Embracing the Pain

I am in physical therapy for a frozen shoulder. First thought to be a problem with my neck, an old injury resurfacing, it is now clear that any pain in my neck is a result of my gimpy and locked up shoulder. Yet for six weeks I was given therapy to fix the neck, though my neck was not really the problem.

The issue became clear when another therapist took over my case. With a new view of the situation, a new course of treatment was put in place. An incredibly painful treatment.

Tonight I asked my therapist how long it takes to “unfreeze” a shoulder. Looking me in the eye, he said, “It takes a long time and it hurts like hell.” Neither of those statements surprised me. I’d already been in pain for many months, and the treatment – especially his – was indeed painful.

I went from a therapist who weighed a 100 pounds soaking wet to one who was more than double that size and with at least double the strength. A key part of my therapy is hands on pushing, pressing, stretching, pulling and all around pain. There is no short cut. And even if there is a short cut, I’m not sure I’d go that route.

You see, although the therapy is incredibly painful and I come away aching, I am also coming away with just a little bit more mobility, a little bit more flexibility. Tiny improvements that give me great patience. I tolerate the pain, grimacing through the exercises and stretches because I know that it is helping. I may try to complain or harass my therapist, but I can’t. He is helping me even as he brings pain.

Of course, my physical pain and this therapy reminds me of all the healing God has done in my life. I had to go through incredible pain, reliving moments of abandonment, neglect and the absence of love, in order to find belonging, acceptance and unconditional love. Just as I endure the pain of working through the scar tissue in my shoulder, so I had to work through the scar tissue on my soul.

I have come to value, even embrace the pain in my life. Without that pain I would not be the person I am today. And quite honestly, the person I am today is someone I love very much. There is a freedom, a strength, a peace, a focus that wasn’t there before. I can embrace who I am, including the areas that continue to need improvement, because I know that God has embraced me. My pain has opened my eyes to all the potential in the world, in others, and in myself.

I know many people who have experienced deep pain and sorrow. I have yet to find a person who does not see life differently because of their grief. For some, it is still an open wound, tender and painful to the slightest breath. Others have scars, painful and raw but healing. Some, like me, have the faded scars to point to as a reminder, but the pain is rare and fleeting. For us life is stronger than the past and hope triumphs. The scars become beautiful reminders of healing, joy, freedom, and hope. Life is far more precious now because it has been tinged with pain.

Twice a week I endure the physical pain because I know only through it will I find complete healing. Twice a week I remember the soul pain I once endured, and I smile with joy at the life and hope I now enjoy.

Give Grace…to Yourself

I’d be willing to bet that it is harder for us to give ourselves grace than it is to believe God will. We can ask God to forgive us, but forgiving ourselves is often much harder.

Unless you are psychotic, living with guilt is something you have to deal with to one degree or another almost every day. Guilt is a part of the human condition. Sometimes it is appropriate, in which case it should lead us to repentance. Too often though the guilt is of our own warped sense of justice that keeps us from living the full, free life God intended. We punish ourselves for things that are not punish-worthy, especially those things that God has already forgiven and redeemed (the past being one such thing).

Despite all the stellar things God has done in my life, I still have a hard time giving myself grace. I combat the drive to be strong even when I know I’m weak. Just yesterday I had to give myself grace to be sick, to lose my voice. I was beating myself up for not being able to do what I had planned. I literally had to say in my whisper-loud voice, “Give yourself grace.”

Only as I said those words did I realize that I was striving to put up a false front and to undermine the beautiful dependency I have in God. By withholding grace or forgiveness from ourselves, we take the place of God and cut off connection to him. We say to ourselves that we are sufficient. Rather than driving us to God, our weakness limits us because the conduit of grace is broken. We cannot remain connected to him when we withhold grace.

Losing my voice, a very physical thing, showed me how often I beat myself up for much more intangible things. Since this is the year to “Go Deep” I have a tendency to beat myself up relationally. Decades of being reserved and self-protected make it difficult for me to show others how I feel or to express my emotions as fully as I could. Even just talking on the phone can be hard. (It is not lost on me that losing my voice highlighted this little lesson). I fail far more than I like. Yet all beating myself will do is shut down any hope of moving forward. By taking the hand of grace, I have the ability to stand back up and start moving again. I guarantee failure by withholding grace. I guarantee success when I extend grace to myself. There are only two options.

So if you are like me, if you beat yourself up for not succeeding in the areas that mean the most to you, give yourself grace. In doing so you will find the strength to learn, to grow and to move forward.

Beauty Arises

No human can ever know exactly how another person feels. I am me and you are you with our individual lives, so we can never, ever know exactly what each other is feeling. That does not mean, however, that we cannot come close to imagining what another is going through and thus be able to walk alongside them. Coming alongside does require that we have some life experience upon which to draw. An “I’m sorry for your loss” means something more when we know the person saying it understands loss themselves.

About 9 years ago, still in the throes of grief and overwhelming pain, a guest preacher said these words: “Your greatest pain will become your greatest ministry.” I was furious at this statement. I did not want my life to be defined by my abandonment and loss. This statement seemed to minimize the totality of who I was to the one area I had least control over.

A decade on, I see things a bit differently. The truth is my greatest pain is NOT my greatest ministry. Rather my greatest ministry is the triumph through pain and the knowledge that my triumph is a resource for other people’s healing. Because I have come through – not around, over, or passed – my pain, I know what awaits on the other side: HOPE and BEAUTY. I offer hope that pain does not last forever even if the consequences are with us for the rest of our earthly lives. Hope for something truly beautiful does exist.

Our pain shapes who we are and will always leave us different than what we were before. This doesn’t mean we are worse for our pain, though we wouldn’t wish it on our worst enemy. When we have God at our center, we are better for facing our pain head on and going through to the other side. This doesn’t take away the torture of the journey or the very real agony that accompanies our grief, loss, sorrow, and pain. It still hurts. A lot. But there is hope on the other side. The tunnel does eventually end, and light does break through.

My past pain is so much a part of me that I have a very hard time connecting with people who have not experienced some level of heart ache. I am like a dog with a scent. I intuitively find those with grief and pain, and I’m able to connect with them. They recognize in me a kindred, broken spirit, who can make them feel normal in an abnormal situation. Too often when we go through loss of any kind, good-intentioned folks will minimize our pain, thinking that is what we need. The truth is we need to be allowed to feel our pain, anger, grief, sorrow, despair and loathing if we are ever to be free of those emotions. Denying them does not eradicate them. Instead denying our emotions intensifies them until they take on a whole life of their own. Our emotions then resemble something like Frankenstein’s monster set loose on an unsuspecting village. Pitchfork fights are an ugly and painful result.

9 years ago I hated everything that had happened to me. My heart was broken. My past, present and future family were eliminated. I was vilified and ostracized because of lies told about me. I was virtually silent for five years because of the pain and betrayal. Yet it was only by going through another less painful loss (and seeing how far I’d come) and being able to walk alongside someone else as they processed their own loss that I was able to find my voice and my freedom. My pain suddenly had a purpose. While it still took another four years for God’s healing to be fully realized, I was able to help one person find hope in a very dark place. And in helping, beauty arose from the ashes.

Our pain is real. Whether we lose a much-loved spouse to cancer, an estranged spouse to divorce, a pet to old age, a child to suicide, or an elderly father to Jesus’ arms, our loss is valid. Mourn and weep. Remember and learn. Change and grow. Share with those acquainted with sorrow and lean on them. Forgive fully, forgive often, and release the pain to the One who truly does feel our pain. God feels our pain because it is his pain too.

Great beauty comes from great pain when that pain is shared with God. Take God out of the midst and the pain is hell on earth, deforming and scarring. Yet with God at the center of our messed up and painful lives, he is able to transform over time our greatest pain into our greatest beauty. By giving us grace and by us giving grace to ourselves, God creates a masterpiece out of broken pieces. Only then can we reflect the depth of grace and beauty we were meant to have.

Pain is real. Beauty out of pain is possible. Allow God to take you through it with kindred spirits alongside and see the transformation that awaits. Beauty can arise out of the ashes. Trust me. I know.

Surrender

Over the last week I have been increasingly reminded of my mother. I’ve wanted to ask her so many questions about why she might have done something or what things brought real meaning to her. One reason I think of her is because she loved Christmas. As I was putting up my tree, I sorted through many of the ornaments she once had. Glittering and shiny were her favorites. You should have seen our Christmas tree when I was a kid. It was covered in tinsel and hundreds of lights. We loved it. Now I can’t imagine the clean up, but to my mom that did not matter. That tree glowed!

Another reason I think of her is because of my neighbor who is still dealing with the loss of her trailer and some of her possessions. By normal standards this neighbor has too many possessions even after the fire that took out her porch and kitchen. She is, in fact, a hoarder. Even though she knows that this is not healthy, she would collect things from along the road. She had hopes of fixing them, making them better, giving them to others or selling them. She accumulated much and fixed little.

The hoarding is not what reminds me of my mother, though when it came to Christmas stuff she could definitely put my neighbor to a test. What reminds me of my mother is the overwhelming, persistent dream of “something more.” Always, always my mother dreamt of something just beyond her grasp. Whether it was a family or a career or an education or independence, she was always looking for what she didn’t currently possess, all the while running from God.

I respect and honor people with dreams. Dreamers are people I understand. I have many sound and many foolish dreams myself.  At heart, I am a dreamer or I would not be doing what I do. I see a difference, however,  between other dreamers and my mom and neighbor.  It is their complete inability to achieve their dreams or to find satisfaction in the journey toward the dream. They are always striving, never reaching. Always longing, never satisfying. No contentment. No peace.

I can’t imagine a more hellish existence. There is a cure for unfulfilled dreams, though. I know it. I can tell you what the cure is just as I have my neighbor and as I did my mother. The cure, however, takes a certain ingredient to really work. That ingredient is CHOICE.  You have to want it so much more than you want your dreams and own way, or you must be so dissatisfied with your life that you finally accept the cure. Ultimately, it comes down to your will and your choice.

The cure is that we – you, me, my mother, my neighbor – need to surrender everything – all hopes, dreams and ambitions – to God. Let it all go. That means surrendering control. We must surrender our selfishness and ownership of EVERYTHING.

What then happens is a wiping of the slate. Everything is cleared away. God can now put in mind the dreams HE has for us. He puts on our heart the dreams not just to possess but the dreams to actually achieve. He takes us on a journey of discovery of ourselves and how he wants to use us in this world. In that journey comes the peace in doing God’s will and following his plans. This brings freedom from the need to succeed, because it is not our job to succeed just to follow. It brings freedom from bondage and the things this world would say are important, because we have God’s idea of importance which has nothing to do with things or position. It brings freedom to experiment and try new adventures, because with God he uses our uniqueness to reach the world. We are free to be who God made, and is making, us to be.

For days and weeks I watched for a God-opportunity with my mom. I watched as she struggled with the reality of the cancer and the dire prospects. I watched her long for her cigarettes even when she knew those were the very things that had done this to her. I watched as she longed for her dreams and her own sense of importance. I watched. I prayed. I waited.

Finally, I brought her the truth…again. In the light of her loss, she saw her need for full surrender. I prayed with her and have hope of one day seeing her again.  What I miss now is the opportunity to talk about spiritual things with her. I never had that. But I will one day. It is this ‘missing’ that prompts me like nothing else. I can’t let another person miss the great blessing of following Christ in this world.

With my neighbor, I, and others she trusts, have laid it out. Without full surrender to Christ, her life will continue to be a spiral of chaos and bad choices. With surrender, it won’t mean that things will magically change, but it will transform the situation from “chaos” to “God at work.” Where she currently sees hopelessness and despair, I see opportunity and rebuilding. She sees through the eyes of fear and shattered dreams; I see through God’s eyes for redemption and reconciliation. The assessment of the situation is similar – it’s bad, very bad – but I also know who is waiting for her on the other side. She has yet to discover that. Until then I will watch. I will pray. I will wait with her.

God longs for our surrender. For once we fully surrender, we gain the world.