Catalyst

Pain has a remarkable way of removing the ability to maintain pretenses and refined projections of the way we would like to be viewed by others as well as the way we would prefer to view ourselves.   This reality became clear for me 3 years ago when I found myself physically and emotionally a mess after surviving thousands of pounds of vehicles colliding with each other at high speeds.  The exposure of my unrefined self began almost immediately in a trauma bay as my colleagues cut away my clothes to expose the extent of my injuries.  Naked, exposed, and hurting I was physically incapable of projecting anything but reality; I was a 40 year old woman, who had given birth to 5 children, and gained and lost tons of weight in my lifetime.  And in that moment of extreme pain and vulnerability I really didn’t care about how I wanted to be seen, I just wanted to be taken care of.  The process that began with my physical nakedness on a trauma gurney launched me into the next weeks and months and now years of vulnerability on so many levels.  I am not certain that anything less than pain would have been such a powerful catalyst for the growth of my soul.  Quite the opposite, I have come to view pain as the most powerful catalyst for growth and change in human existence.  Not that I look forward to awful experiences, nor do I enjoy them; I simply see them an opportunity for God to do major housekeeping in my heart. 

After Kit's 1st of 3 surgeries

As I look back on the time immediately following our wreck it is clear that I was under both physical and emotional trauma.  My understanding of the severity of physical pain was expanded as I struggled through the rehabilitation of pelvic and back bone fractures.  Sleep became the theater for the most horrible memories and nightmares to play on repeat and often when I would awaken I wasn’t certain that I was actually awake or even in my room; for moments I would believe I was still on the road standing over Kit who I believed was dying.  I couldn’t shower without help from friends which led to further exposure of my black and blue mom-body.  With each layer of pain and exposure my ability to project anything but the real me fell away.  And what became painfully clear was that my life had been spent up to that time projecting a version of myself to others…as well as to myself.   If I had been vulnerable before, it had been momentary, and polished to some extent; it wasn’t actually authentic vulnerability.  And as my exposure increased there was a building sense of helplessness…I couldn’t help myself be different or the person I wanted everyone to see.  The parts of me that were coming to light were painful to realize.  I became aware of the me that was intensely insecure, emotionally needy, ashamed of fear, ashamed of the body that had born children and struggled with weight.   I struggled with envy when others were joyful and I was wrestling with heartache.  And on a chilly, windy Good Friday in April I stood on my porch screaming in the wind the emotion I was most ashamed of….hatred.

Kit was one day post-op after the second surgery on his scalp.  His largest scalp wound was too large to surgically close as the edges were 4 inches apart.  Thankfully his plastic surgeon had been a military flight surgeon and was extremely creative in the approach to repairing his wounds.  In that second surgery 4 pairs of metal anchors were secured on each side of his wound, and then attached to rubber bands that undermined all the tissue that was remaining.  Each day his wife, the doctor, was to pull each band about ¼ of an inch and the tension on either side of the wound was to stretch the surrounding skin until the edges were close enough to sew together.  Simple enough, right?  Nothing in my training or imagining could have prepared me for what I saw when I removed his bandages that afternoon.  Propped up by my walker I stood over him, staring at a gaping wound where there had been skin just a few weeks before; skin I had touched or kissed in the years of our time together.  It was gone, replaced by metal anchors, rubber tubes, and bloody flesh.  In that moment the very last bit of my ability to “keep it together” fell away as my heart raced, my eyes flooded with tears, and my throat felt like it was closing.  My stomach lurched and my vision began to blur as I began to feel dizzy.  Mom thankfully grabbed a cold cloth for my neck just before I nearly blacked out.  Pleading for his forgiveness I pulled the cords, filled the wound with antibiotic ointment and replaced a fresh bandage. 

Huge sobs had begun as mom helped me get outside where I was hoping I could start breathing again.  With the first deep breath of cold air a guttural cry began to form and what came out was the most exposing moment of my life.  “GOD I HATE THIS!!!!  GOD I CANNOT DO THIS!!!!!!!  GOD, I HATE GREG!!!!!!!!,” I screamed into the wind.  Tears and wailing overtook me in that moment, and then the pleading for only help that would ever really heal me began, “Please take that from me.  Please make me whole.  Please help me.”  And in a moment the memory of Kit’s wound was replaced by an image of Jesus shredded for the sins of the world 2000 years before on the first Good Friday.  In that moment I saw God’s hatred of sin, his fury over the vile nature and behavior of sin, placed on His son.  And it was placed there because of His great love for me, for us all.  Even for Greg, the 27 year old alcoholic, who’s choices had wounded my family.  Even for me…the real, exposed me filled with insecurity, hatred, self doubt and envy.  Because of God’s great love for the real me, He allowed His perfect Son to be tortured and killed as the payment for the debt I could never pay.  With the image of Jesus in my mind, my heart let go of hatred, and got out of the way for my healing to finally begin.

And on that windy Good Friday my heart finally surrendered to the One who made me.  All my messiness, all my sin, all my complicated pretenses were laid at His feet…a practice that I have had to repeat over and over again since.  Pain was the catalyst for the best decision I have ever made in my life; surrender.   It matters not the extent of pain we as humans come under, it has the ability to expose our hearts…not to God, He already knows what messes we are.   Our pretenses have never fooled Him.  Pain exposes the reality of our sin issues and idols to us.  And from that awareness we see our own need of Him.  We know deep down, that we cannot fix ourselves…which may be why we pretend that we don’t really need to healed or remade.  Recognizing our need and weakness is extremely painful; even more so when we feel that we are supposed to heal ourselves and realize that we are incapable of the task.   Please hear me, comfort does not bring us to a place of recognizing our need.  Comfort affords us all the ability to delude ourselves into thinking that we have “arrived” or somehow have it “all together.” 

In this season of collective discomfort in social distancing, financial strain, work insecurity, health risks and unknowns, and constant changes in our normal routines I am praying that we will finally be exposed and vulnerable.  I am praying that the church, The Bride of Christ, will become exposed collectively and individually; that our sin issues and idols will be made clear to us.  I know it is happening, at least for some.  A dear friend of mine and I were crying with each other over the phone just a few nights ago as she told me about the grief she is experiencing over her own ugliness that is being exposed during this season.  Yes, she is also dealing with the inconvenience of life interrupted; but the pain she is experiencing is coming from her own realization of the difficulty extending grace to others when they dismiss the reality of this virus that threatens her loved ones who work in the medical field, her children, her parents, her friends.  Her greatest pain during this crazy inconvenient season is occurring as a result of seeing her own sin issues;  and from that pain she is postured perfectly for God to grow her and mold her to become even more like Jesus.   She has already been surrendering, and I am certain that in this season of discomfort she will be catapulted into deeper growth.  Which is the reality for each one us; we can each grow as we recognize our need and surrender.

When I read the verse that commends us to “confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed” I see that in this season of pain, pretenses could fall and there could healing beyond our imagination!  What if we as a result of discomfort become vulnerable, confess our struggles to each other and actually pray for each other?  How would The Church be different?  What would happen if we as churches confessed to each other, and God, that we have clung to gatherings, attendance records, songs, routines and “norms” more tightly that we have clung to Jesus as our all sufficiency?  What if we realized with open eyes that we have been more attached to “how church should look” than to God, and His heart for the lost?  Would healing happen in our churches?  Would our hearts be overcome with our individual need for Jesus to the extent that we wouldn’t be able to be attached to any other single thing?  I know for certain that on a Good Friday afternoon I finally began to let go of myself and took a hold of the only One who could change me…and pain was the stimulant for that transformation.

If God could transform me, an envious, insecure, petty, hateful, shame-filled 40-something year old woman, He can transform anyone.  Nothing is impossible for Him.  There is no one who is too far beyond the healing that begins with surrender.  Pain does not have to be wasted.  Our pain can be used to lead us to surrender; the only posture required for real transformation.  Please don’t allow this season of discomfort to be wasted.  Please allow God to work on the real you, start surrendering to the One who can actually heal you.  Ask Him to show you the reality of your mess and His ability to heal it.   I’m praying for revival that starts with the transformation of individual hearts and then collectively transforms the world.  I’m praying for the church to rise up, vulnerable and real, clinging to Jesus.  What better week than Holy Week for a real transformation in the Bride of Christ? 

Standing on the same porch, another April day.