There are certain things we know about ourselves that no one can talk us out of. Pieces of our identity which are so rock solid, that we never need to hold them up to a metaphorical mirror to see if we're right.

One of my certain things is my literary skills. I'm an elementary teacher, and I've always been best at teaching reading and writing. I'm a writer. I love words, and I notice the shades of meaning present in conversation, and I choose my own words carefully, to reflect my exact intent.

Several years ago, those skills started slipping away. It was barely noticeable at first---and began with me mixing up names of students. No big deal, you might say. Everyone does that. True. Especially when you have a Bailey (boy), Bailey (girl), Shaelee, Haley and Kylee all in the same class. But it was heightened.

Other things started to slip too. I'm a meticulous speller and editor. I rarely make mistakes, even on social media. I started making tons and tons of errors. I made them on Facebook, on the white board, in emails, in texts, and when writing in front of my students . . .it was not normal, and it was not me.

And then, I started having problems with simple word recall. I'd be up teaching my students and not be able to retrieve a word, and I would have to describe it to my students and enlist their help. What's that thing---you know----it has 4 legs and barks?

Ok, I'm exaggerating slightly, but not by much. It was scary. I lived with my aging grandma for 5 years after college, and watched firsthand as dementia slowly claimed her mind. I wondered if I were destined to follow, at a far younger age.

When I started talking about my symptoms with friends older than myself, the near universal comment was "Yeah, welcome to old age." But I knew, the way you just know sometimes, that what I was experiencing wasn't normal.

Satan always attacks us in the area of our strengths. If I know one thing about my purpose in this world, it is that God has charged me with writing. I don't say that to boast, because it is most definitely not what I would have chosen for myself. And right now? I don't have a clue as to what I'm supposed to write about.

But, my symptoms were no accident. They were meant to rob me of the tools God had equipped me with to fulfill His will. I went to my doctor, and asked to see a specialist.

I was sent for a 4 hour memory test, which as it turns out, was very biased in favor of educators and anyone literary. And after completing it, I was told that it was essentially a baseline test----and wouldn't really tell us anything until my memory worsened-----and the difference could be tested. G-R-E-A-T.

A few weeks later, I was running projection at church, and a gentleman known for hearing from God about people who need to be healed, stood up and mentioned someone who was worried about their memory, to the point that they had gone to their doctor for testing.

Our pastor, who was standing at the front immediately pointed to me, and said THAT'S FOR YOU. My small group, led by Pastor Bob, had recently prayed for me regarding my symptoms, so there was a recognition of God responding to our faith.

Excitement and faith hit my spirit, and there was an inner-fist pump YES, I KNEW IT! moment in my heart. I'd love to say it was the AMEN answering the word of God calling me out. It was much more of a YES!I KNEW IT WASNT OLD AGE! kind of thing.

But then, the reality of the moment hit. The Almighty God of the Universe had seen ME, and reached down HIS hand, inviting me to be healed.

I accepted.

I'm not sure how long after that I noticed the change in symptoms, but it happened pretty quickly. I remember watching closely, thinking I had better wait and make sure before speaking up.

It's been over a year now. 90% of my symptoms are gone and have never returned. The one thing which has held on is the name mix-up. One of my sweet girls this year is always referred to as "Regena-I mean-LYLA", poor thing. She will likely need therapy.

BUT, Glory to God---I do not make spelling errors any more, I can retrieve words, I don't get mixed up and turned around----like I did for that strange season of time.

I'm still contending not to mix up names. The enemy can't have my gifts. He cannot have my identity.

Since then? I've noticed bigger things He's robbed me of. Parts of my identity I once fought him on, but gave up, and said, "Oh well. That must just be me."

Only it's not. And I'm picking up my sword again. Join me? Where has Satan attacked your identity and how long will you let it stick?

Photo Cred: Dustin Lee

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