hurt

This week God uncovered a huge gaping wound in my life that I have tried for years to ignore, cover up, and somehow not understand so that I could heal without actually having to face into the actual pain. This week God made it impossible for me not to face into it. And as I screamed and cried and cursed and said all those things Christians are not supposed to say (who knew I had such a sailor's vocabulary?) I suddenly saw myself as a cornered, wounded wild animal. I saw God reaching out to heal and comfort me, and, like the animal who only understands aggression and self-protection and does not understand the proffered hand of a compassionate human, I lashed out at Him, at one point even telling Him I didn't want Him "near" me anymore (OUCH). Thankfully God knows the real source of my anger better than I did, and refused to grant me my ever-so-sweetly-phrased-and-humbly-delivered request. He kept His tight grip on me though I pushed, screamed, and kicked the whole time. And today, driving down the mountain from a beautiful day of skiing, I realized something:

At some point we all have to choose to trust a God Who has allowed, and will continue to allow, us to be in pain.

In early October 2008 I made a huge leap of faith, one that I am 100% sure God asked me to make, one that ripped my heart apart (though not at the time). And after that decision (which, in my mind, sealed me for God for the rest of my life), a million other parts of my life crumbled. Like waves on the beach I was drowned by deeper and darker times of pain than I had ever experienced before. Ever. And this was after I had chosen to trust God, during the time I was making the most concerted effort to draw closer to His heart and be more submissive to His will.

This week as God sort of forced me to face into a bunch of that hurt I suddenly got so mad at God for allowing me to experience that pain--as well as getting mad at Him for actively bringing me into a spiritual pain like I'd never imagined--that lashed out at the only One Who was around. I knew that the pain was absolutely connected to my surrender to Him. And let me tell you. I. Was. Pissed.

And the worst part was that I didn't know how to trust Him anymore. Who was He to me? He keeps bringing me from death to new death, and I didn't (and still don't) know how to reconcile that with a hope for a better future. What if this is simply the way my life will go from now on? It's possible. I have no idea what God wants for me. I do know it's what is somehow "best," but heavenly best doesn't mean a whole lot when you're crying, panicked, and despairing in the middle of the night as you grapple with gaping loneliness, looming homelessness, and an incapacitated future. My attempts to somehow manufacture or choose hope in Him actually burned inside. It was painful and crushing. How could I trust a God who not only has allowed me to experience pain, but will continue to allow me to be hurt, wounded, and crushed? How could I possibly hope in that, in a way that encourages and strengthens me in the midst of the pain? If I can count on new pain for the rest of my life, how does that reconcile with hope for my life?

I think maybe, on a really basic level, I just need to accept the pain. Accept it, embrace it, understand that it is real, accept that it is sometimes devastating, and then allow myself to be devastated and to let God give me the space, time and relationships to heal. Part of embracing this current pain (without dwelling in it) entails me allowing myself to get what I need to heal. And because God is a God of salvation and redemption, He is ready and willing not simply to heal me (though that would be more than enough and more than I deserve), but to take every ounce of my pain and actually use the devastating pain to accomplish something amazing in my life. Accepting pain is a choice, as is trusting our God Who allows us to be wounded by others, by life, by He Himself. Trust is not a feeling, but a choice. And, because it goes against what is now natural to us, sometimes choosing trust in the midst of pain hurts more than the pain itself.