pain...

I was listening to some Sara Bareilles this morning as I drove into the office. It was a diversion from my typical sermonized commute, but I needed to spend some time talking to Jesus, so I let her play in the background as I communed with my Lord on the 57 freeway in 8am traffic. 

The tears were brimming just behind the surface for a myriad of reasons when these words seemed to scream at me…

“ No way to make the pain play fair - doesn’t disappear just because you say it isn’t there… “ 

…oh my goodness, isn’t that the truth. How hard do we fight to pretend. To live in this pretense that we’re ok. That it doesn’t hurt desperately. It doesn’t take our breath away or well up inside us unexpectedly. Pain whether physical or emotional holds us captive and takes over. We push through it and find ways to live in the midst of it, but it is still there. 

This season has been one in which pain has repeatedly knocked me off my feet and caused me to face it for the monster it can be. Physical pain has pushed me to my limits and forced me to choose slower, stiller, smaller. Celebrating engagements, marriages, pregnancies and birth announcements has compelled me to face that tiny tinge of sadness that has grown over time into a deep ache and genuine longing for a husband and family of my own. Friendships have changed, ebbed, adjusted and my heart has had to let go. Pain has become a constant companion, lurking in shadows just beneath the surface and creeping in unexpectedly overtaking my capacity to pretend. Then once again I am bound in pain’s grasp and must confront the truth that maybe I’m not quite as ok as I want to believe…and definitely not as ok as what I want everyone else to see. 

I truly believe honesty is the key to hope when it comes to pain. For some reason we buy into this lie that pain is intrinsically negative and therefore we must overcome it - we mustn’t feel it - we can’t admit it. So we deny its presence and shove it to some dark corner giving it more power and ammunition for a hostile takeover later. When the pain attacks, we’re alone, and the monster feels insurmountable. I am learning (slowly) that by letting people in, by sharing the ache, allowing them to see the tears, attempting to give myself grace and lowering my personal expectations, actually walking in the midst of pain feels (at least a little) easier. It might be a constant presence, but it isn’t nearly as strong and doesn’t defeat quite as often.

I don’t know when (or if) the pain will end. God doesn’t promise to cure me. Or give me a husband. He doesn’t promise friends will be by my side through every season and chapter. He doesn’t promise I won’t disappoint people or cause pain. He never says it will be easy. He merely promises to be near, to be a comfort and refuge in every storm. He promises to be enough and to be strength when I don’t have it in me to fight anymore. He may not take the pain away, but He will be there beside me to fight through it and He never asked me to pretend to be ok. So let’s stop lying friends, let’s stop thinking that pain will disappear just because we say it isn’t there. Let’s embrace the truth and find hope and learn to fight together.