No Healing Without Pain

There is no healing without first acknowledging the pain.

Pain does serve a purpose, but with our human eyes and mindset, we have limited vision.

We’re unable to see past the physical, the natural, the feasible. Unable to understand the “why.”

Why did “x” happen?

Why didn’t “x” happen?

Why are things this way?

Why do I keep making mistakes?

Why did I have to go through that?

Why isn’t God changing things sooner?

Why, why, why?

On our own, we cannot understand. On our own, we cannot have peace with these struggles. In fact, we may never really understand.

Maybe it’s just me, but I think perhaps we feel that if we understood, we would then feel that we had more control. Perhaps we sometimes seek understanding or answers in order to assess whether we think our situation is logical or justified.

Does the situation “make sense” to us?

Perhaps that means we don’t really trust that God will help us or work things out for us. We’re unhappy with His plan.

If you have felt this way, you are not alone. You are human.

Sometimes, things happen because we messed up. (Been there.) And sometimes, it’s because God is wanting to put something in us, work something greater in our lives, move things out of us that shouldn’t be there, or just teach us that He is sovereign and to trust His will.

Honestly? That’s often a difficult and painful process. It hurts. It’s uncomfortable.

Honestly, I never truly realized whenever you pray, “Lord, would make me more like you?” that it means you might have to go through some very painful things and feelings that Jesus also went through that make you more like Him. We think it just means we’re asking God to make us more kind and wise and loving and giving without any of the life experience and lessons that develop those traits within us.

Pain, rejection, betrayal, disappointment, loneliness, grief.

In one of my favorite verses in the Bible, Jesus was called a “man of sorrows.”

“He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief; and as one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not.”

Isaiah 53:3 ESV

Contemplate for a second the meaning that verse carries. Right there in the middle of your grief and sorrow and pain and loneliness, Jesus sits next to you and says, “I know exactly how you feel.”

Jesus was rejected, endured overwhelming grief and pain, and even His disciples abandoned Him in His time of need.

He had asked them earlier, “Will you also go away?” And Peter said, “Where else would we go?” But then, even if for a moment, they left Him still when he was arrested and then crucified.

Jesus knows what it feels like to give and love and pour out and be met with betrayal and grief. When we experience these heavy emotions, that’s when we can truly have an intimate connection with God.

It’s in the middle of your grief that you can feel closer to Him than maybe you did in the happy times.

Pain cripples. The hurt wears us down. It’s an incredibly heavy burden to bear, especially when we pretend it isn’t really there. We mask it. We dismiss it. Tell ourselves get over it.

Grow up, walk it off, you’re fine.

Some tell us, “Get out of your emotions.”

Oh, if only people knew the detriment they cause when they give their callous, tone-deaf “advice” to people walking through desolate places that they’ve been blessed never to experience. Or maybe those people are not allowing themselves to heal either.

Those who understand what it’s like to experience pain and heal from it tell us, wisely, to surrender our burdens to God. This is much harder than it sounds when we want to pretend we have the control over it or when we can’t stop thinking about who or what caused the trauma.

But we have a finite emotional battery. We must rest. We can’t carry it all ourselves all the time, no matter how hard we try. God is the only one who is capable of carrying everything for us and never getting tired. And yet He also knows from His time on earth in human form what it’s like to feel weary and alone. He knows what that pain is like.

I’ve learned one can have a strange relationship with pain. You can feel it deeply, maybe more than others, and begrudgingly accept its seemingly constant presence, but you can refuse to ignore it or allow it to confine you. You can respect it for the purpose it serves.

See, pain teaches us about ourselves. Pain tells us, hey, there’s a wound here. There’s something that needs tended to, a hurt that needs treatment.

Pain can bring things to our attention that we didn’t even know were there.

There is no healing without first acknowledging the pain. From there, we can embrace the Healer and the one who takes all pain. But it takes time.

Healing doesn’t happen overnight.

Let yourself acknowledge the pain. It’s okay if you’re in the acknowledgment phase of healing for a while. Don’t rush it.

Bring it to God. Talk to a trusted friend or mentor. Go to therapy. Do something relaxing that you really enjoy. Find worship songs that speak to your situation and meditate on Scripture. Let God do a work in you in the healing.

Sometimes we have to slow down. Pause. Reflect.

Breathe, pray, and repeat.

Why Things Happen

Why?

This may be the question we ask God the most. Why did “x” have to happen? Why couldn’t I have gotten that job? Why did you let me fail that test when I studied so hard? Why did so-and-so have to die? Why are you letting bad things happen to me? Why, why, why?

We wonder, we fret, we pity ourselves, and we ask “why, God?” until our eyes are swollen, and depression consumes our spirit. We see through a glass darkly, so we sometimes cannot see that there is always a purpose behind our pain. Ah, yes—the statement no one wants to hear when they’re going through something, but we humans often only learn things the hard way, especially young adults, and our struggles exist to make us stronger if for no other reason.

Physical pain can be a good thing. It tells us that something is wrong and that we may need medical attention. When I was diagnosed with diabetes, I never felt a literal pain as in aching bones, but I felt a mental pain. I was fatigued and nauseous (among other things), and the very sight of my weary self signaled to others, like the receptionist at urgent care, that something was wrong with me. Miserable is the word I typically use to describe how I felt then, but if I hadn’t felt that way, I might not have known for quite some time that I had diabetes. My pain served a purpose, but it’s often emotional pain that is the hardest to see through and understand.

During and after the spring semester in 2018, I felt an emotional and spiritual exhaustion that threw me out of sorts, and it set me on a path to realign my focus. I had just entered a four-year university to get my bachelor’s degree, and the shift in the atmosphere from a small community college to a very liberal university was palpable. All semester, I was stressed from classwork that involved treating subjective, liberal studies as legitimate, evidence-based coursework, which greatly conflicted with my conservative and Christian beliefs. But I felt an exhaustion deeper than simple stress due to papers and exams, and it escalated that summer.

Never before had I been tired literally every day. It is an understatement to say that I slept a lot. Practically all I wanted to do was sleep, and when I wasn’t sleeping, I was tired and disturbed in my spirit. I loathed college—loathed it—for the atmosphere and for its inefficient system, and I knew I simply couldn’t continue college past a bachelor’s degree to get two master’s degrees (long story there, but that’s where I was headed) in order to teach college English and write professionally. I was done. I was miserable. I was lost. It’s only now after having finally finished college that I have come to truly appreciate the experience for what it taught me and how it helped me grow.

After realizing I didn’t want to continue the path to becoming a full-time English professor in this liberal society, I prayed (a lot), and I looked to different avenues. I made an alternate plan to apply for work at a local publishing company after graduation, but then COVID happened. The company went on a hiring freeze. Great. I scoured the internet for job openings in editing, tutoring, and copywriting, and by the grace of God, I found a company that was hiring part-time tutors. The future is still uncertain, but all of my searching and pain and misery and growth has helped me grasp a simple concept that I hadn’t realized I didn’t truly “get” until I went through something difficult: trust God.

Sometimes, we don’t truly understand a concept or truth until we have no other choice but to embrace it head on. C.S. Lewis once said that “God allows us to experience the low points of life in order to teach us lessons that we could learn in no other way.” Of course, having grown up in church, I’ve always known we should trust in God to guide us through life, but somehow, I’d formed my own contingency plans for everything to get where I wanted and expected everything to work out as I planned—until it didn’t. I can look back now at all those moments I was worried and miserable and exhausted to my core and understand that God let me go through those things to teach me that no matter what happens in my life, I still need to trust in Him and let Him take the reigns of my life, that I need to believe it’s okay when things don’t go my way, that if something tragic happens, I am going to make it as long as I trust in Him.

I still wonder why things happen sometimes. But now I understand that I am not alone in whatever trial I’m going through. Whatever happens—no matter what happens—I can rest in the assurance I have in Jesus. It’s okay to be not okay. It’s okay to wonder about why things happen, because in those moments, God fills me with His Peace and whispers, “trust me,” and He draws me closer to Him than I’ve been before.