I can make a tight fist with both hands. Tight. As in, all eight fingertips press into my palms with enough pressure to leave little marks. And this is interesting because why? Because I couldn’t do it five months ago.

I hit the brick wall, my own personal cracking point, right about the time my dad graduated with his doctorate degree. I was in so much joint and muscular pain that I could hardly sit or sleep comfortably, much less ride my bike, garden or go for walks. And then, like I mentioned in an earlier blog post, I began to take prednisone and my life slowing came back to normal. (Actually, that’s not true. I never hit “normal” again because a mere two weeks after starting this drug Jeremy and I found out about a teeny baby who needed a home. Ha!—what is normal?!) Around the time I started on prednisone, I made a wisecrack to Andrew about how I couldn’t remember the last time I could make a fist. He commented that this was really sad. It was. It is. And that’s why I’m profoundly grateful to be making fists again.

By God’s grace I can unscrew jars again. I can drive easily, with no pain to my hands or elbows. I can garden, go for walks and probably ride my bike again—bike riding has been put on the back burner since becoming a mother, though I’m certain I could do it pain-free. One of the most beautiful activities—if you can call it an “activity”—I enjoy doing again is sitting on my legs. I love nothing more than to curl up on the couch or on the floor to watch a good movie or read a good book. Curling up cannot be overrated!

By God’s grace my lab work is normal again. My sed rate is perfect, down from it’s elevated levels last winter, and all other counts look excellent. By God’s grace I see a fantastic rheumatologist and nurse every few months to make sure I’m still healthy. (I say that this, too, is revealing of God’s grace in my life because doctors are like the rest of the population—some are good and some are terrible. Mine’s not just good, he’s great.) By God’s grace I’ll be off the steroids in a few months with good health maintained by only by one arthritis drug.

The interesting thing about God’s grace is that I was NEVER WITHOUT IT. Not for one sore-joint, achy-body, sad-hearted moment. Although I can’t understand why God allowed me to go through this suffering—and why He may allow me to suffer again—I can say with great certainty that He loves me the same amount each and every day of the week. His grace reached me when I was in despair and on my knees praying for relief, and it reaches me now as I wash dishes, play with Livia and fold the laundry. So today I praise Him for His unfathomable love and continuous grace… and the ability to make tight fists.