God’s not dead, No! He is alive,
God’s not dead, No! He is alive,
God’s not dead, No! He is alive,

I feel it in my hands (clap, clap)
I feel it in my feet (stomp, stomp)
I feel it all over me.

A few months ago, I could have had a hand-clapping, foot-stomping good time with the actions to this song—clapping loudly and occasionally on beat—during worship on Sunday morning. But today, I can’t. I can’t clap, make a fist or supinate my wrist (a new word I learned recently that means to rotate the hand so the palm faces upward). I don’t feel it in my hands, or my feet, or all over me. 

In early November 2023, I had some unusual back pain. Thinking I must have pulled a muscle, I tried some over-the-counter pain meds, then made a trip to the doctor for a prescription to fight whatever was going on. It just got worse. One morning, I had excruciating shooting pain in my shoulder. A couple of days later, that same pain migrated to my hand. Almost immediately, I lost use of my hand. I was unable to turn it, touch anything or bend my fingers. What was going on?

I racked my brain, thinking that if a pain could migrate from my shoulder to my hand, surely it could leave once it was done with the hand? And maybe because the hand had so many different joints, it was just taking a while? Day after day, I lived from one dose of painkillers to the next. Every night I sat up for hours wishing that the terrible burning sensation would go away.

My doctor seemed as puzzled as I was. Inflammation levels were high, suggesting that something else was going on, but what? Ultrasounds and X-rays looked normal. The mystery grew.

In Saskatchewan, you can view the results of medical tests on a health app. I thought, if my doctor couldn’t figure things out, I would. I turned to Google. What did this blood test mean, and that one? All kinds of potential diagnoses crossed my mind, but they also kept me up at night. What if I was dying? Should I get my affairs in order? What would I tell my kids? 

What if I wasn’t dying, but I couldn’t work anymore? Who would take over? How disabled would I become? Did I even have disability insurance?

Perhaps you’ve been there. (I have since deleted the app, for obvious reasons. Doctors are trained; I am not.)

Please don’t get me wrong; there is much for which to be grateful. The ability to still use one hand, to think and to lead a somewhat productive life. I have supportive friends, family and coworkers. My family’s health seems decent, and work is going A-OK, but I’m still having trouble “feeling it.” Do you know what I mean? Perhaps you, too, have struggled to feel “right” when others have expected you to be celebrating.

For me, that happened this past Easter. As a pastor, I should have been on top of the world. But as friends and colleagues exclaimed, “He is risen!” I was thinking, Why doesn’t he fix my hand, and a few other things on my list?

And then, one morning on the way to church, we passed a neighbour’s house, where they had a blow-up decoration in their front yard. There, dancing in the wind, was a cross with the words “He is Risen” and three giant Easter eggs. When we arrived at church, a member of the corps had brought a carved, Easter-egg-shaped Resurrection scene, again with the words “He is Risen.” It seemed that I needed to be reminded of the Easter message.

On the way home, we stopped to take a picture of the decoration, and it was then that I understood. We need our neighbours. We didn’t know them, but they were people of faith— and we needed to be reminded that even when all is not well, Jesus is alive, and we are not without hope.

We also need our church family. The ones who smile, share an Easter breakfast and spend time carving out that very same message. 

We need others, who are in a different space relationally, physically, emotionally and spiritually, to remind us that we are not alone; that even when we don’t “feel it,” they do, and will hold the banner high until we can once again “feel it” in our hands, our feet, our souls.

In the spring, I was finally able to see a neurologist, who is getting closer to a diagnosis. Between this—and deleting the health app—there is more peace in my mind.

We cannot walk through life alone. We need each other. So, keep putting up those blow-up decorations and offering encouragement to your brothers and sisters in Christ. You never know when they might need it.

Major Charlotte Dean is the corps officer at The Salvation Army—A Community Church in Prince Albert, Sask.