Being in pain has taken a lot out of me, but here are some changes and benefits I’ve noticed so far.
Mornings are usually the hardest time of day. That’s when I struggle with the disappointment that my nighttime dreams are over and I face the reality of continually hurting. I’m thankful though, that I don’t find myself sorrowing over it as much as I used to.
I can, however, remind myself of these things when it’s time to start my day:
1. stretch and move my body before I rise from bed
2. be patient and take it slow as I make my morning tea
3. thank God that he has made a new day and provided for all my needs
4. put aside worry about the things I might not be able to accomplish
5. ask for his help in ordering my priorities so I may serve him well
6. hum or sing his praises, for he is good
. . . I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me.
Philippians 4:11-13 ESV
One of the biggest changes I’ve noticed is that my accomplishments, though they may be fewer, have greater value. For instance,
I’m judging others less. When I was younger, I looked at people who moved slowly, sighed, groaned, or refused to work as being lazy or unenlightened. I was convinced their difficulties were their own fault. Now I have more compassion for the suffering of others, and can forgive more easily when I am judged unkindly.
I’m more real. My grandmother taught me I should always wear a smile. She thought this was a good way to display the joy of the Lord. When I walked home from school, I would try to make eye contact with approaching drivers to offer them a smile. It was exhausting. Now managing life with pain saps so much of my effort that my face doesn’t always show my inner joy. I try to look past other people’s facial expressions as well. We are all more than our outward appearance shows.
Because I found it annoying to hear others’ health updates, I try really hard to not talk about my current pain level very much. These days I am more generous with other people’s complaints, though. I listen. I understand. I care.
I’m more attentive to invisible treasures, like my grandchild’s laughter, the weight of my son’s head against mine as he hugs me, my daughter’s encouragement to call her when I need help.
I am so glad for the times I took small moments to heart as I walked with God through my days. When I sat in church as a young child, I would occupy myself by tracing the veins in my mother’s hands. I noticed when I was older how her hands had aged. And when she’d passed from this life I studied her hands one last time, and thanked God for them.
Walking and finding interesting rocks in my path is something I enjoy, probably because I watched my father do it. Admire them. See how far I can toss them. Find another rock. Take a child’s hand, put a rock in it. Being mindful, not just because someday I may not be able to pick up a rock, study a small thing, remember a child’s name, or hold a loved one’s hand, but because being in touch with where I am in God’s creation is rich.
One last thing that’s changing which dovetails with much of what I’ve already listed: I’m becoming more determined to set aside my own interests (and my cell phone) in order to pay attention to the person nearest me. Now this is an eternal thing, a most precious thing. I may not have much, but I can share from the abundance of love I’m given every day. And that one person, whom Jesus gave his life for, is worth my attention.
My Prayer: I love how you’ve blessed me in my pain, Lord. May I continue to grow in my love for you and for others as we wait for the day when pain is no more.
