Let It Hurt, Let It Die

Ages ago, during the time in my life before children, my marriage began to fail (we're still together 14 years, three kids, an autism diagnosis and infinite amounts of mercy and grace later), and I sought counsel from a woman who had been through what I was going through and more. She told me many things that have affected my life profoundly, but the one that has resonated and echoed through my mind in every problem I have faced since, was this. "Don't run from the pain. It has a purpose. Let it hurt." At that point in my life in my foolish youthful independence, I did not fully understand those words or the wisdom behind them, but I do now.

Instinctively we seek a way to make the pain stop. A new relationship to ease the pain of a failing marriage. 'Venting' to anyone who will listen in order to mount ourselves an army of supporters to justify our pain. Rushing into big decisions like marriage or divorce just to feel proactive and on top of our pain. Seeking anything, even good things like obsessively researching the diagnosis we can't quite accept, keeping busy or serving others, anything that will bring us a little comfort.

This instinct helps us survive, but it doesn't let us thrive.

Thriving requires using the pain to learn about our humanity and our God. Thriving often requires that we not only let it hurt, but we let it die, as well.

In John 12:24 Jesus talks about what must happen to a grain of wheat in order for it to grow and bear fruit. It must die. If it does not fall to the ground and give up its 'seedness', its current state of being, it will never be what it was intended to be. It will remain alone and useless.

Alone and useless.

When I look back at my life and see the times of greatest suffering, some of the pain was often attached to an unmet desire or unfulfilled dream.

When I got married, I saw my life happily heading down the path to becoming a Godly accomplished woman, my own personal manifestation of what I had admired in other women of faith. The day my husband asked me for a divorce, I remember thinking, "This can't be happening. I'm 23. I can't be divorced at 23. God, I've made mistakes, but I've tried to live my life for you, Christian college, years of service. How could you abandon me now? Why did You let me marry him if he was just going to leave me? What happened to happily ever after?" There was plenty of real pain, pain over the wrongs committed and the abandonment of my spouse, but much of it was damage to my pride, to my dream of a fairy tale ending, to the life I felt I deserved.

Like every mother, I gave birth to a myriad of dreams and plans for my children long before I ever saw their face. The day I heard the doctor say "autism spectrum disorder," I found myself grieving as if he had just told me my son would die. Every one of those dreams for this child were shattered with that diagnosis and many things I wanted for my older son and the baby growing inside me at that time were now conflicted with the thought that they would be burdened with the care of their brother if something should happen to me and his father. Much of this pain was from shattered dreams and broken plans, but yet again, much of it was from my feeling like God was mishandling my life, like He had broken an unspoken agreement between us: I live for Him and he protects me from things like this, like an insurance policy.

The instinct to run from pain, seek an escape from it or a temporary salve for it, is natural, part of being human, as is clinging to our idea of what our life should be like, holding onto our dreams long after they've been shattered. These reactions to life and its inevitable disappointments help us survive when the pain overwhelms us.

The thing is, like the seed, we were made for more than just surviving.

Paul wrote that we who are in Christ have been crucified with Him. We are new creatures. Alive in Him and the new life He has given. We have been set free from the confines of a shell and have been given living, breathing, growing power. We are no longer earth bound. So then why do we remain underground, out of the sun, away from the life we were intended to live?

I believe, especially in my own life, we choose to avoid the pain and hold on to all our dreams and demands, we cling to the life we know and expect to receive. We blame the shell, the dirt, the way God made us. Dying to live doesn't come natural, and we blame that, too. We distract ourselves with 'seed' things, and convince ourselves that the dirt is where we belong. Only, we don't. We set out to accept it. Only, we can't.

Dying to live is one of those weird opposite concepts put forth in Scripture, things like strength in weakness, freedom in surrender, power in meekness, and it does not come easy or naturally. It is something we have to strive for. We have to allow Christ to live in and through us as we let the old self die and move toward the life he has called us to.

So, I want to offer a challenge going forward to myself and anyone who reads this. Stop running to the old self, the old dreams, and your former life. Stop living in the dirt. When the pain comes, don't run and hide, don't try to drown it out with busyness or impulsiveness. Embrace it. Allow the Holy Spirit to use it to kill the fear, the worry, the anxiety. Let him work. Let the pain work, and let those impossible expectations for yourself and your children die. Let the past knowledge of weaknesses and preconceived ideas about your abilities and of those around you die. The demands you put on your God as if He owes you something, let them die. Your ungrateful entitlement, let it die. Let your former self die. Then dump the dead weight, leave it in the dirt and reach for the sun. Grow in His love, mercy and goodness. Stretch out your new limbs and live the way He intended you to live. Not just surviving, but thriving.