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From: rodhugen
Date: Mon Aug 31 09:46:11 EDT 2009 Subject: On pain (long)

There are some lessons I think I’m learning out of the last two and a half years that I offer tentatively because they are not well developed, which, I suspect, lessons never really are. We are always in process and we don’t suddenly arrive. So I write this with some trepidation and recognize that it is long and rambling just like ill prepared sermons often are.

I am learning that living in constant pain is far more debilitating than I could have imagined. As I slowly regain strength post surgery, I realize the severe strain pain placed on my body and the awful cost physically. Pain wears us down and wears us out and yet the slow dying is so small and incremental that we can’t see it even in the mirror. Those of you who read body language and or who are hyper aware can often ‘see’ the devastation but it most often deceives even the bearer. My recovery is hampered and slowed because I ‘lived with pain’ for far too long.

I am learning that drug induced sleep is not rest. I took Lyrica and Vicadin at night ostensibly to ‘rest’. I took Cymbalta to wake me in the morning from the fogginess of the agents that put me to sleep. It was a vicious cycle that put me to sleep, but did not give me rest. Since I’ve stopped taking the pain medications and have survived the jittery withdrawals, I am once again discovering the power of restful sleep. Because I tire easily, I can now fall into that wonderful exhausted kind of sleep that I haven’t slept in years. The power of sleeping because your body craves it instead of because it is strung out on drugs is exhilarating. I remember as a young man working hard ‘walking beans’ or loading hay on a rack and being so tired I literally couldn’t keep my eyes open. I had forgotten how much I missed that kind of sleep.

I am learning that very day I am dying. The march of time is relentless. We don’t get better, we just get older. It is depressing when you dwell on it for long. I will not be able to do many of the things I once thought I might do. I watched a football game the other night and they were marveling at a 6'8", 310lb. lineman and I thought, “Hey, that guy is my size. With a break or two, I could be playing defensive tackle in the NFL.” Yeah, right. Like anyone who is 57 years old and has had neck surgery is capable of playing anything resembling professional football. I’d get exhausted playing fantasy football on the internet. Thirty year olds are considered past their prime in that world. We don’t get prettier or stronger or tougher or more capable physically. I look at all the firm, strong, youthful bodies in the Village and know that time and distance will wear them all down. How much time I have wasted on trying to maintain youth and strength and how frightening to have made so many decisions based on appearance and physical ability. Sad really, that I have not measured the things that matter.

I am learning that it is awkward to be healed in this life. Why me? Why did God use the surgeon’s hands to bring this measure of healing to my body and return a measure of strength to me? It is awkward to sit across from those who have longed for healing far more than I have and try to understand why God gave me this good respite and not them. I am most assuredly not more holy or righteous. I don’t have a special ‘in’ with God because of my position or task. I have not been more faithful or more generous or kinder or anything. Yet I am the recipient of this special measure of grace. There weren’t magical prayers spoken. I didn’t find a special elixir. There were no unique incantations. I am not more important. I look into the eyes of those longing to be healed and wonder, “Why me?” Scripture calls us to rejoice with those who rejoice and to mourn with those who mourn. But my rejoicing takes place in the middle of your mourning and my mourning happens when you are in the middle of celebration. Single women go to weddings wishing they could be the bride. Their longing is exacerbated. How do they rejoice in the middle of their sorrow? Must the bride temper her own celebration because of the presence of those who long to be in her place? It is awkward to celebrate my healing in the presence of those who have yearned for far longer for their own healing. I must choose to weep their losses with them in the middle of my joy. And those who are experiencing sorrow must somehow fight through the tears and take joy in the goodness shown to me. It is difficult to do that without envy or judgement. When we laugh or cry we touch deep places. Our emotions boil over because we touch those deep places. Deep places are not fixable. We can only offer them to God.

I am learning that ultimate healing is being in the presence of God. If I would be without pain I must be fully in his presence. “In this world, you will have trouble,” Jesus promises. I have come to take odd comfort in that. He promises us we will have hard times. He doesn’t promise to make everything the way we want it to be in this world. He is redeeming, restoring, rebuilding, remaking us. It is a process begun now, but finished in the great Next. I have no right to choose to hasten the process nor do I have the right to demand a timetable. He is God and he does what pleases him. He promises to give grace to match the pain. It is hard to believe that in the anticipation stage, but it is true. And he says that we ought not worry because he has overcome this world.

I am learning that well meaning people say a lot of unhelpful things to people who are struggling. We are always at our best when we pray and sit quietly. There is a tremendous gift we give when we just show up. I have hesitated to show up because of relational awkwardness and fear about what I should say or do. Showing up is good. Knowing when to leave is also good. It is better to be begged to stay than to be asked to leave.

I am learning that doing little things is so amazing. People who brought a meal are saints. People who covered tasks I normally did are wonderful. People who did it because they just saw that it needed to be done have a special place in my heart. Someone sent a care package to my wife so that she would be taken care of while waiting during surgery and while sitting in my room. Snacks, note pads, pens and pencils, a roll of quarters, a book of puzzles, a ‘stress’ ball, and numerous other articles were crammed into a bag. The person who sent it to my wife has never met my wife. What a beautiful and thoughtful gift. Relieving the stress of someone by caring for their care givers is another rich gift to have received.

I am learning that living with pain opens our eyes. It opened my eyes to see the pain others bear. Some bear it quietly. Historically I have thought them to be more noble. I was wrong. When we live with pain we have days we scream and rant and rave and yell at God and days when we live in quiet resignation to our ‘fate’. Both extremes are part of the process as are the places in between. Mrs. Stimson suffered horribly and had to spend many, many years in bed. We talked about how she never complained amongst ourselves and once I asked her about it. She said that she often had it out with God, she was just too jealous of her reputation to let others see her in that condition. She admitted it was wrong of her to give us only one side of the story. She was right. There were many times in the past couple years I longed for people to just give me the space to rant and rave and curse the darkness. I realize now that much of my failure to offer that was because I wanted to be seen a certain way. God bless the ones who upon hearing one of my rants simply smiled and offered me to God. What a gift they are. God also used the ones who wanted to correct my theology and make right my flawed view of God and Scripture. They were harder to hear in the moment, but God also used them to walk me toward greater intimacy with him.

I am learning that pain has the distinct ability to narrow your field of vision. Everything takes longer and is harder and requires more energy and effort. We do less and less and it takes more and more to do it. The things of this world dim because you simply can’t do anything about them. This narrowing has opportunity attached. Opportunity to trust God more intimately or to reject him more fully. God would bring his people to the desert to woo them. It is in the desert where they can no longer be distracted. Barren deserts are a time when God is speaking tenderly to us. I wish I listened to his love language more closely.

I am learning that pain and suffering is not as horrific as I imagined and more far more horrible than I imagined. Like so many of God’s good gifts it is a strange mixed bag. I have no desire to go through it again and yet own this sure confidence that God met me there and offered me a love I could not have understood outside of the suffering. I can’t understand it or make it make sense, but to quote Dickens, “It was the best of times. It was the worst of times...”

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