Suffering does not have the final say.

– – –

My current mood matches my surroundings.

The sky is grey and the trees are grey and I realized I’m wearing grey and I’m just feeling grey, okay. I’m on the verge of tears sitting at the long, lovingly scratched up community table at one of my favourite coffee shops and I’m sure I’d cry grey tears if I gave in but that’d be because I’m not wearing waterproof mascara.

This time of year is always interesting. Perhaps it’s the weather, but without fail, my pain levels go up & I spend some quality time with my couch. My face hurts from keeping tears at bay, seeming to forget all the recent days relatively pain-free as I have trouble breathing & thinking straight in that moment. My thoughts about how on earth I’m gonna deal with the pain escalate quickly, making me disbelieve I’ve survived this long.

If I’m having trouble getting through today, how did I get through eight years of this?

– – –

The other day I was catching up with an old friend after church. It was a wild night outside, wind blowing so hard we heard wood creaking during mass and the power at the pub threatened to go out every so often. The fire next to us was warm and inviting, golden light flickering over our beers as we shared stories and maintained eye contact across the table. At one point we talked about the idea of wanting something different than what we’ve always known and, to make his point, my friend imagined the idea to be similar to my life dealing with pain.

“You’ve only known physical pain for so long that imagining anything different is difficult,” he said, leaning back into his chair.

“Something more might be out there, but that pain is all you know.”

If pain and disappointment and heartache are all we know, how can we imagine a life full of joy and fulfillment and peace?

– – –

Eight years ago, on December 9^th, 2007, I was in a car accident. I’ve lived in physical pain ever since and although I’m probably the best I’ve felt, overall, in a long time, I never know when it’s going to knock me down onto the couch for hours on a Tuesday afternoon and render me unable to do anything except want a hug, pizza delivered to my door, and a glass of whiskey.

For a third of my life I’ve dealt with chronic pain, so yes; I don’t know any different. I don’t have the framework to really know what it’s like not to be in pain.

But y’know what I do have?

Hope.

– – –

It’s true that chronic pain is sh- lousy. Super lousy. Most of the time it’s unseen and that makes it hard to convey the difficulty of living with it.

And living with it for what could be every day for the rest of forever is hard to contemplate when it comes to something so… lousy. It’s hard to believe life will get better on the bad days, when all my energy is being focused on something as simple as breathing.

God does not want me to be in pain. I know that. He is a good, good father & doesn’t will suffering upon me. He wants me to have a full, beautiful life by choosing Him, choosing to trust His love for me, even amidst the hurt. He has a plan for my life that’s better than anything I could think of now, even if all I feel like I’ve known is pain.

I know He’ll use this suffering for good.

Refining my character. Making me more like gold. Teaching me to look past myself even on the hardest of days. And those awful days are now fewer & farther between, praise the Lord. I have come so far, especially this past year. I mean just check out #thesportsingcrew, guys – that was a distant dream not that long ago.

I may not tangibly understand what a life completely without pain would be like, but I can’t imagine going through the dark days without the promise of something better. The promise of joy and fulfillment and peace.

Hope.

What a beautiful gift.

That hope fuels the days I can’t get out of bed because of the pain. The days I can’t breathe because I moved the furniture around and my ribs are trying to tell me who’s boss. The days I think I’ll never get stronger because all of a sudden the push ups I could do yesterday are a distant memory in the workout today.

Something more is out there. Something more beautiful than what I’ve always known.

Suffering does not have the final say.

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