When Life Says Pause

I watch the TV show House. Hugh Laurie's character is crazy and witty, but now that I've watched virtually every episode available by way of reruns, I'm growing a bit tired of this egotistical genius of a doctor. I'd like for him to be a little less crazy and to get his painkiller addiction under control. I'd like for him to grow up and to make even a small step toward a healthy relationship with someone, anyone. 

I imagine that in my dreams, I'd like him to find his "new normal," to get sober, to believe that relationships matter, and that life is not about his own comfort. Then again, as of this last weekend, I understand him better than I ever did. I wish I didn't, but...

Last Friday morning, I awoke with a start around 5 am and started calling for my husband. Something was very wrong, and in my semi-conscious state, I knew it. Something hurt. And it was me. "David!" He came running in, as he was up getting ready for work, and asked what was wrong. I told him I hurt, and he asked me to roll over so he could massage my neck. When I did, I screamed. 

I'm a little fuzzy on how I got from the bedroom to sitting on the chair in our living room. But when David reviewed some options for getting my neck checked out, tears started to flow. "I don't think you realize how much this is hurting me," I said. "I've had neck pain before, but this is way different."

And so David did what any protective husband would do. He drove me to the Dr.'s office when it opened at 8:30 am and informed the front desk that I needed help as soon as possible. I was never so grateful to see a Dr. in my life. Dr. H didn't know what I had done to myself, but she felt the neck area and proclaimed it a "neck spasm." One shot of muscle relaxer, and two prescriptions later, I walked out. I took the drugs as soon as I could, but there was no relief. 

To make matters worse, the flexaril muscle relaxer made me want to lie down like a puddle on the carpet. But when David tried to help me into bed, the pain of descending to the mattress and laying there made me cry and scream. The pain was just as bad when he helped me to sit up. Something was seriously wrong. 

David stayed home from work and proceeded to do everything in his power to help me get comfortable. He called a pain management Dr./friend of ours and asked him what to do. The doc scheduled us for physical therapy, which meant I had to lay down again. Which led to some crying and yelling, which was embarrassing, but unavoidable. It was not a pinched nerve, the therapist said. Which was only slightly comforting.

Next, we drove awhile to get to our chiropractor. He adjusted me so I could move a little more freely, but the pain was still consistent, no matter how I moved. It was then that my wonderful doctor who issued the prescriptions had mercy on my predicament: the nurse called to say I could take vicodin since the other options weren't working. And I have to tell you, peeps: from Friday night-Monday night vicodin became my friend. 

Because in the end, I had a dreadful case of a neck spasm, and the best I could do to remedy the situation was to take the drugs and rest. Eventually, it would calm down. Today it is behaving like a slightly troublesome ache and pain should. Quelled only by advil, the spasms are less frequent and much less intense. I went for a walk today. I worked on my computer. I am reemerging from my haze. 

My immobility over the weekend got me thinking about how we push ourselves to do more, even when our bodies are telling us to rest. It also got me thinking about God's expectations of us when we are hurting. The Bible says God is close to the brokenhearted, and that he binds up our wounds.

I once had a youth group leader who told me that we are usually much harder on ourselves than God is. Think about it for a minute. Very profound. Because while I was doped up this weekend, trying to alleviate the pain, my life was not truly on hold. God was there, desiring only that I lean into his strength, cry out to him in my pain, and to rest my ailing body so I could recover.

I'd prefer to accomplish a few projects, clean the house, call a few friends, mail some letters, and be in church. But that was not to be this weekend. That was not what God expected. The "pauses" in our life are allowed--and I think, sometimes directed by God--to help us look to him for our worth and value. To sit and listen to him and to soak in his love for us. It's true what the author Brennan Manning says in his books: he really is trying to call us "beloved." 

But we are too busy, too driven, too afraid of stillness, to hear that still, small voice. And our Abba-Father is a gentleman. He will not force his love on us, though he knows how it will heal our hearts.

Stop. Today, I want to ask God why he loves me, and listen to his response.

Still. I want to sit quietly without an agenda and have him show me how to order my day.

Start. When the pain leaves, I want to focus on relationship with him. Asking him to pour his love through me so it will splash over on others. I want him to teach me how to love others with abandon.

I'm glad our lives occasionally force us to pause.  

"Blessed are the single-hearted, for they shall enjoy much peace. If you refuse to be hurried and pressed, if you stay your soul on God, nothing can keep you from that clearness of spirit which is life and peace. In that stillness you will know what His will is."

-Amy Carmichael, missionary