me with needles. Then he wanted the nurse to draw blood. She stuck me five times unsuccessfully and cussed at me when I told her to stop. I avoided doctors for a while.

I had only been a Christian for a few months, but I decided to channel all the energy that made me a national champion in archery towards faith in God. Every morning, I put a worship cassette in the tape player to worship God. Then I prayed from the depths of my soul as if my life depended on it. Worn notecards with bible verses on healing were tucked into my back pocket. I was so new to this that all the sacrificial jargon was strange to me. I even thumbed through a hymnal attempting to understand the language of blood and sacrifice.

As the days mounted, I noticed a bond between me and the One behind the Bible verses growing. I had to move back into my mom's house because of my health. My Bible reading increased. I walked the same route with God every evening. Stepping out of the house, I paced to the corner, crossed the overhead bridge, and continued until I arrived at the country club. On the dock, I would look up at the stars and cast all my anxiety on God. This routine happened without fail every night until I went to Bible college. Even though my life storms were raging, God's peace calmed my soul.

Finding a national church directory, I wrote a form letter to a few thousand churches requesting prayer for healing. The postmaster's facial expression reflected the sheer number of letters in each garbage sack carried into the post office. I remember printing them out on an old dot matrix printer with perforated edges on the paper. Hundreds of dollars spent on postage, but I was determined. I didn't know how long this battle would last and I wanted an army of prayer warriors behind me. Several churches replied with words of comfort. But ten years later a small, country church mailed the original letter back to me stating they were still praying for me.

My life was a raging mess, yet I felt God drawing nearer to me each day...somehow making it okay. I found that talking to God and reading the Bible daily is the very definition of seeking God with all your heart and mind. It was time for my evening prayer walk, but the basketball playoffs were on tv. I didn't want to miss it even though I could feel the Holy Spirit nudging me as if He looked forward to my companionship. But I resisted. That moment in my mind, I saw heaven opened with millions of angels worshiping God, and I thought why would my words even matter? The Holy Spirit had just revealed to me that God loved me and wanted me to go on my evening prayer walk. My words did matter!

I attended a youth camp in Excelsior Springs. Having just turned eighteen, I could only go to the evening services if I washed dishes during the day. I decided to go. One night I lay flat on the floor pleading with God to heal me. Tired... Desolate... Alone... I poured my heart out to God. The next night when a couple of young men prayed for me, my eye rolled back down straight. But the eyelid still drooped. My double vision was replaced with blurry vision; God didn't completely heal me. Yet I was better, and He had reached into my world tangibly for the first time.

MG had put the brakes on the hustle and bustle of my life. It forced me to slow down and reevaluate what was really important, even at my ripe old age. God redirected my attention away from myself and onto others, as I began to realize just how real He was. My heart hurt for my family, because I knew that many of them didn't know God and I didn't know enough about God or how to communicate Him to others effectively. My next step needed to be Bible college.

Part 2: My Journey with God at Bible College.