Lean into the pain. It cannot be outrun. You can’t get around it, over it, under it; you must go through it and feel the full force of it. That is the human experience.
Jesus never promised heaven on earth. In fact, He said that we will have afflictions and tribulations. As the mother of a child recently diagnosed with epilepsy, I’ve been disheartened by some of the responses I have had from my Christian friends.
“God will teach her things through this.”
“He is still on the throne.”
“It could be worse.”
All of these things are true. God will teach her things. He is still on the throne. It could be worse. But none of that is helpful to hear when I need someone to vent to. Epilepsy has changed our lives. We must find a new “normal”. I grieve over her lost health. I worry that she may have to deal with this the rest of her life. I am anxious about the effects of the many medicines she is on…how will it affect her learning? I am fearful that she will get hurt when she has a seizure. I question if we will get her seizures under control. I could go on and on… and I need to. I need a safe place to process these emotions. Being sad does not mean that I do not know the truth. Being sad does not mean that I do not trust God. Being sad does not imply that I’m not Godly enough or that I don’t have faith.
The bible says that God is close to the broken hearted. Jesus wept when Lazarus died. So many came to Jesus to be healed. I never remember reading that Jesus gave them the “what for” or placated them with a trivial adage. He healed them. He touched them and then he healed them. The Greek for healed is therapeuo. I need a little therapeuo in my life. A touch and some healing. For me, that means a listening ear. Someone to be witness to my grieving and my fear.
I recently explained to my husband my feelings. The story I came up with was the following:
I’m driving down the road. I’m at peace with God. The radio is on and I’m humming along. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a truck appears. It’s not a semi, but it’s a big, heavy pick up. I have no time to react. The collision just happens. It spins the vehicle around. Everything in the car is flying around, uncontrolled. The car comes to a stop. I’m injured, bruised and bleeding. I’m still not sure what has happened. “Where did that truck come from? Where’s all my stuff? Is that blood on my shirt?” I’m hoping that an ambulance is on the way. Then, someone appears. “Thank God,” I think, “help is here”. That person, my helper, says to me, “Get out of the car. The accident is over. God is on the throne. It could be worse…you could be dead. Besides, I bet you’ll learn better driving skills from this.”
I’m not even out of the car. My wounds haven’t been stitched. No one has even touched me yet. I still need therapeuo.
Lean into the pain. It cannot be outrun. You can’t get around it, over it, under it; you must go through it and feel the full force of it. That is the human experience. That too, is what Jesus comforts us through. That is, as followers of Christ, what we need to do. Walk with those in pain. Don’t rush it. Don’t give it an adage or quick fix. There isn’t one. We still live in a fallen world. We are still under attack by an enemy we can’t see. There will still be battle wounds. Yes, we are His. Yes, He is on the throne. Yes, one day the lion will walk with the lamb, but in the meantime…
epilepsy faith fear healing hope
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