Where There Is Pain

“The problem of reconciling human suffering with the existence of a God who loves, is only insoluble so long as we attach a trivial meaning to the word "love” and look on things as if man were the center of them. Man is not the center. God does not exist for the sake of man. Man does not exist for his own sake. "Thou hast created all things, and for thy pleasure they are and were created." We were made not primarily that we may love God (though we were made for that too) but that God may love us, that we may become objects in which the divine love may rest "well pleased".” ― C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain

Pain, and loss, and brokenness have existed since the beginning of time. And while mankind may struggle in disparaging the existence of man and God, and God before man, the whole of the universe set into motion by a flick of His wrist, a glimmer of will across His all and everything minds-eye- and the universe, snaps into orchestral harmony- we cannot argue that pain has always been. No discussion with an atheist or even grieving heart-wide-open-baby-Christian has been without, “then why? Why if we have been created by and for a God (THE God) who loves us, why would that same God of love and joy also set sorrow and pain in the souls of so many?” And really, why not just do without? Why not just leave that one out, or those ones who would perpetrate it upon us if pain in and of itself is necessary? And we do see that pain is necessary, in the sense of self-preservation, and if you’ll allow it, divine creation. Without nerve endings to allow the pain which radiates and screams as we burn our hands on an oven, we may very well continue to drive that lacking sensation until the limb is no more. We need pain. Pain is our central alarm system. “Stop! Stop it! Don’t do that or things cease to work right!”

But what about emotional pain? What is its necessity? Does a mother need to experience the searing and abrupt, unjust loss of her child for things to work right? Does the lack of hope; black, bleak hopelessness… do we need that? To function? The hopelessness that leads us to drug abuse, to poverty, to suicide, to unspeakable evil? What about that could we ever need? Why? Because when those things exist, we can agree that the mechanisms within the human soul which differentiate healthy pain and scary pain, in some capacity, are already not working right. Things have ceased to work correctly when we have taken our lives or the lives of others or experienced the brokenness of failed marriages, abandoned children, drug and alcohol abuse. These things, and these people- they have pain and they are broken.

And here is where I am stricken- things cease to work right where there is pain.

I see the hand of God in all things. I see His hand at work in the trees, I can feel Him at work as I watch my children mull over a math problem. I almost feel like loving Jesus is the continuous up-springing of awareness of His everywhere and everything, and His purpose; of His hands. The winds of life, the proverbial breath of His lungs. It wasn’t always the case, though. I’ve had  “God is a bully” moments, too. Hard teenage and pre-adult years, teeming with anger and resentment of that same all-seeing, all-knowing, coming and going, and intentional God. Infidelity despite children, knees with broken skin, begging Him to relent. Make it stop. “This isn’t fair.”

And yet today, I sit in a cacophony of grace, and goodness, and mercy. Jesus, the mercy. I tap at this computer on a day mixed with both joy and sorrow simultaneously, with my coffee sitting too cold, among the voices of three and not two, in a home that we own, on the anniversary of my children's adoption. Grace, and goodness, and mercy. Divorce, and sorrow, and pain. Lord- searing, tearing pain. But He said it, “You will live.”

Where joy and sorrow meet is the place of the fulfillment of every promise God has ever bestowed upon mankind. Pain, and its necessity, is what grabs our attention. What calls us to cease. What conditions us to wait. On who or what? Eventually, on HIM and on His goodness, so separate from our own.

“I can’t see, what’s in front of me, still I will trust you. Steady grace that keeps forgiving, steady faith that keeps believing, lead me on.” 

“Steady Heart”, Steffany Gretzinger

In this ringing and relentless weight of pain left in the wake of Jen's passing; in losing any of those that we cherish,  I am plagued by that sensation. In my conscience, these words, “Things cease to work right, without pain. Without correct observance of that pain. Without pursuing the root of that pain.” And what follows that has baffled me and left me confused, but grateful; ashamed, but so hopeful, “But God.Is.Good.”

It feels so counterintuitive to speak, to allow, to further the thought. Seconds beyond the shock-loss of a friend, “God, I know this feeling. I have felt this, and I know that you will do something good with this current pain.  Don’t take it away, but Lord, it hurts. Give us YOU. Show us your kingdom work at hand.”

And He will. And He does. And He will continue to. We need only praise Him in the wait.