After shopping one afternoon, I came home to find my husband, then boyfriend, in the garden. He looked visibly shaken.

“I’ve been waiting for you to get home. Can we go inside and talk?”

As we scrubbed our hands under the kitchen faucet, he began explaining that the man who played an integral part in getting him to treatment was in kidney failure. Immediately, I hurt for him.

“So, I’m thinking…”

Grabbing a tea towel, I began nodding before he finished his sentence.

“Yes, absolutely, you should go see him and have some quality time,” I said, while drying my hands. “I’ll take care of everything here.”

“Actually, I wanted to sit down with you and talk about whether I should consider donating a kidney.”

Absolutely not. Is he insane?

 In less than two seconds, I had myself heartbroken, alone, and my boyfriend dead on the operating table. Two more seconds and I began searching for the right words to shut this thing down. I went from being the sweet and understanding girlfriend to a woman losing her ever loving mind. “What if one of your kids needs a kidney? I thought we were doing this life together.”

I guess he doesn’t love me as much as he says he does.

What about me? What if I need a kidney? I marched back outside and started pulling unruly vines wrapped around pine trees in our backyard. That’s fine. I don’t need him. I’ll just be alone. Better to find out where I stand now. Sweating and thirsty I went back inside to get some water.

Alone in the kitchen, I asked myself why I’d reacted that way? “You’re afraid.” Your scared of losing him.”

It was true. I’d flown straight into fear-driven thinking, frightened of losing this beautiful person, and the love and security he brought to my life.

My husband’s kidney (which he still has) isn’t the only one of his organs to shed light on my   character defects. During our years together, he’s moved between having diverticulosis (the presence of little pouches in the colon) and diverticulitis (when one or more of those pouches becomes inflamed). The prescription for avoiding flare-ups is to eat intentionally and adhere to a high fiber, high-quality diet. Veering off this regimen and overindulging often has consequences.

Unfortunately, last week he had a flare-up. Fortunately, we know how to treat it.

He describes the initial symptoms as an irritation—a hybrid of internal pressure and stretching. The symptoms go from bad to worse very quickly and it becomes extremely painful and often debilitating, leaving him bed-ridden for days. The course of action is to get on a clear liquid diet for about a week, treating the inflammation by not feeding it. When symptom free, he often reverts to eating whatever he wants, acting as though he doesn’t have this illness.

My spiritual illness is similar. My character defects are there, dormant just waiting to flare up and cause not only me, but everyone around me, irritation and pain. In my arrogance, I can lose sight that spiritual disciplines and principles are what allow me to keep my symptoms arrested and have emotional sobriety. I get flare-ups. Thankfully, I know how to treat them. I cannot afford to delude myself into thinking that following my spiritual diet yesterday means I’m good today.

The subtle signals I get also happen in my abdomen—my belly barometer, I call it. When I’m disturbed. When there’s an irritation. When my defects are inflamed, a shift in perspective is always prescribed to avoid debilitating consequences. I ask God to perform spiritual surgery, knowing that my character defects keep me separated from others, thus separated from God. When I’m separated from God, I’m cutoff from the vital power that provides me soundness of mind, the ability to be useful, and the tools to live happy, joyous and free.

Jaime Hrobar