All praise to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. God is our merciful Father and the source of all comfort. He comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us. — 2 Corinthians 1:3-4
My emotional state flows in a different pattern than the Fibro pain. This week hasn’t been bad, pain-wise. Emotionally, I’m a bit of a mess. I lost my mind last night over something insignificant, the second night in a row that’s happened.
When there’s pain, you push the emotional impact downstream so you can do what you need to. That bill always comes due. And then you wonder why your head is so far up your butt, you can see out of your mouth.
In that context, the verses above are both a comfort and a high standard. I don’t know why God ordained or allowed this for me (and by extension, all the others with chronic conditions). But I know what I’m supposed to do.
I know what it is to grind on when your body feels angry and hollow. I know what it is to get out of bed in the morning and long for the moment when I can return there at night. I know what it’s like to smile through pain because you don’t want to grimace and curse in front of people.
Because I understand that circumstance, I’m called to extend the same kind of grace I want for myself. I’m not awful at it–a lot has changed since the beginning of the year. I finally accepted this condition as part of me and asked what I’m supposed to do about it.
But I could be better at it.
I’m not perfect because I’m washed in the blood of the savior. I’m the same guy with the same weaknesses. I’m not some fearsome divine warrior, taking a fallen world by storm in the name of Jesusuh. I’m a guy whose body hurts much of the time, who’s typically wiped out in the evening, and who struggles to keep it together. There’s nothing mighty about that.
I just have divine support. In the darkest, most painful moments, I take comfort in the fact that I’m not alone. I rely on that comfort. It’s part of what helps me through.
So my charge is to extend that comfort out to others. To say I know it’s hard and it sucks. To tell people who struggle that what they’re doing is amazing. To do my best to not let it spill over and lose it–and then to show myself a hint of grace when I do.
It’s a high bar, a wonderful aspirational goal that I’ll never fully attain.
At the end of the day, maybe the reason God doesn’t directly intervene is so we can help each other out. So we can give and receive comfort and think better of each other. We’re in this together. We can kick each other in the head to attain material wealth and power that someone else will assume when we’re gone. Or we can help each other out so others feel a hint of the comfort we sometimes find.
The latter is the one that adds value.
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