Are You Limping?

“Oh Lord be gracious to us; we wait for you. be our arm every morning, our salvation in the time of trouble.” – Isaiah 33:2

There is a hearts cry that goes out when infirmity finds us. This guttural grunt cannot be contained by mere words. It is the pulse in our soul that bleeds ache and there is no emotional bandage that will bind the wound.

I have a real problem with social media sometimes. People post happy pictures and tell stories about their seemingly impeccable lives. They have perfected the art of making life look easy. But I have never known what that feels like. In fact, I have a friend who regularly posts pictures of her beautiful house that is lovingly decorated, and her neat and tidy children–all of whom have pretty smiles and perfectly coiffed hair. If this weren’t bad enough, she’s exactly like this in person too. Nice clothes. She gets a promotion every other year. Her husband has a really good job. Oh, and she has a nanny. I don’t begrudge her the nanny(okay, maybe I do just a little bit) but to be honest, I find it challenging to relate to people at this end of the human spectrum. I’m certain she has bad days but I’ve never heard about them. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever even seen her frown. Oh, and did I mention she’s naturally thin? It’s amazing really, how some people are just supernaturally blessed.

Conversely, I had lunch with a different friend last week who was relating to me how hard 2015 has been. She related to me one trauma after the other–all in close proximity–each deep and painful in their own way. Then she looked at me and said, “Margaret, I don’t know what I did to deserve all this pain.” I thought about it for a minute as she stirred her salad. Then I said, “When bad things happen, why is our first response to think we did something to deserve it?” She just shook her head and sighed. But I am guilty of thinking the same thing. “What the heck, God?! What’s your deal with me anyway? Do you just really enjoy doling out punishment in my general direction?” Funny how I struggle to “blame” him for all the good things that happen in my life. For the most part, I totally take those for granted.

I hobbled into work on Wednesday. Each time my foot hit the ground I felt a well of pain–swelling to crescendo and threatening to drown me. I wanted to crawl back to my car and drive home. I wanted someone to carry me. I wanted ibuprofen. And I tried not to limp. I didn’t want people to ask me what was wrong. I was in a foul mood and the very last thing I wanted was pity. So I took slow and deliberate steps and tried really hard to smile. I failed.

“Margaret! Are you limping?”

I cringed. I took a deep breath. “I’m okay. Ain’t no thang.” And then I moved on. I didn’t want to discuss my pain. It’s private. It’s personal. Besides, there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it.

I don’t write all of this to complain. It’s just life. Or as Wesley once said, “Life is pain, highness. Anyone who tells you differently is selling something.”

I drove to downtown St. Louis today to see a new doctor in order to get help with some health issues for my young son. While driving there I passed two men in separate locations. Each held a sign that conveyed the same message: “Homeless. Please help me.” I began to wonder, is there any respite from this sickness–this pain that has infected everyone? Is there hope? Is there healing? Or am I just like those men–standing on a corner with my little cardboard sign pleading for someone, anyone to take pity on me and scoop me up and offer assistance. I had a terrible thought at that moment too. Is my religion the crutch people outside my situation perceive it to be? Because really, who can believe in a God that allows such terrible suffering and does nothing to intervene?

I have been hesitant to talk about this on my blog but I feel the need to be candid in case others could find some semblance of camaraderie in the knowledge that they do not suffer alone. The thing is, I have been having stomach pains for some time now and finally sought out help from my doctor. I had been worried and was hopeful she would give me some medicine to make the pain go away. Instead, she waved her little pad, threw out a disinterested diagnosis and told me to get some tests. Then she threw a script at me and told me to see a G.I. doctor. She also mentioned I might want to change my diet.

It would be a massive understatement to say that I panicked. I am pretty sure there was hyperventilating and then carbs. Lots of carbs. And yes, that sound you just heard was the button on my pants popping. Because that’s what happens when I freak out. I eat. And then I guilt. And then I pick myself up and dust myself off and move forward. That is my cycle of life.

But you know what I think? I think all this suffering just makes me more real. One could never accuse me of being plastic. All of this pain and struggle and hardship are not wasted. They make me more. Like the Velveteen Rabbit. He didn’t become real until he had been really loved.

There are times when I feel abandoned by God. I pray and there is no easy answer. I cry and my tears are not assuaged. But that does not mean He is absent. In fact, there are other times where He uses my pain to give me greater understanding of others who suffer, and conversely, He uses the pain of others to comfort me. What a mystery He is! A wonderful, beautiful mystery!

So when I am in pain, when I suffer, when I experience the limp of doom…I still believe God is present.

“Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” – Isaiah 41:10

Today I am in the pain, but I choose to trust God anyway. I believe He will deliver me from all of my troubles. Maybe not today. Maybe not even tomorrow. And I trust Him.

Are you limping? Take heart! He hears your cries. And I promise you this, you are not alone. Better yet, your pain is making you more real.