Finding the Gifts In Pain

For the past few days, I've been laid up with a lower back ache of the yucky variety. It feels like my lower spine is being gripped by a vice, and every once in a while a fiery electricity shoots through my muscles. I'm a firm believer that people need more than one best friend, and this week has convinced me I'm right. Since Saturday, my three best friends have been Bayer Back and Body, a microwavable sac of corn, and lots of rest.

Pain is a part of life. It's impossible to escape. I admit that I hate it. But I also acknowledge that I have an easier grasp on pain if there's a purpose behind it. For instance, if I'm in the gym, taxing and maxing out my muscles in a marathon squat, pain is my body's way of saying, "You're changing the shape of your muscle! Embrace the burn!" Actually, that sounds more like what my instructors say. And when on four occasions in my life, I found myself in a hospital, belly burgeoning with life wanting to escape, pain told me, "Hang on- just getting you one step closer to becoming a Mom!" I get that. I understand that there is a purpose to those types of pain. This back pain though, I don't get it. There's a lot about pain that I can't swallow. I would be able to with the promise of a purpose, but without that, pain seems pointless. What does a bad back, or pain in life, have to do with anything good? If I look hard enough into the cloud of that question, I am able to find a silver lining. 

My back pain has demanded that I make some major adjustments to the way I go about life. I have to be intentional about every movement, and every position. In other words, pain has caused me to slow down. I'm used to a certain pace of life with taxiing my kids to and from school, going to the gym, running errands, keeping the house...well...kept up- it's all a part of what my life looks like. This pain though, has put the brakes on a lot of that activity. I have had to slow down my pace, decrease the miles per hour on the sometimes frantic treadmill of life, and slow down my expectations. Pain causes us to pause more, to reevaluate what is truly necessary, and to funnel our energies into  more narrow, purposeful living. Suddenly the things that I thought I had to do became things that I had to put off for another less pain filled day. And I had to learn to be OK with that. 

Pain has also made me more sensitive to the pain others have endured. As I laid down on my bed with a hot pack on my back, my mind went to my friend Jillian's sweet Mom, Diane. Diane went home to be with Jesus back in November, and watching Jillian move through the stages of grief at a distance has been both heart-breaking and inspiring. I remember before Diane was diagnosed with cancer, that she experienced unbearable back pain. I know for a fact that what I feel doesn't even come close to the pain she felt. I can't imagine. And yet through that excruciating pain, I saw in her the love of Jesus, in the most fiery trial of her life. This pain reminds me that there are others in my life who are in a world of pain. A pain free back would desensitize me to the pain all around me, but every time I ache, I remember to pray for those who are in agony of body, spirit, soul, or emotions. Which brings me to unwrap the next gift of pain: perspective.

In my haste in life, sometimes I go after the seemingly urgent, and skip over the eternal. Pain is reminding me what is really important in my life. Usually when I pick up my 6 year old, Janessa, from kindergarten, once she's buckled in, we take off for home. But every once in a while when she has something important to tell or show me, she asks me to pull over and stop before we head home so she can chat with me. On one of the worst days of my pain, she climbed in the van and said, "Mom! I have something to show you! Can you pull over?" After I stopped the car, she pulled out a picture she had colored in class. It was a black sheep. "Aww!" I exclaimed. "Janessa, it's beautiful!" "But Mom, that's not all! Flip it over." I flipped it over and saw that she had hand drawn a picture of a shepherd with a crook. "See that shepherd?" she gushed, "I drew him so he could take care of the sheep." Instantly, as my back ached from sitting in the van so long, I remembered that my Good Shepherd was taking care of me, His sheep. And I was reminded that in my moment of weakness, that He was even more so tenderly, and gently caring for me, as I attempted to care for my husband and kids. Pain brings perspective because it reminds me that I'm not operating in my own strength. A healthy back would make it easy to forget, but a back wracked with pain is a tangible reminder that I need His help with every step, every stretch, and every bend. My weakness is the perfect platform for His strength to take center stage. My frailty stands in perfect contrast to His mighty power. My pain wrings me out of myself, and lets me soak up more of my Creator's strength. 

Slowing down. Sensitivity. Perspective. These are just some of the gifts of pain. I wouldn't wish pain on anyone. I wish there was a way we could escape it. But since we know there isn't a way, we have to ask ourselves, are there gifts in pain that I haven't explored? Am I emerging from this tight place a changed individual? Are there more people that I'll be able to understand because I've been through this? If so, you have discovered the gifts of pain. And as the old adage says, "no pain, no gain."

Life Lessons From Lucy

About a year ago, we adopted a Boston Terrier named Lucy. She came as an answer to prayer- our kids' prayers. Steve and I were completely opposed to getting her, since Steve has been bitten over a dozen times , and we didn't think we could handle one more thing. Steve was surprised however to meet two Boston Terriers in his travels at work. And the surprise wasn't that he found them, it's that he liked them. He happened to tell me that if there was a slight chance of ever getting a dog that it would have to be a Boston. When he told me that, unbeknownst to us, one of our kids was eavesdropping on our conversation. It was as if he was just debriefed on the location of a weakness in our armor. He led the other kids in spontaneous prayer meetings every morning for almost a week, and by weeks' end, we had Lucy in our home.

It took us about 3 months to adjust to having her (and her to being with us), but after the summer was over, she was officially one of our own. Her daily rhythm slowly merged with ours, and she became as much of the kids' wake up routine as brushing their teeth is. No matter where I travel in our house, I can expect the pitter patter of 4 little paws to follow. She knows when I ask her, "Where's Daddy?" to bolt to the door , stand on her hind legs, and peer out the window to look for Steve. I never thought I would say this, but Lucy has taught me a lot over the past year. Here are the top 5 life lessons she's imparted to me:

#5- Push Screens Aside. I remember the first time that Lucy told me, "Madam, I could care less about your laptop" I thought it was a fluke. But she made it a point when she wanted attention to climb up on her hind legs, and paw at either my hand or the keyboard to let me know, "Get off the computer and hold me!" That is the remedy for a technology soaked era that we live in. We need to know when enough is enough and opt for face time as opposed to screen time. 

#4 - Pursue Play. There is one tell tale sign that Lucy wants to play, and I know Lucy well enough to be able to see it: the playful twinkle in her eyes. She stares at me forever without blinking. Then if I twitch suddenly, she moves into downward facing dog position. When I start chasing her, then she begins barking playfully and chasing me back. I can almost hear her saying, "Catch me if you can!"  Life is so heavy sometimes, isn't it? There is so much yuck to wade through. Being a human means big decisions to weigh, lots of unpleasant experiences to be had, and frustrations that seem to pop up with more regularity than Old Faithful. I'm so glad that there is laughter. I'm so grateful that there is levity to balance out the dead weight of hardships. Lucy teaches me that not only do I need to play, but that I need to pursue play. I must look for opportunities to let laughter chop up my breathing, and loosen my tense muscles.  I need to always keep an eye out for a good laugh.

#3- Rest Well. It's not uncommon to see Lucy sprawled out on her tummy and a fleece blanket with her legs unnaturally splayed behind her, or basking in that one patch of sunlight coming through the window. The girl can play hard, but she can rest at the drop of a hat. Sometimes I feel guilty when I rest, because what thing am I checking off on my to do list by resting? Nothing. However, there is a productivity in resting. There is a regrouping of resources, a healthy aerating of thoughts, and a building up of potential energy that will be used to burst into kinetic energy when my rest is through. By resting my mind, body, and spirit, I'm giving myself permission to work as a more nourished person in the future, as opposed to more depleted. 

#2- Love Hard. Why does this dog greet me after a 20 minute errand with the same enthusiasm that Greek war heroes received? Simple: she loves hard. Lucy has perfected what I call the "thigh-high-five", which is her way of saying hello. She stands on her hind legs, and whacks the daylights out of your legs with her front paws. If the dog could spew confetti from her ears, she totally would. But she also seems to know when someone needs extra TLC. After an injury, or during a sickness, Lucy has been known to offer her silent yet steady presence to the down and outer. I want to love like that; to be magnetized to the ones who needs extra care. 

#1- Prayer works, But Not Like I Think It Will. I mentioned at the outset that Lucy was an answer to our kids prayer. Little did I know though that someone else was praying for God to act: my husband. You see after all his horrible history with canines, Steve was sick of it. He hadn't enjoyed dogs for most of his life, and with good reason. For him, dogs were a reason to be on guard. I think he really wanted to like them, but they didn't give him any reason to. So he prayed that God would intervene. It wasn't until 3 months after we acquired Lucy that it hit me- since we'd gotten her, Steve hadn't been bitten ONCE. It could be that now that he had a dog that he was more comfortable. Or maybe it was the fact that her scent was on his clothing, so it warded off any possible attacks. Whatever the reason, God chose to answer Steve's request to not be bitten anymore by giving him a dog. The only way I can reconcile this, is to file it under the "God works in mysterious ways" folder. Looking ahead, there have been and will be more times in the future when God answers my prayers in ways I would not have expected, or even chosen. His ways and vantage point are higher than mine. He can see the future. He knows what needs to happen for Him to be honored in my life. And I'll always stand in awe of how He was able to answer the prayers of my children and my husband (although completely different angles) with one flat nosed puppy loaf.

What have your pets taught you? :)

Buddies For Blind Spots

I joke with people that the day that I gave birth to my first child was the day that I grew eyes in the back of my head. There have been so many times where I was able to catch a falling object, shield a child from bumping their head on something, and policing them carefully away from stair cases. I didn't always make it in time, but thankfully I've been able to avoid a couple of crises.

I find that as long as I can see, I have somewhat of an advantage maneuvering around life. Sometimes I can see things clearly and can side step around them. Not every danger is hidden from sight. But there are those times when I could use a literal pair of eyes in the back of my head. Like the times that I am harboring an awful attitude that needs changing, or the times that my bad habits sneak up on me without me seeing them, or the mindsets that I've had for years that I think are "normal" to have. I call these things as they are: my blind spots.

There's only a certain area of peripheral vision granted to us; only so much that we have the capacity to see. I can't always see the evil in my heart and mind. I can't always see how my words affect others. I can't always see which thoughts are straight from the pit and wreaking havoc in my mind. For those blind spots, there are only 2 solutions: God and people.

David in the book of Psalms cried out in Psalm 19:12, "How can I know all the sins lurking in my heart? Cleanse me from these hidden faults." God sees every nook and cranny inside your heart, and yet He loves you fiercely in spite of everything. There isn't anything in your heart that He doesn't already know, so in effect, coming clean to a God who knows everything and loves you anyway is refreshing. Liberating. Absolutely cathartic. There's no hiding, no shame, no pretending. In His love, and by His truth, He will reveal to you anything lurking in your blind spot that threatens to sideswipe, sabotage and sink you. He is for you. He is on your side.

Much like the shape of the cross, our lives are hinged on two things- the vertical (our relationship with God) and the horizontal (our relationship with people). The thing about being a person is that I'm not perfect. I can't do anything perfectly. I can't love perfectly. But I have seen the beauty of an equally imperfect friend coming alongside me and lovingly telling me that she sees something in or around me that's not from God. And even though I might not always want to hear the truth about my stuff, I know deep down that she loves me. She's for me. She sees the best in me too. 

What a gift to have a friend who like a surgeon, uses the scalpel of truth and the sutures of grace to make us healed and whole in the end. Friends such as these are rare indeed. If you have them, keep them. If you don't, seek them out. 

And if it's you who feels the nudge to be eyes in the back of your friend's head, be gentle. Be honest. Be full of grace. With the same tenderness you would want someone to excise the cancer of sin from your heart, proceed in love. Pray for the right timing. Pray that their hearts and ears would be receptive. Pray for wisdom in your execution. Pray for restoration for your friend.

In these days of peril, lone wolfing it will only get you in a deep ditch without escape. We need a connection with an all knowing, all seeing, all present God for cleansing, correction, and care. And we need the camaraderie of one or two trusted friends who will commit to love us, cheer for us, and be eyes in the back of our heads to dangers without and within. May we have the courage and the clarity to  see our flaws through the mirror of God's word, and may His grace and wisdom steer us and our buddies as we watch out for each other. 

Stand firm. Stay sharp. Love well.

Seeking Thanks in the Shadows

 

I looked around the bathroom at the gleaming mirror, spotless sink, and sparkling toilet. Satisfaction filled my heart as I thought, "This bathroom looks GREAT. Glad that's over with!" Subconsciously though,  I was setting a thank-trap. In my mind, someone would notice the improvement to our half bath, and say, "Thank you for cleaning the bathroom, Mom!" I should have known that's not how it would play out.

One of our kids walked in the bathroom and said, "This bathroom SMELLS like chemicals." "What?!" I retorted in disbelief. "But...(stammering)....didn't you notice how clean it is now?" They shook their head in disagreement. "No- I didn't notice that, I just noticed how much it smells like chemicals." My eyebrows froze at the top of my forehead as if I had overdosed on Botox. I. Can't. Even. Believe. 

Ah, the mirror of children. If anyone will show me just how selfish I am and just how much I need a Savior, it's the four Martins under my roof. Unwittingly, they've taught me infinitely as much as I've taught them. And that day, the picture I saw of myself in that streak free, Windex-ed mirror, was one that I've seen before. Instead of a no strings attached act of genuine love and kindness, my unnoticed upgrade had a taut string attached to it that led straight to my ego. Ouch.

Someone told me once that being a Mom is a thankless job. And in almost 12 years of being a Mom,  I've learned that she is partially right. There are parts of motherhood that I do as a sacrifice and a privilege, no questions asked. Then there are other times that I hope, just a smidge, that someone will notice me. That someone will catch me in the act and applaud. Yet sometimes it feels like I'm alone on an empty stage with no one in the audience. Just being real. Only now, I've come to learn that my job isn't thankless. There's always someone applauding faintly in the shadows. God.

The verse in Colossians that I've been zeroing in on since the first time someone rejected my cooking is this one:

  

 "Work willingly at whatever you do, as though you were working for the Lord rather than for people." 3:23

This verse has been the pillow that's broken my fall on more than one occasion. It's a two way street that leads to life in both directions. There's one road that encourages me to be excellent in all my work, because in the end, I'm not really doing it for people's approval, I'm doing it as worship to God. But oh, then there's the sweet road that leads another way. If in fact I never get thanks from people, I still win. Because in the end, it's not for them anyway!

That verse invites us all into a paradigm shift. Instead of chasing after the loud chords of praise from those we are positioned to serve, God shows us another way. He shows us that His long term, endless song of approval over us lasts longer than the one strum thanks we can get in this lifetime. That the pat on the back we settle for is eclipsed and overtaken by His loving and constant embrace of acceptance. How I want to default to the latter every single time. But I'm still in the process. Under construction. Not done. In His grace though, and I say this tongue in cheek, God is still giving me plenty of opportunities to practice. As He does you.

So the next time our hearts yearn for applause on a stage, may we be confident that God thanks us in the shadows. That even if no one else sees, He does. That even if the acts of service given aren't appreciated or even rejected outright, that He can see straight to your loving heart. 

Nothing is wasted. Not one ingredient, not one text or phone call, not one gift given, and not one toilet scrubbed.

He thanks you. For every moment that you give without expecting anything in return. For taking the heat when giving someone a cup of cold water. For every time you reached out and was pushed back. You are celebrated, noticed, and loved by the only one who matters. May His smile be the only reward we seek.