Today I went to fill out a form and wrote the date: 4/ 13/
2012. Somewhere in my mind I have misplaced a huge chunk of this year. Seriously–where
did time go? Anyway, it’s that time where I begin reflecting on what’s behind
me, so I can prepare for what’s ahead. This year was absolutely the best, most painful, most wonderful, most
gut-wrenching year of my life to date… Naturally, it’s been a cakewalk to
talk about how AWESOME this year has been, but I’ve shied away from the ugly. Here’s
the thing about pain, to make it have purpose, we have to be willing to talk about
it. *Shiver*.
Generally, we can see that our gifts, talents, joys are
meaningless if not shared with other people. My mom is a great party-planner,
but what’s the point in throwing a party when no one is there? My dad is an
awesome leader, but if he has no one to lead, the talent is wasted. My sister
is phenomenal at making people look beautiful, but if there’s no one to
beautify, how will she use her gifts? I get a kick out of writing and talking,
but if I had no one across the table, then it’d be silly to do it. It’s easy to
see in the good and the fun things how other people make everything worthwhile.
But when it comes to pain, we seem to lose sight of “other
people”. If everything happens for a reason, then there must be a purpose for
our inexplicable pain, the same way there is for our good stuff. When we hurt,
sometimes the only comfort is having people around you to say “I know”, “me
too”, “I’ve been there.” It’s why we have help-groups for people in shared
experiences– alcoholics anonymous, grief counseling, suicide hotlines.
*Here’s the tricky*: We actually have to go through stuff to be able to say “me
too” to someone in pain. I could probably successfully spend my life
reintegrating child soldiers into normalized society, but truth be told I will
never be able to say to one of those kids “I
really get it.” I can bring hope and Jesus and life skills, but I know that someone who has
a shared experience is going to reach the tough places I will never understand.
In pain, we tend to ask the selfish questions– why me? Why are you doing this to me? Is my God really good after all? Is my faith cheap? How can this be happening to me?
I get it. I have
asked these questions for most of the year.
!Rewind!
Before I knew Jesus, I had a lot of relationship drama. My
answer? Swear off men and bury the past. Sometime after that, I found Jesus.
The guy crap stayed swept beneath the rug, and I was convinced it had been
dealt with… until a situation and a boy made it clear that it was, in fact,
just as real an issue as before. And I got my heart broken because I made the
classical mistakes: I ignored my friends and family who told me to get out and run, I isolated myself, and I acted like I had everything figured out when
really I was drowning and had no idea how to yell “help”, let alone turn to the
Lord.
(*yes, that is small me crying. Some things never change. Some mean mom photographed this instead of hugging me.*)
Mind you, this was after
my World Race-after we supposedly “figure this stuff out”. So I spent a
good chunk of 2012 going between fits of hyperventilating and contrite
brokenness, between running as far away as I could and ending at the feet of
the only Real Comforter I knew. Somewhere in there, I learned to trust the
Lord, to know lasting peace. I learned to be
okay when nothing felt or looked okay. I watched my own anger and pain turn to
unshakeable strength and resolve. I watched a controlling girl become a fierce
woman. Through it all, I didn’t know WHY. Sure I knew I needed to grow up– but
there had to have been less painful ways. Every single day, I begged for the pain to be taken away. I
was constantly apologizing that I had not listened to anyone in my life. I knew my choices had gotten me where I was,
but I was still crying out not to go through the pain.
Last month at training camp, I sat down and had some tough
conversations with a bunch of different women on my N Squad, and we’d talk
about their tough home lives, the expectations on their shoulders, the loss in
their lives. But what really hit the core, what inevitably brought the tears
and prayer was broken hearted women hurt by their choices with men. And I could
hold these women, genuinely cry with them and say “I know. Me too. I’ve been there. I was just there.” My wound is
still healing enough to be sore when touched. I feel the hurt of these women. I get it.
But a year ago, I definitely did not understand. On my own
race, I had women on my team who needed someone to walk through the relationship
stuff with them, but my own past was too buried to be of any help.
After training camp, I can see that I had to live this last
year, had to take the lashes, had to feel the pain in order to walk this next
year with these women. I see the beauty coming out of my own ashes. Life is coming from my deep, lonely
pain. And I know that my “I get it” is real,
so I’ve learned to say thank you for the pain that has already brought more
life than death. *and it scares me to say, but out of love of these women, I would relive it again if somehow it would help them.*
Like all things, it goes back to Jesus. He came here to live
the weight of temptation as a man, to go through the exact same things we go
through, to bear the weight of sin. In Luke 4, he was tempted in the
wilderness– he went through everything we go through. When Jesus says “I get
it”, He means it. He laid aside his deity– an eternity of perfection–to become
man to say to us “I get it”. It’s not cheap. He died, taking my lashes, so when
I come to Him with my own pain, I know without a shadow of a doubt that he gets me. He knows exactly how I feel,
he knows abandonment, loneliness, betrayal, and the deepest depths of pain. If SINLESS Jesus had to feel pain in order
to be real with us, to connect with
us, I’m pretty sure my “why me” is the wrong question to be asking.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
I want to challenge you to rethink the questions you’re
asking about the hard stuff. Instead of begging “Why me?”, ask “Who is this
for? What do you need me to see, feel, go through here? How can I use this to
help someone else?”. I promise you that
your pain is not for you, and that asking these questions will help you find purpose in the senseless pain.
And. I want to challenge you to talk about it. Today,
driving in my car to meet Dana Meyer, the Lord flat out said to me, “Be honest
in your process.” It’s not all sunshine and rainbows FOR ANY OF US. I know some
of you have gone through things that I need to hear. There are people in your
life waiting for you to say, “I get it.
Me too.”
