It might tell you a lot about me that the day after hearing the words, “Absolutely no running,” from the mouth of my physical therapist, I decided to turn my daily walk into a run. I blame my husband, honestly. He was tempting me when he said, “Take it easy today,” as I headed out the door.

I should have listened—I paid the price within seconds. I’m so tired of you holding me back, I inwardly accused my body, filled with frustration over fragility.

My body revolts against me daily. When I pick up my toddler, my hips curse me. My stomach cramps after most meals. Changing positions in bed causes my thighs, hips, and groin to pop, crackle, and grind like broken machinery in a factory. I’m only in my mid-thirties, but I feel the wasting away of my body more each day. I hold within the walls my body a cocktail of autoimmune and congenital diseases. I’ve lived with chronic illness since my youth.

A study conducted in 2021 found that 44 percent of older millennials suffered from chronic illness. It is believed that millennials are having more health issues earlier in life than previous generations. Still, 51.8% of Americans have at least one chronic illness.

Those of us battling chronic illness have endless evidence that our bodies our wasting away. We can become overwhelmed by it. We might even become so hyper-focused on the wasting away of our bodies that we forget to rest in the truth of our daily inward renewal.

So, how can Christians facing ongoing disease live with hope in light of this wasting away?

Breaking Down Our Bodies

As every human ages, we experience vast changes in our mind, bones, muscles, and joints. While we know the overarching cause of our wasting away is sin’s curse, there are many biological reasons that our bodies break down over time. But it’s not just inward biological issues that produce aging, scientists have also found that there can be environmental factors too.

It shouldn’t be lost on us that the failure of cells, attacks from our environment, and wear and tear within our bodies are all effects of the fall in Genesis. Our bodies are caving in on themselves, shattering, system by system until we die. Those with chronic illness keenly understand this reality—many of us long before we hit middle-age.

Wasting but Never Wasted

“I hate my body!” I complained to my husband one Sunday morning. The words came out like venom, and I tasted their bitterness. It’s hard to believe your body is good when it’s nagging you with pain.

As believers with chronic illness, body hatred can become part of daily life as we grow in disdain toward our bodies. Instead of being thankful for the good gift of our bodies given to us by our Creator, despite their brokenness, we might view them as only a hindrance. In his book, What God Has to Say About Our Bodies, author Sam Allberry says, “... our body is actually broken; it’s not entirely as it was meant to be, and we have all sorts of issues with it. But David can say even of his imperfect and fallen body that it has been ‘fearfully and wonderfully made.’” (Allberry, 2021, pg. 24). Those of us who battle chronic illness can, and should, say that too. We are fearfully and wonderfully made. Our bodies are a gift.

Paul encourages those of us who feel our bodies wasting away: “So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day” (2 Cor. 4:16). The definition of wasting is to undergo decay or loss of strength. I was startled by how this captures the experience in my body. Can you relate?

But Paul didn’t stop at the wasting; he points us to the truth that even as our outer self decays, our inner self is being renewed. What exactly is the “inner self?” It’s the regenerated soul which has trusted in Christ for salvation. Every day, as we fix our eyes on our Savior and on heavenly realities (Col. 1:1–3), our hearts are changed. Our inner self is renewed as we are conformed into the image of Christ (Rom. 12:2). This is how we can grow in love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control (Gal. 5:22–23), even as we groan through physical pain and illness caused by our diseases and disorders.

This is our hope: Our earthly tents are tearing apart, wasting away, and will eventually die. But God is keeping our souls. One day he will bring us into glory and reunite us with our bodies—bodies that will be glorified, perfect, immortal, free from pain and sickness (1 Cor. 15:50–56).

Our bodies are wasting away but the suffering we encounter in our bodies is not wasted. God is working through even the broken fragments of our chronically ill bodies. God is using our chronic illness to draw us to himself, make us more like Christ, and so that we might comfort other sufferers (Rom. 8:28; 2 Cor. 1:3–5). Paul encourages us to not lose heart because God is using our suffering for good and we are headed somewhere greater than this wasting world. One day, Jesus will come back and raise us to be with him forever in heaven where there are no longer persistent illnesses. These sufferings will become “light and momentary” when we feel the weight of glory that is to come (2 Cor. 4:17). It will indeed be beyond comparison.

In Romans 8:23, Paul declares all of creation is groaning. There’s a reason the lyrics in the popular Andrew Peterson song, Is He Worthy?, cause tears to develop and linger on our lashes. Do we feel the world is broken? Absolutely we do. And we’re all groaning. But soon, our groaning will end.

But for now, we’re still here on this earth with these tarnished bodies. And that’s really hard.

Living with Hope in the “Not Yet”

Have you heard someone mention the phrase “already, not yet?” These words encapsulate the reality that when Jesus was resurrected from the grave, his reign—his kingdom—began (already). But we won’t experience the fullness of this reality until his second coming (not yet). Even still, it has implications for us today.

When Jesus was raised from the dead, we were raised with him (Col. 3:1). This is a mind-boggling idea that theologians call “mystical union.” It’s the spiritual reality that disciples of Jesus are united to him in his life, baptism, death, burial, resurrection, ascension, and are seated with him in heaven, by the power of the Holy Spirit, according to the will of the Father. The late R.C. Sproul explains,“From eternity, God considers the elect to be in Christ. Before our mystical union is effected with us in time, it is already a present reality in the mind of God…What has always existed in the mind of God in eternity becomes a time-bound reality in the heart of the regenerate.”

Before the foundation of the world, we were already spiritually united with Christ. One day, our bodies will also reflect that reality. For now, our fallen bodies are not yet glorified. They are still broken and wasting away each day.

There’s great joy in the truth that we won’t always walk in shattered vessels. Our perishable bodies will become imperishable, and our mortal bodies will become immortal when we see our Lord in the clouds (1 Cor. 15:53). One seminary professor says, “Our spiritual resurrection in the already makes our physical resurrection in the future certain.” This is where our hope is anchored, but it doesn’t make living in the “not yet” easy.

We can remain hopeful in Christ through chronic illness even as symptoms plunder our health. Experiencing hope and joy are not exclusive from feelings of sadness. When we are in the thick of a flare-up, we can go before God in prayer and lament while our hope remains secure. Why? Because we believe in his promise to one day take away every ounce of pain we’ve embodied (Rev. 21:4).

It’s easy to fixate on the ways our bodies have made our lives difficult. I’ve learned that even when I hate my body, God calls it good. I long to align myself to agree with what he deems is good. We know that since the brokenness of our bodies is a consequence of sin entering the world, God cannot view the effects of sin as good. Yet, the Author of all good things will bring good from our chronic illness (Rom. 8:28). He is working even in our wasting to bring about his sovereign plans. This means we can both lament to him and trust him with all the ways we witness the breaking down of our body.

Our wasting away is indisputable; these earthly tents will perish. But our hope is not in this life but the next, not this body but our glorified one. Let us bask in the joy of the certainty of our bodily redemption even as we weep over the ways sin has broken us. We may no longer have good bones, strong joints, or healthy hearts, but one day we will have glorified ones.