An Update on My Journey — Trusting, Waiting, and Preparing - Leaning on the Father in the Waiting

Hi friends and family,

I’ve been meaning to sit down and write this update for a while now, but I wanted to wait until I could do so with a peaceful heart. I wanted to share what the Lord has been teaching me in this season of waiting, wrestling, and trusting. These past months have been full — full of prayer, reflection, heartache, and grace. I’ve spent many quiet hours talking with the Lord, laying out my fears, my hopes, and my exhaustion at His feet, asking Him again and again for wisdomand peace as I navigate the decision surrounding spinal column shortening surgery.

Living with spina bifida has always been a mix of heartache and beauty. There are days when the pain feels heavy — physically, yes, but emotionally too. I’ve had to grieve the limitations, the disappointments, and the fears that come with this condition. But God, in His tenderness, has also helped me see the beautiful parts of being disabled — the ways it’s drawn me closer to Him, the compassion it’s grown in me, and the opportunities it’s given me to see life differently. There’s something sacred about learning to rejoice in the life He’s given, even when it doesn’t look like the one I once imagined. He continues to remind me of the beauty He’s woven into this life. There are sacred gifts hidden in disability — perspective, compassion, dependence, and a deeper understanding of grace.

Over the past couple of months, I joined a support group for people who’ve either had or are considering this same surgery. It wasn’t quite the kind of encouragement I was looking for, but it did remind me that I’m not alone in these struggles. More than anything, though, I’ve found my deepest support in the Father — in His Word, in quiet prayer, and in the presence of Jesus who continues to steady my heart. I’ve poured out my fears, my questions, my “why now?” moments — and He has met me with such peace and patience. I have cried in His presence, questioned Him, thanked Him, and surrendered it all back into His hands again and again. He has been faithful every single time.

I’ve spent a lot of time counting the cost of this surgery — not just financially, though that’s certainly part of it, but emotionally, physically, and spiritually. I’ve considered the time away from my family, from work, and from the life I love living. I’ve weighed the risks and the possible outcomes. And yet, I’ve also considered the potential benefits — the chance to continue walking, to regain some stability, to relieve some of the pain that has become constant.

At the same time, I’ve started physical therapy to strengthen my legs, knowing that the stronger I can get before surgery, the easier the rehabilitation process might be afterward. And we’re already seeing progress! Every little improvement feels like a gift — a reminder that God is still moving, still strengthening, still equipping me for whatever is next.

There’s also a practical side to all this that’s required some hard reflection. I’ve had to begin thinking about things like putting together a will and preparing for the “what-ifs.” Not because I’m consumed by fear, but because I want to be wise and thoughtful — and because I want my loved ones to be cared for, whatever happens. Those are sobering thoughts, and I won’t pretend otherwise. But even there, God has been so gentle. I feel His presence in the planning, His peace in the preparation, and His assurance that none of this surprises Him.

After much prayer and reflection, I’ve come to the conclusion that surgery is my only real option if I want to continue walking. But even with that clarity, I’ve decided to wait one more year.

Why a year? The truth is — I’m not ready yet. And if I’m being completely transparent, I want one more year to live fully, to soak up time with my family and friends, to make as many memories as I can. Just in case. My faith in Jesus hasn’t wavered, but I also know that faith doesn’t mean I ignore my humanity. This is a massive surgery, and it comes with real risks. So I’m holding both truths — the reality of what could happen and the hope of what I believe will happen — in the same hands that I lift up to God in trust.

There’s a quiet tension in that space between faith and fear, but I’ve learned that’s often where God does His best work. He’s teaching me that trust isn’t pretending to be fearless — it’s choosing to keep believing in His goodness even when the outcome isn’t clear. And so, I’m resting there. Not rushing. Not resisting. Just resting in His timing.

In the meantime, God has been incredibly gracious. I’m so grateful that I don’t currently need surgery for my kidney stones — they’re tucked away and causing no problems for now. My perimenopause symptoms have also eased significantly, which means the surgery we once thought I’d need this fall is off the table. Each of these small mercies feels like a whisper from the Lord reminding me, “I see you. I’m taking care of you.”

And my community — you all — have been one of the biggest blessings in this season. I can’t even begin to express how much your love, prayers, support and encouragement mean to me. From meals and messages to prayers and thoughtful check-ins — every act of kindness has been a reflection of God’s love. Please, keep praying. Pray for continued wisdom. Pray for physical strength as I keep up with therapy. Pray for emotional peace on the hard days and for joy on the good ones. Pray that I’ll stay rooted in gratitude and live fully in this year of waiting.

I promise — if things worsen, if my bladder or bowel function begins to decline, or if my legs show more signs of giving up, I’ll move forward with surgery sooner. But for now, I believe this is where God has me — in a season of preparation, patience, and praise.

To each of you who has walked beside me — thank you. Truly. Your presence in my life is a gift I don’t take for granted. And please know that whatever you are walking through, you’re not alone. I’m always here to pray with you, to listen, to encourage, to feed you, or to simply sit in the hard things with you. That’s what community is — carrying one another’s burdens and celebrating one another’s joys.

The Lord has been so good to me. Even in the uncertainty, I see His hand everywhere. I feel His strength when mine fails. I hear His voice reminding me that He’s not done writing my story. And that is where I rest — in the goodness, sovereignty, and faithfulness of the Father who holds me, heals me, and gives me the courage to keep walking. I’m choosing to rest in His promises — that He goes before me, that He holds me, and that His plans for me are good, no matter what they look like.

Every breath, every step, every bit of progress — it’s all His grace. I give Him all the glory for my life, no matter what lies ahead.

The Lord is good, and His steadfast love endures forever.

With love, gratitude, and trust in Jesus,

Krista