The Rock + a Hard Place

By Meghan DeWalt On December 7, 2015, I came home from work in immense physical pain. My right hip was coming up out of its socket with multiple pins in it from the July surgery. A surgery meant to give me some quality of life back from 11 years living with chronic pain from hip dysplasia. I didn’t know that hip was coming undone. I didn’t know my life and faith were coming undone, only to be mended and healed again. I didn’t know that the last eleven years between diagnosis and surgery, that God was good for me . I knew in a vague sense that he was good—but that I had to trust him in the pain and not question, not doubt. And so I kept him at arms length with a shallow, tentative faith where I knew where my hope for eternity came from—but not for the present. What I did know was fear. A lot of fear in those eleven years of chronic pain. Fear that no man would ever want to marry me with such a disability. Fear of being a burden. Then with this December where my hip came apart ...

By Guest Writer Fall of 1997 was no different than any other. I was a perfectly happy 9 year old, the oldest of three, and only girl. My dad farmed with his brother. Late nights in the field harvesting corn and milking a barn full of cows twice a day was a normal part of dairy farming. When a seemingly healthy 34 year old dairy farmer goes to see the family doctor that time of year saying he’s been having some headaches, and has been tired it’s not exactly alarming. More likely than not it’s due to pulling long hours and not enough sleep. In our small town of mostly Amish a fundraising meal at the local fire company was common, and something to look forward to—the food is amazing! My grandparents would often help serve, and because my dad volunteered with the ambulance, we would go for supper and left overs were sure to make their way into our fridge. One particular night we came home from a meal and some of my dad’s family had stopped in to eat more and just hang out. Dad a...