It started with a rash.

There was no pattern to it. I had no history of rashes. To my knowledge, nothing had bitten me. I hadn’t rubbed up against anything. Yet there it was on my right arm. 

Before take off from Love Airport in Dallas, Texas, it had ascended from my skin- unaware of the cause I ventured off to one of my favorite places at the time- Kenya. 

Kenya for me was love. I had gone two years before and had been dreaming of going back ever since. The people, the landscape, every edge of this land captivated me.

We landed in Nairobi. My spirits were still up. I was in my element- mission work and I was with some of the greatest people on this planet. Laughing, joking and being myself, we got on a small plane and made our way to the Kisumu airport.

The rash persisted and I would feel a tingle somewhere on my skin and then it would come up- a small white bump with a red dot in the middle. It would pulse with my heartbeat. It was itchy, but I was not in pain and I had no other symptoms. Some cream and medication helped with the itching and soon my rash was seeming to get better, but it was still very evident.

The first week was amazing. Kenya was everything I had remembered. The smell of burning coal, the smiles and joy of the people. The beauty of the mountains. I was, once again, in love. 

Then came the second week. It was in the back of the Matatoo (our van) that I started to feel it. This panic. It went from my toes to the top of my head and I wasn’t quite sure what was going on. We had just played a game of net ball with some highschool girls at a local school so I reasoned I must be tired. But I had played sports my whole life; this wasn’t just tired. This was different. This was extreme anxiety coming out of every pore of my body. The gentleman in from of me yelled, “Let Lisa out!” as we pulled over and I jumped out of the van and bent over on the side of the red dirt African road. My hands were not working…

What was wrong with me?

I looked like a T-Rex as I stood unable to process what my body was going through.

I poured water on my hands, tried to stifle the nausea and the persistent feeling of worry. After awhile I returned to the van and we set off for the side road market to buy souvenirs. The first group was leaving tomorrow… I was not. I was apart of the third group. I would be there one more week and the second group would come tomorrow.

All the sudden another week to me sounded like eternity. 

This next picture is one of my favorites. I jokingly call it now “the curb where I lost my mind.”

As I sat on this curb and smelled the choking exhaust from cars and saw the poverty around me my stomach tightened. All I could see was the bad. All of Africa’s beauty had faded in a blur of trashy streets, sour smells and distended stomachs from hunger. 

Why had I came? I wanted to go home. What was wrong with me? What was this constant panic I was feeling? Why had my hands stopped working? Was it tied to the rash? 

Thankfully, one of our mission team members was able to sit with me and explain she thought I had suffered an anxiety attack. Looking back, I had one before Africa that was minor in comparison. This was much worse. 

For the next week I experienced symptoms of chest pain and pressure, extreme dizziness along with crippling anxiety. 

 I was just homesick right? When I got home it would get better. I would be better. Everything would be better. 

The second week went by and when I returned home I thought the worst was over. Until that night I felt I couldn’t breathe. In the ER it was explained to me that they thought I was reacting to the anti-malaria pill I had taken- Mefloquine. They gave me some anti-anxiety medication intravenously that made me have horrible nightmares and odd sensations and sent me home. I slept for over 10 hours.

We made an appointment with my physician. Tests were ordered. Nothing was found. 

During this time I found myself spiraling into a deep depression. I was so ill and it did not seem like anyone could find anything physically wrong. I was not myself mentally either. I did not want to leave my home for fear of  the day. I would have panic attacks that would cause me to rock back and forth, my arms clenching my legs in a fetal position waiting for the feeling of terror to pass. They would come out of nowhere. 

I remember having someone over with her kids to paint pumpkins and while they had fun painting pumpkins I sat on my bathroom floor rocking back and forth crying in a fit of absolute fear. Christmas music was playing “It’s the most wonderful time of the year!” It was definitely not for me… 

Then it happened. One night as I was sitting there wondering how or when I was going to get better the thought came to mind, “Lisa, you could be done with all of this. You could end it right now…” 

Suicide? 

I was scared I had even thought of such a thing and considered it. At that point I knew I needed help. But what would my parents think of me? What would my friends think of me? What would society think of me? 

In desperation I called the person that is always my biggest cheerleader- my Mama, “I need help.” 

That’s all it took. My parents in all of their grace helped me find a counselor. I had to wait a month and I remember thinking “This is going to be the longest month of my life.” And it was.

Now to the part that is hardest to talk about, I was losing my faith. I was so mad at God. If God was real and He was in charge, why had I stood in a dirt hut with a mother on her knees crying as her sick children stood in the doorway? Why were there children dying of starvation? Why… why… why…  I didn’t understand! For the first time in my life I truly doubted the goodness and the grace of my Creator.

No wonder people did not believe. With all of these bad things how could we? I knew God was real, but I did not like Him. Can I be honest? I did not like God.

When Thanksgiving 2016 came, I was unable to walk without assistance. I had lost 27 pounds and mentally I was still not myself. After being prescribed an antidepressant that spiraled me into even more physical sickness- I was wondering if medication was not helping, what would?

Desperate, my parents took me into the ER. Blood was drawn and unaware of what was wrong with me, they treated me for malaria just in case. I would be given a spinal tap weeks later. 

After the results of all these tests came back, my disease control doctor who I had been seeing came in and said, “Lisa, you are ill.” I remember weeping because I finally had an answer.  Sort of. She said I had suffered a reaction to my malaria medication, which was the initial suspicion, and that my body was fighting viruses as well.

“To test positive for mono, your viral count has to be at least 21,” she paused, “Yours is over 600.” 

600? So I was not crazy! A wind of relief rushed over me. Then she broke the news… 

“Unfortunately we cannot treat what you have. It’s going to be a lot of mind over matter from here on out. You have to allow your body to heal,” her kind eyes met mine.

“How long will I have some of these problems?” 

“I don’t know. It could be months. Years. Some can even last a lifetime. And as you know a virus has to work itself out. I’m not sure what viruses, it could be recurring mono.”

The stinger. A lifetime? 

At least now I knew I wasn’t crazy and it was not all in my head. 

“The rash was your first reaction. That was the first sign of your body rejecting the medication,” she explained. 

Even my severe depression and anxiety could be linked. 

I had suffered with anxiety for awhile, but this depression was darker than I had ever experienced.

Time passed. 

Two years later I wish I could tell you that all my side effects are gone. They are not, but I am a lot better than I was two years ago. Physically and mentally.

And my faith? 

I can tell you that God has restored me in more ways than I can type. I love the Lord. Oh how I love Him. And everything that I have been through has taught me a couple of things. 

1. God didn’t make us as puppets. God doesn’t MAKE others choose Him. If you have to MAKE someone choose you, it’s not real love. Just like you wouldn’t want someone to marry you because they felt they had to. God gives us the option to choose Him or not. Because of our free will, we have the choice to make our own decisions. Which leads me to…
2. We live in a broken world. satan is hard at work, and the choices that others make DO affect us. Our families, our friends, our children, our spouse- our choices affect one another. Sometimes that means we go through pain, suffering and trouble we did not ask for. 
3. God weeps with us. We know that when Lazarus died, God wept. (John 11:35) I know that when certain things happen, God weeps with us. If you had a child and that child grew up only to ruin their life with bad decisions, you would weep. BUT that child is a grown adult and can make their own decisions. So even though you may be upset and you may try to help that child- you can only help someone who wants to help themselves. And even when they accept the help they have to do their part. 

I wish I could answer “Why do bad things happen to good people?” I wish I had a better explanation for you than this. 

I do not believe in Jesus because I was raised that way. I have had plenty of adult experiences that could have turned me from the Savior, and at times- did. I have experienced debilitating heartache and pain. Do not think that I am sitting here typing with all the answers thinking I am the best thing since sliced bread. There are parts of my life that are very dark and very painful. 

But I know that I know that I know that JESUS IS REAL, and that HE loves you so much. 

In the depths of my despair when no one else could reach me- He ventured into the darkness and brought me into marvelous light.

“He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.”
Psalm 40:2 (NIV)

I do not know where you are in your journey.

God is a big God. He can handle you being mad at Him. He can handle you being upset. 

But, my friend, don’t stay there… 

I may never make it back to Africa, but the red dirt will always be inside of me. The smiles, the laughs, the small barefeet. When I see Kenya now I am not filled with hate but with anticipation that one day I will see my beloved brothers and sisters again. 

Blessings to all of you and Yesu Anakupenda… Jesus loves you:).