I find as I encounter pain that I have a tendency to want to blurt it out at the most inopportune moments. It seems that I wear my emotions on my face and so it is readily apparent exactly how I feel the moment I feel it. This is wonderful when I’m happy and floating along like a ladybug on a leaf. I just follow the babbling brook and fan my wings in the breeze. But when the storms come, I lose my rosy glow. I don’t know exactly what I look like when I’m grimacing, but when people approach me and say, “Margaret, are you okay?” And I respond, “Sure. I’m fine. And they say, “Are you sure?” And then my face doesn’t something I can’t control as I try to determine if they are in earnest or just merely nosey. Because the truth is, I want to tell people that I’m hurting but most people in the workplace aren’t really interested in sharing my life. They just want to do their job and go home, not listen to some overly emotional chick blubber on and on about her (not-that-important)problems. So I tuck it in. I hide behind my gray cubicle walls, stare at my glow-box and silently sob.
There I go with the melodramatics again. As if my tiny aches and pains even measure on the Richter scale of agonies. I only mention all of this to say that I have been trying to learn discipline in the area of self-pity. It is a very challenging thing for me to step outside of myself and be cheerful even when I am feeling bad. I very much want to be able to share my suffering with a close friend, give my pain to my God and move on. But so often I get stuck in this rut of feeling sorry for myself. And honestly, it’s such a waste of time and energy.
And it’s not just that nobody likes a whiner and I’m trying to win a popularity contest by controlling myself. I really want to focus on more important things. But sometimes the pain screams so loudly that I just kind-of fold up inside and get stuck in a loop of “woe is me.” This is what happened to me last week as I encountered a physical ailment to which there is no immediate remedy. Try as I wanted to suck it up and move forward, my mind refused to cooperate. I prayed and cried in equal measure, but when the pain ceased to abate I crawled onto a plate of pizza and sighed.
I sometimes wonder if I will ever “grow up.” Will I ever develop a thick skin? Will I arrive at a level of maturity that scoffs at this type of weakness? Will I hold my head high and lower my nose to those whose emotional volatility rivals a cantankerous squirrel? Unfortunately, the harsh reality is that pain is part of the human condition. It is a force that cannot fully be reckoned with. Be it emotional or physical pain, I don’t believe any human alive is immune. So when I am hurting and longing to be a stronger person, I remember that I can learn to hide my pain, but I can never make it go away completely. And God forbid I ever pretend to be above the sorrows of my neighbors. Because I know what it is to be a hurting neighbor and to be scoffed at as if I were a tantruming child.
I made a decision this past weekend to move through the pain instead of wallowing in it. I pulled out my gardening gloves and my hoe and began attacking the stony ground outside of my house. You see, we purchased a home earlier this year that was in a dire state of disrepair. While we have completed much of the interior renovations, the yard is–frankly–a disaster. Once a upon a time an owner decided he or she did not like grass and hauled in many tons of rock and spread it liberally. I have made it the ambition of my life to rid my yard of every ugly brown rock I come into contact with. For the most part, it is back-breaking, thankless work. My yard looks, for the most part, like a construction site that has been ravaged by rabid moles.
While I was working, (grumbling to myself) I spotted one of my neighbors. She is one of the most delightful people I know and I instantly put my trowel down and invited her inside. Once there her tears began to flow as she related her sorrows one ache at a time. We sat that way for a long time. Her asking me what she should do, and I–feeling inept and foolish when I said–“I don’t know.” So I prayed and cried with her. And I wished I had a magic lamp to rub so that I could summon a genie capable of removing her trials.
When she had carried her heavy heart home and I had resumed my labor of love, I cried out to God. “Where are you?! Why won’t you help her? Why won’t you help me? Why must we endure such pain, such grief? What purpose does it have and why isn’t there an easy solution?” I found myself in such a state of frustration that I was flinging rocks willy-nilly and wetting the dirt with my own salty tears. And I want to be honest here, I found myself very, very angry with God for not stepping in and solving our problems at that very instant. So I quit talking to him and I ate some ice cream instead. Because ice cream fixes everything, right? That’s why my pants are so tight again.
The next day I found myself at church. Our worship team was being ravaged by a rogue microphone and they were struggling to lead a congregation of eager singers who couldn’t hear the proper melodies. My friend David played the guitar like a pro and the guest singer sang like an angel. But they were no match for the wiring or the feedback loop or the amplifier that was somehow amplifying all of the wrong things. The young man playing the violin was earnest in his work but I heard not a single note. To be honest, all I could feel was my own tears splattering against the tops of my hands as we sang the words to one of my favorite songs.
Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.
They will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not be faint.
And like a flight upon an eagles’s wings,
He will give the weary strength.
So lift your eyes up to the sky
To the one who hears you when you cry.
It was one of the best mornings of worship I have encountered in recent memory, regardless of the snafus. And I remembered that regardless of the circumstances, God is present. And he heard not only my moaning and groaning, but the fears and joys and loves and hopes of everyone else in the congregation.
C.S. Lewis wrote in The Problem of Pain, “The human spirit will not even begin to try to surrender self-will as long as all seems to be well with it.” As I read that I remember that I have learned some of the most valuable lessons of my life through pain. I learned to let go of people I couldn’t make love me. I learned that possessions have little value and take up entirely too much physical and mental space. I learned that facing and fighting my passions freed me from immense anguish and enabled me to live in a space of gratitude and grace. So as much as I want to bemoan my current circumstances(pain), I know that self-pity is an unforgiving quick-sand. It’s so easy to fall into and so hard to crawl out of. And that is why I must trust my God. He is real. He loves me. And He is intimately involved in my story, even when it doesn’t feel that way.
And that is why I must keep disciplining my mind. I must remember the promise he made, “I will never leave you or forsake you.” And I must walk forward even when my steps are faltering. His grace will always be enough. And it is certainly sweeter than ice cream.
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