Four years.
I didn't realize it, but, looking through my Facebook memories today, it was plain as day. Had I known on April 2nd, 2019, that it would be my last pain-free day, I wonder what I would have done differently. Would I have called in to work, pulled my babies from school, and spent the day with them? Would I have gone to the zoo, gotten ice cream, played with them at the park, stayed up way too late, and carried both my boys downstairs one last time? I don't know what I would have done, but I digress.
On April 3rd, 2019, an event triggered an auto-immune response, and I have never been the same.
Photo by Joanna Kosinska on Unsplash
My entire being is affected by the pain. Everything is impacted by it. I am forever changed. My brain echoes the words from the Broadway show, Wicked, “Who can say that I've been changed for the better, but because I knew you (looking at you, chronic pain), I have been changed for good."
I have experienced bouts of intense anger with God. I have yelled at God, "Why would You call me to ministry—especially special-needs ministry—and then disable me so ministering every day is harder; some days, almost impossible?!"
But I have also experienced God's presence in different ways.
I have been defeated, broken, and unsure how to survive another day in this much pain.
I have warped the meaning of Philippians 1:21 when admitting being ready to die because the pain is so overpowering. Rather than whining or throwing a fit, I have chided, "To live is Christ, to die is gain." Lord, forgive me, for in writing these words, I have just realized how I have unintentionally twisted Your words. Amen.
I know God is using this for good; I have become stronger, braver, and more resilient. I have learned so much. Yes, I have been changed for good.
So I thought in honor of this fourth anniversary, I would start by reflecting and sharing things I have learned from chronic pain.
Contrary to popular belief, it's not all bad—there are blessings in the pain. My experience has taught me many things, but here are a few.
God's grace is sufficient (2 Corinthians 12:9). I have felt God hold me up as I preached from a pulpit. He steadied me as I waivered under the weight of one of our special needs friends on a respite night and held me together as my brain wanted to fall apart. God's power is made perfect (from the original Greek, to be fully executed), in my weakness.
By Jesus' example, we cannot expect to be able to bind up the broken-hearted without ever having been broken. To walk with Christ is to share in His suffering.
The glory of God can be shown to others in my pain. It feels like a stretch to quote John 9:1-3 here, but yeah, I did it. Perhaps, this pain is so that the glory of God can be shown in me.
My joy cannot be contingent on my comfort, but only on Christ.
God wastes nothing, but instead, "He works out all things for the good of those who love Him" (Romans 8:28). This means I can trust EVERYTHING endured will work for my good. I don't need to work it that way—God will.
I wish I had learned these things without chronic pain, but the lessons have been worth the pain.
I would guess my fellow spoonies (people living with chronic pain) feel the same. If you don't have chronic pain, I pray you never do. That somehow, God can teach you these things in a different way than He taught me. I pray you never experience this life of being low on spoons and not having enough forks to give. Shout out to Amy Kenny, author of the phenomenal book, My Body is Not a Prayer Request, for that joke. I am the neurodivergent who is only funny when I don't try to be.
Next, if you don't live with chronic pain, may I give you some advice for interacting with those who do?
Respect our needs. When I tell you I am not safe carrying scissors and I need you to get them for me, you can trust I am not being lazy. I am wise. The same is true for the spoonie in your life. They do not want to ask for help, so when they do, please trust it is truly needed.
Canceled plans do not mean we do not care—we don't have the energy to do the things we WANT to do—we still love you; this will be a part of loving a spoonie.
Please, for the love of the Lord, DON'T tell us we need to repent to be healed (looking at you, Church). Most sicknesses are from living in a fallen world. EVEN IF IT IS FROM SIN, your condemnation will not free people—it will only alienate them. Disciple them instead. Help them walk with God. God can convict them and help them find healing. I digress.
In my personal experience, chronic pain stinks. It's terrible. But the God we serve is so incredible. He can redeem anything. I am in awe of His goodness to me, not despite the pain but because of the pain. He has held me.
Music is incredibly healing to me, so please bear with me. There is a song by Casting Crowns I had never heard until attending a concert recently. I wish I could hug them all because it thoroughly gave peace to a broken part of my heart at that moment. Their song Desert Road uniquely echoes how I feel walking into year five of chronic pain. The chorus is exactly how I want to end our time together today. Spoonies, say it with me:
I don't know where this is goin', but I know who holds my hand
It's not the path I would've chosen, but I'll follow You to the End
Lord, as long as I am breathin', I will make Your glory known
Even if it means I'm walkin', on this desert road.
Joanna French is the special needs pastor at Flint Hills Church, Junction City, KS. Joanna and her husband Jairmie have two boys with autism. In 2017, Joanna started Flint Hills Embrace, with the goal to make Flint Hills Church a place where everyone belongs. Why? Because we all have a place in God's plan.
