The answer was five years, and that number scared me more than I can really explain. Six years have passed now, and I am still here, still working, still walking, still serving the Lord, even if I move slower than before.
That is the part I kept thinking about today.
I woke up late because I had trouble sleeping last night. Because of that, I wasn’t able to go to church in person. I don’t like missing church, especially on a Sunday, but I decided to watch the service online instead of just letting the morning pass. Sometimes that feels like a small thing, but today it did not feel small.
The worship service moved me. Not in a loud or dramatic way. It was more like something settled in my heart again. I was reminded of how blessed I am with God’s grace and mercy. And once that thought came, it brought me back to the day I was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease.
The question I asked first
When I was diagnosed, the first thing I asked my neurologist was not a very brave question. It was an honest one.
I wanted to know how long I had left before my body would shut down. How long before I could not move. How long before I could not work. Things like that.
That is where my mind went right away. Work. Walking. Moving. Losing control. Being unable to do the normal things I used to do without thinking. When you hear a diagnosis like Parkinson’s Disease, it can make the future feel like a closed door. Even if you don’t fully understand what will happen, fear fills in the blanks for you.
The answer I got was five years.
That was scary.
I don’t want to make it sound prettier than it was. I was anxious. My mind went straight to the worst parts. I thought about not being able to move. I thought about not being able to work. I thought about my body failing me while I was still trying to live my life. Anxiety did what anxiety does. It took my peace away.
And when anxiety took my peace, I also forgot something important. I forgot that I have a God who gives me strength along the way. Not just strength for some faraway future, but strength for the next day, the next appointment, the next tremor, the next hard morning.
Six years is not a small mercy
Now I look back and realize six years have gone by.
Not five. Six.
I am still working. I am still able to walk. I do move slow now. I have some tremors, a little bit, and I notice the difference in my body. I am not pretending everything is the same as before. It is not.
But the fact remains: I had a blessed six years, and those years went by smoother than I expected when I first heard that scary answer.
That does not mean Parkinson’s is easy. It does not mean I never get tired or frustrated. It does not mean I know exactly what the next few years will look like. It only means I can look at the life I still have in front of me today and say, with a grateful heart, that God has been merciful.
Sometimes we only count blessings when they look big. A miracle. A sudden change. A problem completely removed. But some blessings are quieter than that. Being able to get up and go to work. Being able to walk, even slowly. Being able to worship, even online because sleep was bad the night before. Being able to serve the Lord in the ways still open to me.
Those things are not small when you once wondered how much time you had left before your body would stop cooperating.
Peace does not mean the disease disappeared
One thing I am learning is that peace does not always come because the problem goes away.
The disease is still there. The tremors are still there. The slower movement is still there. The unknown future is still there too. Peace has not erased those things.
But peace is still there with me.
That is hard to explain unless you have had something in your life that did not get fixed quickly. A health issue. A family problem. A financial pressure. A private fear you carry around while still doing your normal responsibilities. You can look fine to other people and still be carrying something heavy.
For me, Parkinson’s is something I battle every day. Some days are probably easier than others. Some days my body reminds me that I am not in control the way I used to think I was. But even with that, I can honestly say I have never been so blessed.
That does not mean I never had anxious thoughts. I did. Especially at the beginning. But over time, I started to see that anxiety was taking more from me than the disease had taken at that point. Anxiety was stealing today because I was afraid of tomorrow.
Faith did not give me every answer about the future. It gave me enough strength for today.
And sometimes that is the mercy we need most.
God met me in the slow places
I used to think about strength in a very simple way. Strong means you can keep going fast. Strong means you can do everything like before. Strong means you don’t shake, don’t slow down, don’t need help, don’t feel afraid.
But that is not really how life works.
Now strength looks different to me. Sometimes strength is getting up after a bad night of sleep. Sometimes it is watching church online because you could not make it in person, and still letting worship touch your heart. Sometimes it is going to work while knowing your body is not as quick as it used to be. Sometimes it is calming down when the tremors come.
I believe God has picked me up when I was down. I believe He has calmed me when I had tremors. I believe His grace and mercy carried me through years I was once afraid I would not handle well.
That kind of grace is not always loud. It does not always announce itself. Sometimes you only notice it when you look back.
Six years ago, I heard five years and felt fear. Today, I look at six years and feel gratitude.
The next years may not be easy
I know the next few years won’t be easy.
I don’t want to write like someone who has everything figured out. I don’t. I still have Parkinson’s Disease. I still have to face the changes that may come. There may be harder days ahead. There may be things I cannot do the same way anymore.
But I am positive about one thing: if God was with me through the past six years, He will be with me through the next years of my life.
That is not pretending. That is remembering.
Remembering matters because fear has a short memory. Fear forgets all the mornings you made it through. Fear forgets all the strength you received when you thought you had none left. Fear forgets all the times God gave peace when your body or your mind felt unsettled.
Today’s worship helped me remember.
It helped me remember that I am not just counting symptoms. I am counting mercy too. I am not just watching what Parkinson’s changes. I am also watching how God sustains me in the middle of it.
And that is a different way to live.
A Sunday I needed
I did not plan for this Sunday to feel this way. I woke up late. I missed church in person. I watched online because that was what I could do.
But maybe that was enough for today.
Sometimes we think a meaningful day has to look clean and organized. Wake up on time. Get dressed. Go where you planned to go. Do everything the right way. But today reminded me that God can still speak into an imperfect morning.
He can meet us when we are tired. He can remind us when we forget. He can bring peace back into a heart that has been carrying old fear.
I am still here. I am still walking. I am still working. I am still able to serve the Lord. I move slower now, and I have some tremors, but I also have six years of grace behind me.
That is enough reason to be thankful today.
This is only my personal reflection, not medical advice. If you are dealing with Parkinson’s Disease or any health concern, please talk with your own doctor and get care that fits your situation.