Visions of femininity deepened and broadened amid illness
Written by Elizabeth Duarte
Many of us feel a pull towards greatness. As teenagers, we sketch our hopes and dreams in the sky and believe anything’s possible.
The vision I painted in the sky? Prayer warrior. Missionary. Homemaker. Servant. Actor. Auntie. Friend.
From childhood, I looked to a range of women whose actions and commitments offered visions of faith and success—from my fifth grade teacher, to my godmother, to my mother.
I observed my mom, who selflessly gave boundless time and efforts to ministry and our home. My Bible college mentor, Kathy, demonstrated a committed life, flying globally whenever ministry opportunities arose, while yet another role model portrayed God’s love through devoted homemaking.
Their examples inspired my vision of the woman—the Christian—I aspired to be.
I also perceived womanhood as being closely tied to physical achievements. I longed to be the woman described in Proverbs 31. She worked diligently, providing nourishment, clothing, and income from the efforts of her labours.
I saw reflections of this woman in the hands of my mother. Favourite foods made for birthdays, tending the garden, baking delicious treats to honour guests—her love manifested in deeds spoke volumes. Tireless arms embraced her children when sick, and her generosity extended willingly to those in need.
My connection with God seemed to revolve around physical service. As a prayer warrior, I interceded fervently. Leading worship and sharing the gospel from public platforms felt like my identity. I’ve never felt more alive or purposeful than when I’m sharing Christ through storytelling, whether music or theatre.
Doors of opportunity flew open in many areas in my life. I secured full-time missionary employment using music, drama, and service to impact churches globally. Meanwhile, I planned to study worship theology, all while aiming to bless family and friends with time, presence, and labours of love.
Just before my plane was to leave for Europe to begin my internship overseas, however, I ended up, for reasons unknown, unable to walk or move.
Illness made my previous vision of ministry impossible. I was diagnosed with late-stage Lyme disease and my assignment was suspended indefinitely. Hypoxia and diminished strength hardly supported my diaphragm to speak, forget singing. Confined to bed, visiting family and friends ceased. Even prayer was exhausting, as Lyme disease brought brain fog and pain.
I raged with God, wrestling with the injustice. I felt betrayed. If God awaits willing hands and feet to serve a world in need, why stop someone waiting to catch her plane?
With a brain too tired to think, voice too weak to speak, and a body unable to care for herself, how could I serve? Everything I thought defined me as a woman—a believer—disappeared.
Everything I thought defined me as a woman—a believer—disappeared.
As my body weakened, so did the strength of my anger. I faced a choice: embrace bitterness, or lean into the lessons this cocoon held.
I died to myself. My dreams of being a wife, mother, homemaker, and missionary each fell, carrying with them a piece of my identity.
Here, I began to find God anew.
When my voice failed, I found communion with God—turning my heart toward him instead. “Jesus.” One word, one name that conveys multitudes of needs and emotions. The Spirit intercedes through wordless groans (Romans 8:26-27), and surely, he accepts the cries of my soul.
Worship became no longer a melody. Instead, it became an admiration of the heart, inspired by beauty all around me: a wilted rose revived with a drink of water, a doe and her young fawns peeking in my window, or warmth from the gentle rays of sunshine I could feel pouring on my face.
Though unable to attend church physically, new opportunities began online. Hosting virtual events, conversations, and writing a blog restored things I thought impossible. I could still participate in apologetics; I could still find chances to share God’s love and hope.
When least expected, God even resurrected my dream of marriage—which I had given up. I met a man who loves me, broken and helpless though I can be. His name? Lazarus.
I am not the homemaker I dreamed of becoming, but we’ve built a life we treasure. I’ve discovered that managing a household includes asking for and accepting help. I’ve learned to humbly accept that our home doesn’t need to look like a magazine. Though I cannot do much kitchen and house work, I choose to be grateful for the projects and work I am capable of accomplishing from my couch or laptop.
I still shape the atmosphere of my home through choosing wisely my attitude and the words I speak.
Though my heart breaks at not being present physically for loved ones the way I desire, I show my love by demonstrating purpose exists independent of circumstances. In this way, even seeking to live is an act of love—for myself and for others who might count their life worthless due to the limits they face. God has also allowed me to support others who contracted Lyme, finding them medical treatment faster so they don’t have to suffer like I did.
Being a Christian woman doesn’t look like what I anticipated—but I suspect that’s true for most of us.
My aspirations to imitate attributes of the Proverbs 31 woman remain, but now I look towards her fear of the Lord, and seek to let my tongue be ruled by wisdom and kindness.
Weakness in my body is countered by the strength God is building in my soul.
God didn’t give me what I wanted. Yet he gives me what I need, showing me people I didn’t know existed. Instead of a foreign country, God took me to those the rest of the world has forgotten—the chronically ill. As I face my giants, God is allowing me to encourage others that help exists. Sometimes, he lets me be the link that helps others find that hope.
Being a Christian woman doesn’t look like what I anticipated—but I suspect that’s true for most of us. And I’ve learned when I surrender my desires instead of being bitter, God takes the threads of dreams left dying and weaves a life-filled tapestry, with designs far greater than my own.
Elizabeth Duarte lives in southern Alberta with her husband Lazaro. While fighting to regain health, she designs and sells natural cosmetics and loves creating anything that is beautiful.