Permission: To Rest in the Pain

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Today I was sick. This baby-creating thing is much harder than I anticipated—I keep saying that if women have been able to do this over the millennia, then certainly I can do this too… right?

I took a sick day from work and laid on the couch with terrible nausea, a dumb headache, and the pressure I put on myself to accomplish something… on a day I was incapacitated. Everything in me wanted to sleep it off, to take a magical medicine that would cure the yuck, to close my eyes and hope it changes when they open again.

I cried, too. I woke up this morning from a nightmare where the worst things happened, and I woke with sadness in my thoughts, which seemed to filter all the other ones. They bounced around, pressing on me like the headache that I was already feeling. Everything right now seems much harder than I had anticipated; not many things feel very secure. I can’t fit in my jeans because of this tiny human (ugh.), I feel overwhelmed by our financial situation, and Christmas is right around the corner, where my heart wants to be most generous, and all that my heart is and does feels so stifled.

It’s merely circumstances. But sometimes our circumstances seem like the giants in the Promised Land, and they press in, and our fears settle in, even though we know better—we have seen Him and know His character. He has never left us, and He won’t.

There are days when all we want to do is to sleep it off, to take some kind of magical medicine to cure the yuck, to close our eyes under the covers and hope the giants flee when our eyes flutter open again. The temptation is to run to the numbing-thing: the to-do tasks, the glass of wine, the tv show, the shopping trip, the comedic movie. What if, instead, I feel the pain, because there is greater growth in the journey of reality than the anesthetized, cheaper offers of the world?

In fact, after I walked through today and prayed through today, I arrived at this conclusion:

What the heart of the Father is doing in you and in me is so much sweeter after facing the pain of the season and seeing what He brings to fruition in the next.

Winter always turns to Spring.

I have to trust today that He is greater than my finances, He is greater than my hopes for accomplishment, He is greater than the situation that feels overwhelming and hopeless, He is always greater.

Perhaps—in the resting—we finally allow Him to create what we cannot.


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