I can’t even fully tell you what this is doing to me…
Maybe it’s stripping me of everything I’m really not.

The Lord has used pain to break me and remake me over and over again. I believe that. I feel it. I see it. I’m not who I was when this started, and I definitely never reach a point where it’s enough. I’m not implying that when the Lord heals me that’ll mean I’m done being refined- I’m saying that our Redeemer God has not let this pain be wasted.

I just finished “Round 8” of the week long infusion treatment for my pain two weeks ago. The last three rounds have been a true rollercoaster: Round 6 was incredibly scary and left me in just as much pain as I came in with….Round 7 I felt scared going into it not knowing if it I’d have that scary episode during titration again but didn’t and God was so kind to me and gave me a gift of being a “5” on the pain scale and zero titration issues…..and Round 8 I left the hospital with less pain then when I came in but not the same relief after another scary titration.

I’m exhausted from this season of pain. I’m exhausted from this new cycle I live my life in. I’m just plain exhausted.

Being in pain is for sure the most vulnerable part of my life. It displays my broken.
We all have it, I know that. We all have parts of life that we try to hide, try to trade, try to fix.

I fantasize about having my life together, and work hard to give everyone my best. I want to be a good friend, a good daughter, a good sister, granddaughter, cousin, niece. I want to be a good employee, a good co-worker, a good boss, a good director. I even want to be a good patient. I want people to be pleased with me.

Perhaps the bigger problem is that I also do this with God. I want to hand Him my life and my heart on a silver platter in perfect condition. I want Him to be proud. That’s really all I want.

That’s not how it works. That’s not even what He wants.

No, instead I’m like a child who’s holding some broken pieces with crocodile tears in my eyes and handing it back to Him saying, “I’m sorry- this is the best I have.” And it is kind of like the Lord grabs hold of my face and says, “let me fix this.”

I cannot hand it to Him on a silver platter. That implies I don’t even need a Savior. That I’ve got it covered on my own.

Pain is another thing I cannot control and it is incredibly frustrating. It’s one of the reasons why I know the Lord uses it for good even when it physically feels so bad- I see how He teaches me that I am not in control and that I need to surrender when my body physically can’t handle any more and I’m heading back down the halls of the hospital, yet again, to get help. Because not only can I not hand God my heart and life on a silver platter. I can’t even get my broken body together enough on my own. This is frustrating. I mean…incredibly frustrating to not be in control of your own body.

I stayed an extra night in the hospital this round after the infusion was over because I was having a few complications. I was finally unhooked from an IV and was able to walk stably. (is “stably” a word? You know what I mean.)

Around 2:30 in the morning, I couldn’t sleep and so I went for a walk. You know what’s weird about the hospital? It’s the only public place where you are in your pajamas or a gown or a robe and it’s perfectly normal. Also perfectly normal to have not showered in a couple days, or have hair in a messy bun, maybe your teeth got brushed today, maybe they didn’t. Maybe you’re wearing a bra, maybe you’re not. You may or may not be sporting a bag of your own urine with you. I mean it’s crazy- things that would never be normal if we were walking around outside the hospital. I pass by people and wonder who they are really- because I’m catching most vulnerable you and you are catching most vulnerable me—but outside these halls are you an executive?  A professional business man or woman? Are you normally the man who never cries who is crying now? Are you normally the woman in heels and make up who’s in slipper socks with unshaved legs? And what do you see when you see me?

And you know what else? What an odd place the hospital is that no one bats an eye at this stuff. No one cares what you look like or if you’re crying, yelling or having an anxiety attack. Sure, they’d never be caught this vulnerable at work, or at their kids’ school, or even at lunch with their best friends. But at the hospital no one cares one bit about that stuff- because there is life to fight for. All that matters is getting better and getting out to return to it, life, hopefully taking it less for granted, and maybe caring more about the loved ones to return back to and less about the put together appearance creating the illusion that all is well and always is.

So in the middle of a 2:30 walk around the cold, sterile hospital- mourning the loss of pain relief I feel I should have had more of that was lost during titration, I think about how much more familiar these halls are becoming, how much I frequent these rooms because of where I am at in this season of my life. I think about the fact that I know my Jesus will heal me some day (this side of Heaven or not) just like He’ll heal every one of these patients. And I wonder what I’m supposed to do with this broken, exhausting season. How am I supposed to leave the hospital broken instead of better? How am I supposed to go back to work, again, without much help of relief?

People ask me all the time how I cope with the pain. It’s the most cliché Christian thing for me to say- but I sincerely mean it: I can only live with pain because of the joy of the Lord and His grace. And the best coping strategies I have? I worship, and I laugh.

The most commonly searched for things in my youtube history? Worship songs and Jimmy Fallon videos. Fallon and “Friends” is what I watch the most of to laugh and worship music plays constantly in my car, on my phone, on my computer at my desk.

My word for the year is “sing” from that quote I wrote about a little while ago that “sometimes we sing something because we believe it, because we are sure and sometimes we sing something until we are sure.” It is my deepest desire to sing about the goodness of the Father because I believe it- and on days where it’s hard to feel anything good, to remind to myself of His goodness. And honestly, sometimes when the pain is so bad it feels like I can’t even find words to sing. But my prayer is that every day I would find a way to worship Him in my pain.

Natalie Grant has a song I love called, “More than Anything” and the lyrics say:

“Help me want the Healer more than the healing.
Help me want the Savior more than the saving.
Help me want the Giver more than the giving.
Help me want you Jesus- more than anything.”

And that’s what I whisper sung at 2:30 in the morning pacing the halls, and that’s my prayer today.

My hunch is God probably wants that prayer and my vulnerability a lot more than He wants that silver platter I fantasize about. So I will keep praying that prayer.

Maybe you need to remind yourself of that today too.

Lord, help me want the Healer more than the healing- help me want the Savior more than the saving, help me want the Giver more than the giving and help me want you Jesus- more than anything. Help me trust you more and walk life with pain not so afraid of how much it looks like I’m not together and honoring you as best as I can in the middle of the fire. Lord, I ache so badly and I do not understand why sometimes You allow these treatments to help more than other times. But I do know that You have never left me in this fight with pain. You have never abandoned me, even when it feels lonely. And You have not allowed one day of this to go to waste. I know that You are a Redeemer God who breaks me and remakes me to strip me away of everything I am really not and more of who You created me to be.

Lord, I will sing, even when it hurts. Even when it’s only a melody and there are no words.