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The above is an excerpt and synopsis of the book I'm writing. I'd appreciate your
prayers for me in this endeavor. If you have a moment, I'd love to hear your feedback!
Email me if you would like updates about the publication of Invisible Illness, Visible
God. Thankyou!
The above is an excerpt and synopsis of the book I'm writing. I'd appreciate your
prayers for me in this endeavor. If you have a moment, I'd love to hear your feedback!
Email me if you would like updates about the publication of Invisible Illness, Visible
God. Thankyou!
Invisible Illness, Visible God
When Pain Meets the Power of an Indestructible Life
(introduction)
by Merry Marinello
When Pain Meets the Power of an Indestructible Life
(introduction)
by Merry Marinello
"It happened again,” my husband Dave said as he slowly removed his coat. He
held the railing and painfully climbed the stairs, two-footing each step. Someone had
rammed another shopping cart into him at the store.
Dave has no cane or wheel chair to alert people that sometimes his legs won’t move
on command; his illness is invisible.
But I see it every day, and sometimes the anger burns in my heart against God and
man. Don’t they see? Doesn’t God care?
That day the rage rammed into my spirit until I too couldn’t make it up the stairs—
steep, long stairs to God, stairs full of fear, unending exhaustion, inadequacy. I can’t
do it, God. I am empty, will You fill me? That’s all I have for You.
Are you also feeling empty? Are you running on fumes to get through the day as you
wrestle with an invisible illness? You are not alone. More than one in three
Americans have an “invisible” chronic illness, and nineteen million are severely
disabled by something we don’t see. Where is God?
Too Young to be Sick?
My husband was a children’s pastor until the summer of 2000 when a yet
undiagnosed illness left him unable to think clearly, remember names and job duties,
or hold regular conversations. He became dizzy, had tremors in his arms and legs,
and pain in joints and muscles most of the time. He had sensitivities to light, sound,
motion, chemicals, molds, and even normal smells like cooking. (There was a four-
month period when I couldn’t cook in our house or he would pass out.)
Finding the cause of Dave’s illness was a daunting task. We had been to thirteen
doctors within three years while I combed the Internet, researching everything from
Chemical Sensitivities to Mad Cow Disease. All the while trying to raise our toddler
and preschooler.
Our story is not unique. Many invisible illnesses take months—or even years, to
diagnose. Alzheimer’s masquerades as normal signs of aging. Some illnesses, such
as Chronic Fatigue and Fibromyalgia must be deduced by ruling out other
possibilities.
And these invisible illnesses are not just affecting an aging population. Sixty percent
of those living with daily illness or pain are aged eighteen to sixty-four. About one in
four adults suffer from a diagnosable mental disorder in any given year. Arthritis, the
leading cause of disability among Americans over age fifteen, affects one in three
adults, and nearly 300,000 children. Asthma affects 20 million Americans, including
nearly five million children. The statistics go on and on. And with each number, a
face, and a name, and a life. Where is God?
Kangaroo and Nuts
One year we worked with an allergist, following a strict sugar-free food-allergy
rotation diet, but Dave’s sensitivities kept growing. No additives, no prepackaged
food, trying “new foods”—I made crackers from quinoa and amaranth. Goat,
antelope, kangaroo, ostrich—soon even these made him sick. Then there was the
month he could eat nothing but four kinds of raw nuts. I lost twenty-five pounds that
year, mainly from losing my mind!
In Chariots of Fire, Olympic Sprinter Eric Liddell says, “God made me fast, and
when I run, I feel his pleasure.” Dave has a shepherd’s heart, and when he
ministered he felt God’s pleasure. I could almost feel the wind of his freedom. He
was doing what God created him to do. And then like a house of cards, our lives
came crashing down.
Sometimes in the midst of trials and pain, we lose sight of God. We pray fervently
for God to help, perhaps questioning our faith, wondering if we have failed or if God
is who He says He is. Sometimes the pain causes us to realize we don’t know God
as well as we thought we did. After all, what kind of God allows intense pain for
seemingly no purpose?
Job said, “Surely, O God, you have worn me out; you have devastated my
entire household…My days have passed, my plans are shattered, and so are the
desires of my heart…What strength do I have, that I should still hope? What
prospects, that I should be patient? Do I have the strength of stone? Is my
flesh bronze? Do I have any power to help myself, now that success has been
driven from me?” (Job 17:11 and 6:11) Anyone facing a chronic illness can sure
understand how he felt!
Losing Our Way
It’s incredibly difficult to face the physical, mental and emotional changes that
chronic illness brings on. The learning curve of lifestyle changes, necessary diet
modifications, and daily habits that need adjusting is astounding. Then there are all
the doctors, mounting bills, insurance claims and appeals, and that sense of being
totally helpless to control your circumstances.
Trying to get on top of these challenges alone will overwhelm anyone. But what if
you also find yourself spiritually unprepared? What if these changes rock your faith,
and you find yourself asking, as my son did at age seven after four years of my
husband’s disability, “It doesn’t seem like God loves Daddy very much since He
won’t heal him. I thought God healed people quickly?”
At seven going on thirty, my son asked the question that adults are still searching and
striving to answer. How can we trust the God who allows pain in our lives? We find
ourselves crying out with the Psalmist in Psalm 13:
“How long, O LORD? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and every day
have sorrow in my heart?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?”
One day Dave left the house without telling me. I hadn’t seen him go—was it a
good day, or was he dizzy that day? Where had he gone? Several hours later he
finally called; he was unable to remember why he had gone out or how he’d gotten
there. Dear Lord, does he have Alzheimer’s? I wondered. For weeks afterward I
hid the car keys from him. But I could eerily see how his physical lost-ness mirrored
my spiritual confusion, the endless stream of questions, the searching and need for
answers.
“Look on me and answer, O LORD my God.
Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death;
my enemy will say, ‘I have overcome him,’
and my foes will rejoice when I fall.”
I met Jerry (not his real name) in a cafeteria. He muscled his tray to the table like a
wildlife warrior grappling with a crocodile. His movements were quick, calculated to
minimize agony. He sat down with a heavy sigh, adjusted his back brace, and wiped
the sweat and furrows of pain from his brow. As we talked, I learned that he had
multiple physical challenges, some visible and some not. People often misunderstood
his needs—expecting slow movements instead of quick ones, thinking he would
prefer the elevator over the stairs (but the elevator’s jerking hurt his back more).
Then at his darkest hour, his wife left him.
Had God left him too?
Yet the Psalmist goes on to say, “But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart
rejoices in your salvation. I will sing to the LORD, for he has been good to me.”
Where did the Psalmist find such strength, such faith, such courage in the midst of
devastation?
How are we to be consoled by God when our circumstances do not change? Sadly
the divorce rate among the chronically ill is over 75%. And physical illness or
uncontrollable physical pain is a major factor in 70% of suicides. We always need
God, but in the midst of illness, that underlying chronic need is brought sharply into
focus.
King David said that God’s consolation brought him joy, that his foot was slipping
but the Lord’s love held him up. Sometimes we want our feet to be on solid ground
but don’t know how to find that in God instead of our circumstances. The only
consolation or help we can imagine is the kind that changes our circumstances. But
what will we do if they don’t change?
Then we may find ourselves grasping for God. The promises life held out to us have
fallen flat, and we realize in one fell swoop that they were never promises from God.
When we face trouble, we often find ourselves asking, so who is this God? How can
I understand what he’s doing? Sometimes people answer the latter question by
misusing the following verse:
And we know that in all things God works for
the good of those who love him, who have been
called according to his purpose. —Rom 8:28
God doesn’t say that the terrible things that happen in our lives are good. He says
that IN ALL things (good and bad) He is working for the good of those who love
Him. It may not look or feel like it, but God is seeking us and working for our good.
Will we seek Him? When life is devastating, will we trust Him?
Stepping Off
Eight years before Dave’s disability, I stood nervously at the edge of the cliff while
various highschoolers egged me on. My husband and I were volunteer leaders on a
rappelling trip, and there I was in full gear with my heels backed up to the rocky
ledge.
“Now lean back,” the instructor said. Slowly I did the most unnatural thing I could
imagine as I laid down on the air off the edge of the cliff, looking up at the sky, my
feet searching for firm footing on the side of the rock face, my body parallel to the
ground. The harness held me securely, the carabineers locking belt to rope to the
edge of the mountain. The view was incredible, the blue sky and tree tops embraced
me, called me to something beyond myself.
My natural inclination was to let my feet reach toward the ground and allow my body
to become upright—but if I let that happen, my body would crash into the rocks. It
was not natural to keep my feet upon the rock, or to trust I wouldn’t plummet to the
ground, but the harness held me. “And this is what it’s like to trust God,” we all
marveled to each other. “He will hold us up when our feet stay on the Rock.”
Suddenly a depth was opened to us that words couldn’t find without stepping off the
cliff.
Have you heard God calling to you, encouraging you, lean back—to step off that cliff
and trust Him? When we’re hurting, we echo the psalmist, how long will this go
on? It takes time to learn how to live on the precipice. It doesn’t feel natural! The
precipice can be a place of danger where we fight for survival, or a place of security,
hope, and rest. This is God’s daily calling to us, to lean back in Him.
There is an incredible view to be had. Something beyond a lesson to learn. A lesson
can’t feed us, hold us, cry with us. We can’t lean back and trust in just a lesson—we
need something more, something that can fully carry our weight—something beyond
traditional answers. We can only be satisfied when we see our God—and He has
filled us with such longing to see Him.
About the author...
held the railing and painfully climbed the stairs, two-footing each step. Someone had
rammed another shopping cart into him at the store.
Dave has no cane or wheel chair to alert people that sometimes his legs won’t move
on command; his illness is invisible.
But I see it every day, and sometimes the anger burns in my heart against God and
man. Don’t they see? Doesn’t God care?
That day the rage rammed into my spirit until I too couldn’t make it up the stairs—
steep, long stairs to God, stairs full of fear, unending exhaustion, inadequacy. I can’t
do it, God. I am empty, will You fill me? That’s all I have for You.
Are you also feeling empty? Are you running on fumes to get through the day as you
wrestle with an invisible illness? You are not alone. More than one in three
Americans have an “invisible” chronic illness, and nineteen million are severely
disabled by something we don’t see. Where is God?
Too Young to be Sick?
My husband was a children’s pastor until the summer of 2000 when a yet
undiagnosed illness left him unable to think clearly, remember names and job duties,
or hold regular conversations. He became dizzy, had tremors in his arms and legs,
and pain in joints and muscles most of the time. He had sensitivities to light, sound,
motion, chemicals, molds, and even normal smells like cooking. (There was a four-
month period when I couldn’t cook in our house or he would pass out.)
Finding the cause of Dave’s illness was a daunting task. We had been to thirteen
doctors within three years while I combed the Internet, researching everything from
Chemical Sensitivities to Mad Cow Disease. All the while trying to raise our toddler
and preschooler.
Our story is not unique. Many invisible illnesses take months—or even years, to
diagnose. Alzheimer’s masquerades as normal signs of aging. Some illnesses, such
as Chronic Fatigue and Fibromyalgia must be deduced by ruling out other
possibilities.
And these invisible illnesses are not just affecting an aging population. Sixty percent
of those living with daily illness or pain are aged eighteen to sixty-four. About one in
four adults suffer from a diagnosable mental disorder in any given year. Arthritis, the
leading cause of disability among Americans over age fifteen, affects one in three
adults, and nearly 300,000 children. Asthma affects 20 million Americans, including
nearly five million children. The statistics go on and on. And with each number, a
face, and a name, and a life. Where is God?
Kangaroo and Nuts
One year we worked with an allergist, following a strict sugar-free food-allergy
rotation diet, but Dave’s sensitivities kept growing. No additives, no prepackaged
food, trying “new foods”—I made crackers from quinoa and amaranth. Goat,
antelope, kangaroo, ostrich—soon even these made him sick. Then there was the
month he could eat nothing but four kinds of raw nuts. I lost twenty-five pounds that
year, mainly from losing my mind!
In Chariots of Fire, Olympic Sprinter Eric Liddell says, “God made me fast, and
when I run, I feel his pleasure.” Dave has a shepherd’s heart, and when he
ministered he felt God’s pleasure. I could almost feel the wind of his freedom. He
was doing what God created him to do. And then like a house of cards, our lives
came crashing down.
Sometimes in the midst of trials and pain, we lose sight of God. We pray fervently
for God to help, perhaps questioning our faith, wondering if we have failed or if God
is who He says He is. Sometimes the pain causes us to realize we don’t know God
as well as we thought we did. After all, what kind of God allows intense pain for
seemingly no purpose?
Job said, “Surely, O God, you have worn me out; you have devastated my
entire household…My days have passed, my plans are shattered, and so are the
desires of my heart…What strength do I have, that I should still hope? What
prospects, that I should be patient? Do I have the strength of stone? Is my
flesh bronze? Do I have any power to help myself, now that success has been
driven from me?” (Job 17:11 and 6:11) Anyone facing a chronic illness can sure
understand how he felt!
Losing Our Way
It’s incredibly difficult to face the physical, mental and emotional changes that
chronic illness brings on. The learning curve of lifestyle changes, necessary diet
modifications, and daily habits that need adjusting is astounding. Then there are all
the doctors, mounting bills, insurance claims and appeals, and that sense of being
totally helpless to control your circumstances.
Trying to get on top of these challenges alone will overwhelm anyone. But what if
you also find yourself spiritually unprepared? What if these changes rock your faith,
and you find yourself asking, as my son did at age seven after four years of my
husband’s disability, “It doesn’t seem like God loves Daddy very much since He
won’t heal him. I thought God healed people quickly?”
At seven going on thirty, my son asked the question that adults are still searching and
striving to answer. How can we trust the God who allows pain in our lives? We find
ourselves crying out with the Psalmist in Psalm 13:
“How long, O LORD? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and every day
have sorrow in my heart?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?”
One day Dave left the house without telling me. I hadn’t seen him go—was it a
good day, or was he dizzy that day? Where had he gone? Several hours later he
finally called; he was unable to remember why he had gone out or how he’d gotten
there. Dear Lord, does he have Alzheimer’s? I wondered. For weeks afterward I
hid the car keys from him. But I could eerily see how his physical lost-ness mirrored
my spiritual confusion, the endless stream of questions, the searching and need for
answers.
“Look on me and answer, O LORD my God.
Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death;
my enemy will say, ‘I have overcome him,’
and my foes will rejoice when I fall.”
I met Jerry (not his real name) in a cafeteria. He muscled his tray to the table like a
wildlife warrior grappling with a crocodile. His movements were quick, calculated to
minimize agony. He sat down with a heavy sigh, adjusted his back brace, and wiped
the sweat and furrows of pain from his brow. As we talked, I learned that he had
multiple physical challenges, some visible and some not. People often misunderstood
his needs—expecting slow movements instead of quick ones, thinking he would
prefer the elevator over the stairs (but the elevator’s jerking hurt his back more).
Then at his darkest hour, his wife left him.
Had God left him too?
Yet the Psalmist goes on to say, “But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart
rejoices in your salvation. I will sing to the LORD, for he has been good to me.”
Where did the Psalmist find such strength, such faith, such courage in the midst of
devastation?
How are we to be consoled by God when our circumstances do not change? Sadly
the divorce rate among the chronically ill is over 75%. And physical illness or
uncontrollable physical pain is a major factor in 70% of suicides. We always need
God, but in the midst of illness, that underlying chronic need is brought sharply into
focus.
King David said that God’s consolation brought him joy, that his foot was slipping
but the Lord’s love held him up. Sometimes we want our feet to be on solid ground
but don’t know how to find that in God instead of our circumstances. The only
consolation or help we can imagine is the kind that changes our circumstances. But
what will we do if they don’t change?
Then we may find ourselves grasping for God. The promises life held out to us have
fallen flat, and we realize in one fell swoop that they were never promises from God.
When we face trouble, we often find ourselves asking, so who is this God? How can
I understand what he’s doing? Sometimes people answer the latter question by
misusing the following verse:
And we know that in all things God works for
the good of those who love him, who have been
called according to his purpose. —Rom 8:28
God doesn’t say that the terrible things that happen in our lives are good. He says
that IN ALL things (good and bad) He is working for the good of those who love
Him. It may not look or feel like it, but God is seeking us and working for our good.
Will we seek Him? When life is devastating, will we trust Him?
Stepping Off
Eight years before Dave’s disability, I stood nervously at the edge of the cliff while
various highschoolers egged me on. My husband and I were volunteer leaders on a
rappelling trip, and there I was in full gear with my heels backed up to the rocky
ledge.
“Now lean back,” the instructor said. Slowly I did the most unnatural thing I could
imagine as I laid down on the air off the edge of the cliff, looking up at the sky, my
feet searching for firm footing on the side of the rock face, my body parallel to the
ground. The harness held me securely, the carabineers locking belt to rope to the
edge of the mountain. The view was incredible, the blue sky and tree tops embraced
me, called me to something beyond myself.
My natural inclination was to let my feet reach toward the ground and allow my body
to become upright—but if I let that happen, my body would crash into the rocks. It
was not natural to keep my feet upon the rock, or to trust I wouldn’t plummet to the
ground, but the harness held me. “And this is what it’s like to trust God,” we all
marveled to each other. “He will hold us up when our feet stay on the Rock.”
Suddenly a depth was opened to us that words couldn’t find without stepping off the
cliff.
Have you heard God calling to you, encouraging you, lean back—to step off that cliff
and trust Him? When we’re hurting, we echo the psalmist, how long will this go
on? It takes time to learn how to live on the precipice. It doesn’t feel natural! The
precipice can be a place of danger where we fight for survival, or a place of security,
hope, and rest. This is God’s daily calling to us, to lean back in Him.
There is an incredible view to be had. Something beyond a lesson to learn. A lesson
can’t feed us, hold us, cry with us. We can’t lean back and trust in just a lesson—we
need something more, something that can fully carry our weight—something beyond
traditional answers. We can only be satisfied when we see our God—and He has
filled us with such longing to see Him.
About the author...
© 2007 Dave and Merry Marinello, all rights reserved.
Welcome! Thanks for visiting our little "harbor" amid life's storms. We hope you
will find rest and encouragement in your struggles, big or small. Here you can:
will find rest and encouragement in your struggles, big or small. Here you can:
My book in progress...
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Hope is My Anchor
Strength for your soul amid life's storms
Strength for your soul amid life's storms