Faith in the in-between

I remember sitting in the exam room beside my mother. I don’t recall my dad being there. My memory goes blank in that space, which tells me he likely wasn’t. My mother, though, was right next to me—tense, hopeful, bracing.

They handed me a gown. I lay on my side as he explained he would perform a diagnostic test.

She let me play Christmas music all year long and do cartwheels down the narrow hallway of her single-wide trailer. After dinner, we’d take evening walks around her senior park. She would point out neighbors and share just enough harmless gossip with a wink and a grin. Those small rituals became a rhythm of calm. A sanctuary disguised as ordinary life.

And then, in the middle of that moment, my one true friend stepped in. She stood by me. She spoke up for me. It was a startling juxtaposition—betrayal and loyalty side by side—and I was left completely speechless, unable to translate the chaos of my thoughts into words.

For her, it may have been nothing more than defending her buddy. But for me, it was life-changing.

Every morning, I walked to school giving myself a pep talk and bracing for what I knew was coming. I reminded myself that words could not hurt me because that was often the message I received from my mother, that I was strong and could simply choose to ignore them.

The next stretch of my life, which I’ll share in the coming posts, was even more difficult. I faced medical events that were far more frightening. Bullying intensified. School became a battleground where I struggled not only to learn, but to belong. Life didn’t slow down to let me recover. It demanded more of me.