The headache is coming back. The one that makes me wish I could close my eyes and shut out the sights and sounds of this world, the one that turns my stomach and leaves me feeling as brittle as the fine porcelain. I have asked God why I must endure these bouts of incapacitation, there is so much more I could do if this blinding pain didn’t hinder my thoughts.
I could easily break into some deep theological discourse on the various Christian ideas on pain, but the truth is none of that really means much to someone who is in pain, physical, emotional, or mental, and I, like everyone else, desire only one thing at these times – relief. I want very simply and very profoundly for the pain to stop.
There is a temptation to rail at God for allowing me to endure this, after all I am in the middle of attempting to do what he has called me to do, but that type of existential angst is beyond me in this moment. For those of you who have never experienced existential angst, allow me share that it requires a greater expenditure of energy than these headaches will permit. So having asked for relief, sought it out and been left disappointed in pharmaceutical remedies, I am left with the task of endurance.
Now, I have studied various ideas of Christian philosophies on the matter of pain and why we experience physical ailments. Some schools of thought say that it is simply our cross to bear and we should endure with meekness and a mild spirit, perhaps which is beyond me, or maybe that is what God is teaching me. I am open to the idea of him teaching through any method he deem appropriate. Some schools of thought would say that I am suffering due to the consequences of sin, and in general I am in agreement. Pain and suffering are due to sin, but Jesus himself refutes the idea of sin being the cause of specific and individual pain in every circumstance. And as I have yet to experience the guiding force of conviction in relationship to this particular pain, I do believe that is it not this. So if it is God needs to speak louder.
Another school of thought would say that I need to examine the symptoms to understand the root cause. In this case, my head aches and the head being the symbol of authority would indicate I am having problems with authority. Well, I always have problem with authority but I am actively working on those issues. So once again I doubt that this is the cause or the cure for the knives that are gouging out my eyes from inside my skull.
Why am I still typing? Misery loves company, I guess. And it is a question that I would love to have answered. Why, when I need to be the most focused and on my game, does my head try to implode?
I think it is a reminder. A reminder that I should never rely too much on my personal ability to achieve. In everything I must be on guard against arrogance and my skills. Blame the pain, and forgive the blatantness of the next statement, I am good at what I do. I can make almost anything work if I try hard enough, and I know how to go after what I want. It is a God given tenacity that I have and one I use to my advantage. The problem lies in the balance.
God has given me a gift, but it does not mean that I may use it apart from him. It does not mean that I can rely on what he has given in place of relying on him. It is not an easy balance to achieve, so occasionally, he knocks me down a peg or two and leaves me lying slobbering in the floor while he advances in spite of me. He removes the power I would be attempted to abuse from my hands so that I can, in full knowledge, lay powerless at his feet. Through the pain he is “leading me not into temptation and delivering me from evil” before I have the ability to recognize there was even a hint of danger. He knows my weakness, and he knows I am weakest when I am operating in my strength. It is then that I am most likely to turn loose of his hand reach for those things I can do myself.
He is never a big fan of my self reliance. He knows it get me into trouble, and like a good Daddy he would rather prevent it than bail me out. So I am going to accept today’s mandate, find a quiet spot and lay my head down, pray that he is taking care of all things I am going to have to let go today. He knows I am out on a limb with deadlines and obligations, it didn’t escape his notice. So I will have to trust that he knows what he is doing, a fact easier said than believed when a thousand little jack hammers are making mush of your brain.
Showing posts with label Pain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pain. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Redeeming the Past
There are some memories that we lock away in the deepest part of ourselves. Memories too dark and traumatic to ever see the light of day, so we ignore them, push them a little deeper into ourselves and hope that no one can see. Hope that no one will ever guess that this one moment captured so pristinely in our minds but so carefully concealed touches every part of who we are, influences every decision that we make, and haunts even our happiest moments, stealing its beauty.
All of us have a memory like this, a childhood trauma – a death, a lose, abuse, or maybe even something we have done in our weaker moments. It is our greatest shame, and our deepest hurt. It seems as if our lives are divided as to what came before and what comes after. And while we may push it aside, it waits quietly in the wings waiting to leap from its rickety cage and destroy all that we have tried to build.
We try to deny that this one moment has become our defining moment. We tell ourselves that it had nothing to do with our choice to take the safe route home, avoided that relationship, or picked our college major, but it did. It always does.
We hate it for that reason, not just for the pain that it caused in that instance, but for every time we bow before it as if it happened earlier this morning. Knowing that our odd choices and decisions can never be fully explained, even to those who love us, because then we would have to admit what happened, share with another that piece of ourselves that even we can’t love. So we hide, hide from those who love us, hide from ourselves, and hope to God, He really can’t see everything.
And that’s the problem, we know that at some point, somewhere, someone is going to see right through our façade, and it scares us to death. So we live our whole lives afraid, afraid and angry. Hoping that our anger, our shell of self sufficiency, or self sacrifice, is enough to keep people just far enough away we will never be forced to deal with the issue we refuse to admit exists.
And that’s the problem, it is all about ourselves. We try to fix it alone in the dark. We hope that another self help book shoved under the edge of our mattresses will hold the key, help us create another or better cage. We think that we need to take care of this our self, that it only affects our self, and that it will all be okay with a little more self discipline, self punishment, self mutilation. Anything, as long as we can keep any one from finding out.
I can write this way because I have my own stock pile of memories, things that I did, things that were done to me. I know firsthand how they cripple us, eating away at our hopes and dreams, preventing us from reaching out to help another because we don’t even feel worthy to do that. What I did or what was done to me, doesn’t matter. Fill in the blanks with your own list for now, and perhaps one day, over a cup of coffee, I will share.
The point is the particular memory doesn’t matter. It never has. All that matters is it was enough to leave a mark on your soul. And as long as we make it our life’s goal to cover up that mark, we are denying the power of God to redeem all things to his glory. Oh, we can say we have great faith, live a life that seems to demonstrate our maturity and dependence on the Lord, but it’s all a lie and we are living a faithless life.
So how do move into a life that declares that God is faithful and capable of redeeming anything that we freely release to him? We learn how to stop hiding. We find people we can trust, and we tell them our story – every horrifying detail. We tell them the worst of what have experienced, the worst of what we have done, and we stop trying to control the consequences. We let God take care of that.
I won’t lie to you. It is the scariest thing you will ever do. You will feel bare and vulnerable. Your voice will give out, and you will convince yourself no one will ever love you if you say a word. Your head will feel as if it is going to split open like an overripe melon, all your ideas spilling like rotten pulp onto the ground. It will hurt. You will be able to feel the memory being extracted from your being, like a colossal splinter leaving your heart, and somewhere along the way, the nausea will set in. And the voices in the back of your head, the ones you have relied on for so long to keep you safe will tell you to run, not today, do it later, you need more time.
The thing is, our God deserves the highest honor we can give him. And like so many God things, this one seems so backwards to our human minds, so we give him our worst. Our worst moment, our worst pain, our worst shame. It makes no sense but this is the beauty of who He is. Because this amazing God takes all of it and redeems it, turning it into something beautiful and amazing. Our stories are transformed, becoming the reason to praise, becoming the promise of hope for others who once thought they were alone. And as we experience His healing, it our story, our testimony that becomes the means through which we participate in His redemption of not only ourselves, but the world.
All of us have a memory like this, a childhood trauma – a death, a lose, abuse, or maybe even something we have done in our weaker moments. It is our greatest shame, and our deepest hurt. It seems as if our lives are divided as to what came before and what comes after. And while we may push it aside, it waits quietly in the wings waiting to leap from its rickety cage and destroy all that we have tried to build.
We try to deny that this one moment has become our defining moment. We tell ourselves that it had nothing to do with our choice to take the safe route home, avoided that relationship, or picked our college major, but it did. It always does.
We hate it for that reason, not just for the pain that it caused in that instance, but for every time we bow before it as if it happened earlier this morning. Knowing that our odd choices and decisions can never be fully explained, even to those who love us, because then we would have to admit what happened, share with another that piece of ourselves that even we can’t love. So we hide, hide from those who love us, hide from ourselves, and hope to God, He really can’t see everything.
And that’s the problem, we know that at some point, somewhere, someone is going to see right through our façade, and it scares us to death. So we live our whole lives afraid, afraid and angry. Hoping that our anger, our shell of self sufficiency, or self sacrifice, is enough to keep people just far enough away we will never be forced to deal with the issue we refuse to admit exists.
And that’s the problem, it is all about ourselves. We try to fix it alone in the dark. We hope that another self help book shoved under the edge of our mattresses will hold the key, help us create another or better cage. We think that we need to take care of this our self, that it only affects our self, and that it will all be okay with a little more self discipline, self punishment, self mutilation. Anything, as long as we can keep any one from finding out.
I can write this way because I have my own stock pile of memories, things that I did, things that were done to me. I know firsthand how they cripple us, eating away at our hopes and dreams, preventing us from reaching out to help another because we don’t even feel worthy to do that. What I did or what was done to me, doesn’t matter. Fill in the blanks with your own list for now, and perhaps one day, over a cup of coffee, I will share.
The point is the particular memory doesn’t matter. It never has. All that matters is it was enough to leave a mark on your soul. And as long as we make it our life’s goal to cover up that mark, we are denying the power of God to redeem all things to his glory. Oh, we can say we have great faith, live a life that seems to demonstrate our maturity and dependence on the Lord, but it’s all a lie and we are living a faithless life.
So how do move into a life that declares that God is faithful and capable of redeeming anything that we freely release to him? We learn how to stop hiding. We find people we can trust, and we tell them our story – every horrifying detail. We tell them the worst of what have experienced, the worst of what we have done, and we stop trying to control the consequences. We let God take care of that.
I won’t lie to you. It is the scariest thing you will ever do. You will feel bare and vulnerable. Your voice will give out, and you will convince yourself no one will ever love you if you say a word. Your head will feel as if it is going to split open like an overripe melon, all your ideas spilling like rotten pulp onto the ground. It will hurt. You will be able to feel the memory being extracted from your being, like a colossal splinter leaving your heart, and somewhere along the way, the nausea will set in. And the voices in the back of your head, the ones you have relied on for so long to keep you safe will tell you to run, not today, do it later, you need more time.
The thing is, our God deserves the highest honor we can give him. And like so many God things, this one seems so backwards to our human minds, so we give him our worst. Our worst moment, our worst pain, our worst shame. It makes no sense but this is the beauty of who He is. Because this amazing God takes all of it and redeems it, turning it into something beautiful and amazing. Our stories are transformed, becoming the reason to praise, becoming the promise of hope for others who once thought they were alone. And as we experience His healing, it our story, our testimony that becomes the means through which we participate in His redemption of not only ourselves, but the world.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)