Of Pain and Compassion

Pain. It comes in many forms and levels of intensity. I was thinking about the difference between physical pain and emotional pain. I ran across this quote from C.S. Lewis: “Mental pain is less dramatic than physical pain, but it is more common and also more hard to bear. The frequent attempt to conceal mental pain increases the burden: it is easier to say “My tooth is aching” than to say “My heart is broken.” 

Right now, someone I am close to {who likes to keep things private - hence the anonymity} is in a lot of physical pain. It's intense. It has been over two weeks and the prescribed pain pills barely took the edge off. This has impacted every facet of his life. Once this passes, God willing, the memory of the pain will begin to fade. The same principle is true with the pain of child birth. It hurts a whole heck of a lot, but is soon forgotten. 

Emotional pain, however, can be so insidious. There are no visible scars, but the ramifications from these wounds can have such a profound impact. Emotional pain, much like physical pain, changes us. But instead of being temporary, these changes can be far-reaching because pain has a way of shaping us. How we are shaped by it can be positive or negative. It is so easy to let a seed of bitterness take root in our lives. Slowly, over time (and usually without realizing it), it becomes like an aggressive weed, choking out the beautiful all around it; marring the soul. 

And, because pain isn't pleasant, people cope with it differently. Alcohol. pills. food. poor relationship choices. shopping. and so on. Then there are Jesus' promises. I admit, that accepting them isn't always easy. Nor does it always feel tangible. In fact, there have been times where I viewed them as trite {God can bind up someone else's busted heart, but mine is still hemorrhaging}. But...

His response to our sin, our pain? The gruesome cross. 

I have learned that there is purpose in pain. I was reminded of this last week when a sweet friend had simply said, "It makes me sad when you are sad." It touched my heart and made me realize that without pain there could not be true empathy. And we don't have to have answers or remedies for those who are hurting, just compassion {the literal translation in Latin is to suffer with}. 

My challenge for us: Be courageous and look for ways to show compassion to those hurting this week. 

Of Regret and Joy

It's Sunday afternoon and sunshine spills onto the wood floor in symmetrical lines from the window blinds. And there are thin lines etched across my forehead that continue to trace the time like a map of bygone years.

I can handle wrinkles, and the fact the my eyes now crinkle when I smile, it's the regret that is so very hard to accept.

I used to be the "what if?" queen. I would spend wasted hours dwelling on all of the different scenarios and the possible outcomes that could have been.

The problem with what-ifs and could-have-beens is that they rob you. They rob you of precious time, and they rob you of any sliver of contentment. The realities of my life always paled in comparison to the scenarios I conjured up in my own head. I have learned the hard way and have become better {not perfect} at trying not to vicariously live through a fictitious life.

But, today, here I sit reflecting on my realities and the choices I have made.

Ultimately, I have come to realize a few things: our life here on this earth is finite. There is nothing I can do to change the past, however, there is grace to cover it. And every day is full of new possibilities and challenges. I can embrace them, or act victimized by them, remembering that easy was never promised. Things that are easy tend to be taken for granted, anyway. I have a purpose.

I may never be a published author, or a size 2, or a myriad of other things, but the joy really is in the journey. Joy in the everyday. Even the hard-joy of regret and learning from mistakes and learning to easily forgive {including forgiving myself}. And loving along the way.

If I can demonstrate the sacrificial love of Jesus to those I come in contact with from strangers to my closest family and friends, then I will have, by grace, accomplished the greatest of all ambitions and there won't be any room for what-ifs or regret.

Real {imperfect}

I have been sitting here for some time. I can hear the clanking of the dryer over the music being piped in through my earbuds. Pondering, per usual, as I pick the chipping polish from my nails.

And why do we tend to want things that look polished and perfect? Maybe it's easier to pretend, to portray that everything is perfectly fine. And we do such a disservice to one another when we don our Sunday best, our plastered smiles, and the response, "couldn't be more blessed."

But maybe, just maybe, it's understandably the only response considered amid the perfectly straight pew rows, filled with perfectly acceptable people, surrounded by perfectly clean windows, and an alter with perfectly arranged flowers and shiny communion trays.

And it just isn't real. I wonder how much room we leave for the workings of grace in our lives when we are so busy convincing others {even Jesus himself} that we are perfectly fine.

There is something freeing about acknowledging imperfection and just being real.

Jesus was real. Jesus always got right to the heart of the manner. Jesus came for the broken.

And my communion doesn't come from stale wafers and perfectly portioned cups of wine. No, it is more like the bleeding woman who touched Jesus' hem. I will take the broken cup and bread crumbs. I know I would hemorrhage without Him.

In Which I Fly Above the Storm

It was dark. It was four in the morning. The rows of tall, straight trees flashed by in the hi-beams. Rain fell heavy and the sky rebelled against the darkness with flashes of lightning that caused my tired eyes to squint and strain.

It was quite a storm {at least to this California girl}. I was heading to the airport. The last thing I wanted to do was get on an airplane during a thunderstorm. But it was time to come home. I had the most amazing time with one of my dearest friends. Being with her and being away was such a balm to my soul.

I boarded the small jet {so small that my seat was by itself}. I closed my eyes. I prayed for the pilot and the flight. I prayed for the family I just left. I prayed for the one - my own - to which I was returning. I turned on the playlist with my hymns and I leaned in close to the promises.

And after a few moments, a brightness illuminated through my closed eyelids. I was caught off guard to see sun shining in through the windows on the opposite side of the plane. I opened my window. We had reached an altitude higher than the storm. The storm was below. The sun above. And the sky was blanketed in a carpet of clouds. This picture from the dirty window doesn't begin to do it justice.

It was magnificent. My throat caught. It was like the shore of heaven. Never-ending. With swirling clouds and gleaming silver and pink hues.

And below was the storm. And life is full of storms. Sometimes I feel as if I am trapped in the various downpours. Sometimes, I forget that the sun still shines.

Then what? We keep on. Even when all we have is a two word prayer, or none at all. Even when we feel like we are going through the motions. Even when we curse in frustration. Even when we doubt.

We write it on our hearts {and on index cards}. We tattoo it on our wrists. We do whatever it takes to always point to Him. To the Son. To remember, always, that we are never alone, even when we feel alone.

I returned to overcast skies {literally and figuratively}. It wouldn't have been my choice much like boarding that plane, but I am doing my best to keep my focus where it belongs. And that is all I can do for now.