The other day my sister and I were talking about health.
You know how those conversations start out normal and then suddenly you’re deep in bloodwork reports and doctor conversations?
She reminded me of a report a doctor gave her about eight years ago. It was the kind of report that almost invites you to sit down and accept a new identity. The kind that quietly says, “Well… I guess this is your life now.”
But she refused to sign that agreement.
Yes, she listened.
Yes, she walked through the process wisely.
But she refused to let that report have the final word.
And I remember that season vividly.
I didn’t just hear about the diagnosis — I could see the evidence of it when we would be together. There were days she could hardly stand. Her body would actually shake just trying to stay upright.
This wasn’t an easy battle for her to fight.
And if we’re honest, when a report like that comes, fear almost certainly shows up right behind it.
Fear has a way of rushing in the moment we hear words like diagnosis, levels, prognosis, or long-term condition. It starts whispering questions we didn’t ask for:
What if this never changes?
What if this gets worse?
What if this becomes my new normal?
Fear is loud like that.
And when you’re staring at evidence with your own eyes — when the symptoms are real and the struggle is visible — it takes courage to refuse fear the authority it’s trying to claim.
But that’s exactly what I watched my sister do.
Over and over again, she kept activating faith. Time and time again she chose to speak God’s truth over her situation instead of agreeing with that report.
Even when there were seasons when it looked like the report was winning. For several years the progress was slow, the fight was hard, and the outcome didn’t look promising.
But she refused to surrender her agreement.
And in the end, God had the final word.
Today she’s walking with strength. She’s running after dreams. She’s creating art that was planted in her heart long before any diagnosis ever showed up.
Watching her walk through that season taught me something I’ll never forget.
Reports will always try to tell a story.
But they don’t get to decide the ending.
And Then There’s My Story
About ten years ago, a doctor looked at my bloodwork and said,
“You have Hashimoto’s.”
Honestly, it wasn’t shocking.
I had already lived most of my adult life with hypothyroid — the fatigue, the brain fog, the days when everything felt heavier than it should. I just assumed that was normal for me.
But here’s something I decided a long time ago:
A medical report can inform me…
but it will not define me.
Because I also have another report.
And it’s written in God’s Word.
Hallelujah.
The Support Group That Wasn’t for Me
Naturally, my first thought was to join a Hashimoto’s support group.
Two weeks later, I quietly slipped out.
It wasn’t because people weren’t hurting. They were.
It wasn’t because symptoms weren’t real. They were.
But what blew me away was the atmosphere. It was way too heavy with defeat.
The conversations sounded like this:
“I can’t do this any more.”
“I stay in bed for days - how could I ever work again.”
“This will never change. I’m going to have to learn to live this way.”
And that’s when something hit me:
What you rehearse, you reinforce.
I’m not minimizing pain. I’m not pretending symptoms don’t exist. But I am saying this — the lens you choose eventually becomes the life you start living.
Scripture says:
“A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a broken spirit saps a person’s strength.”
— Proverbs 17:22 (NLT)
And:
“The human spirit can endure a sick body, but who can bear a crushed spirit?”
— Proverbs 18:14 (NLT)
God reveals it in plain site: your body listens to your spirit.
Negativity breeds more negativity.
Fear feeds exhaustion.
But what does having hope do?
Hope strengthens your bones.
I Refused to Answer the Phone
Symptoms have talked to me most of my life. Even as a 21 year old working full-time, I’d find myself in the bathroom stall with quiet tears streaming down my face from the overwhelming flood of exhaustion that would hit me almost daily. Not the normal kind, but the Mac Truck kind.
But even then, I refused to answer the phone.
If I needed rest, I rested.
If I needed to pause, I paused.
If I needed wisdom, I sought it.
But I refused to surrender my joy because of the medical reports I had received throughout my lifetime.
Two years ago, during a service, a woman with a prophetic ministry prayed over me. And one of the things that struck me was over and over she kept praying over my organs.
It was a service I’ll never forget.
But here’s the funny part — it had never even crossed my mind that your thyroid is actually an organ.
So, later that night, sometime after midnight, I woke up with a thought and said out loud asking in wonder, but also with excitement,
“Lord… is my thyroid an organ?”
Google confirmed it was.
I began laughing right there. Then joy hit my spirit like lightning because in that moment I believed God had just touched my thyroid.
In the days that followed, the heavy fog lifted.
The exhaustion that would make its daily overwhelming appearance, disappeared.
The forgetfulness faded.
It wasn’t gradual. It was gone. Just. Like. That.
For two years now I’ve lived more awake, alert, and focused than I can remember ever feeling in my entire life.
Now Here’s the Twist
Recently I had bloodwork done again.
The Hashimoto’s levels — while I honestly expected them to be normal — came back over 600.
Higher than they were five years ago.
As I walked out of that appointment I already made the decision that had already settled in my spirit:
I will believe the report of the Lord.
I’m not pretending numbers don’t exist. But if I live by what I see, I’ll never activate faith that God does impossible things.
Faith doesn’t begin where sight feels comfortable — it begins where trust steps in.
Because if I only move when the numbers line up…
when the symptoms disappear…
when everything finally looks perfect…
then I’m not walking by faith at all.
I’m just responding to what’s visible.
And that’s not how the Kingdom of God works.
The Real Habit
Let me break this down to what this is really about.
It’s about choosing authority.
Isaiah 53:1 asks the question:
“Who has believed our message?
To whom has the Lord revealed his powerful arm?” (NLT)
Another translation says it this way:
“Whose report will you believe?”
Every day we are handed reports.
Medical reports.
Financial reports.
Cultural reports.
Emotional reports.
Internal reports.
And holy habits are formed when we train our spirit to ask:
Whose report gets the final word?
God’s Word says:
“He sent out his word and healed them, snatching them from the door of death.”
— Psalm 107:20 (NLT)“Those who trust in the Lord will find new strength.
They will soar high on wings like eagles…”
— Isaiah 40:31 (NLT)
Once again, this isn’t about pretending symptoms don’t exist.
It’s not about denying reality or ignoring wisdom.
It’s about refusing to let what you’re facing narrate where you’re going.
What shows up in front of you does not get to determine what unfolds ahead of you.
That belongs to God.
Recently, a dear friend of mine walked through a cancer battle. Something her doctor told her has never left me.
He said,
“Ninety-five percent of this battle is choosing to believe you’re going to get through it and holding onto joy. Five percent is what might happen.”
Even in the medical world, they understand something powerful:
Faith matters.
Outlook matters.
Hope carries weight.
So no — this isn’t denial.
It’s decision.
It’s choosing, every single day, which report you will live from.
Reflection Questions
What “report” have you quietly accepted as your identity?
Are you rehearsing your limitation more than God’s promises?
What would it look like to let the Word speak louder than your fear?
Think About It
You don’t deny the facts.
You just don’t let them sit on the throne.