Letting God Sit in the Room With My Pain
This month (past 6 weeks) has been a LOT. Goodness gracious. The start of the academic year is always chaotic, full of things to do, etc. That part I was expecting. The part that I was not expecting was the amount of pain and grief and suffering that would accompany it. Sometimes I think there’s seasons of life that are marked by more pain and suffering than others. Some of this is some of my own grief that I am processing due to some recent loss, but some of it is because of the pain of close friends and family who are navigating some really tough situations in their lives right now. Sometimes the compilation of your own pain and others can be a lot to handle. Sometimes it feels like my heart isn’t big enough to hold it all without breaking (and this is a feeling I try really hard to resist LOL). I’m someone who naturally tries to take on the pain and the weight of others — I do it willingly and recognize that I also sometimes need to put up some boundaries to take care of myself too.
My normal way of processing sadness and pain is by trying to control it. Over the past month+, I have really seen that on full display. I wouldn’t say that I am past that particular coping mechanism, but I do think I have awareness of it in a way that I didn’t before. I try to plan through it, put boundaries around it, rationalize it, etc. I often walk around looking to take on and hold the pain of the people I love because it hurts to watch them bear it on their own. I always seem to find myself stepping into situations of other people’s pain, hoping that I can provide some relief. I know how it feels to be walking through dark and hard times, and I never want someone I love to feel like they have to do that on their own.
In the past few weeks, I’ve been more aware of the toll that it takes on me and the space I need to give myself to process. The metaphor that I have been using to think about how I want to process my stuff differently this time is to let God into the room with my pain. Sometimes, I try to keep it inside in a little box, tie it up with a pretty little bow on the outside and try to keep everyone (and God) on the outside. It’s vulnerable to let someone in — whether that’s a friend, a family member, my therapist, my spiritual director or God. It can be scary to admit that things hurt right now. I’m guilty of putting up walls and my defenses to try to keep everyone out. But I know that path usually doesn’t work. The reality is that healing happens in community and in vulnerability. It happens when you can share a part of your soul with another person, or with God. Healing happens when you can admit that you don’t have it all together. Healing happens when you can say out loud that you’re sad, or you don’t have all the answers or you don’t understand why something is happening to you or someone you love. The first step in healing is acknowledging the reality of our humanity and the brokenness all around us. We can’t heal when we can’t put our guard down — we literally get in the way of it.
This is hard work, y’all. Sometimes my guard is up with God and sometimes it’s up with other people. Sometimes it feels easier to let God in than other people. Sometimes it’s the other way around. But what I’m learning is that it all works together. Sometimes, by letting my guard down and letting other people in, I can feel the loving and warm embrace of a God who loves me through it all. Sometimes, when I’m afraid or worried about telling a friend about how I’m feeling, I feel more comfortable going to God, my friend and comforter, who helps me learn how to connect to other people.
In this season of life, I’m praying for a heart that loves people enough to get broken. A heart that is tender enough to the world around it that it feels pain. A heart that is united with God in suffering, as Jesus was. This isn’t easy work, but it is work that will mold me, shape me, and sustain me. I am working on more helpful ways to acknowledge my pain and suffering and routinely asking God to be with me in it. We can all sit in the room together — the beautiful, the blessings, the mundane, the things that have not come to pass yet, and the terrible stuff too. The pain and my God can be in the same space. He is able to bear it with me. I’m praying for a heart vulnerable enough to admit when I need help. In this season, I keep praying — God, soften my heart and meet me in the places of suffering where I can’t recognize You yet. I want to know You there too.
