Having Another

I saw a video in which a military man was saying that one of his most important mental strategies was to not give voice to his pain. He said if he was on a run, and his legs and feet were killing him, every step was agonizing, and someone asked how he was doing, the answer was always “outstanding”. Don’t give the negative a voice.

I made the mistake of giving the negative a voice yesterday. I’m not sleeping particularly well, so my concentration is fuzzy. Reading, playing games, watching TV… all of the things I might do to occupy my time while healing, became irritations instead. I called my mother to complain that I was bored. She understood, having been in this same situation a little over a year ago. Healing from spine surgery is a relentlessly tedious way to live, and this in the midst of a stupendous wealth of devices and distractions unknown just a couple of decades ago.

The bright spot for this past week was the short visit we made to our church discipleship group. One of our members was recently baptized, and hearing her testimony about that to the rest of the group lifted my spirits considerably. She said she didn’t know what to expect, but the peace that had settled on her in the moment of baptism came as a surprise. I related to it in the peace that I’ve had over cancer generally and my various trials specifically. It filled me with good cheer to hear that the Spirit is still at work in our church and our little group, that He produces the fruit that Paul wrote about, that love, joy, peace, patience, and all the rest are still forthcoming. I just wish I had been able to carry it forward yesterday instead of wallowing in my own self-pity.

I asked a couple of friends over to play a board game with me, and we had a good time. I struggled a bit to stay engaged but managed to be a tiny bit of a witness to the good things God is doing for me. Ultimately though it always comes back to Lisa. She takes care of me mentally, physically, emotionally. She helps me up when I fall down, lets me complain without entering into it herself.

I keep thinking about the time when I was a committed alcoholic — I would ask her to pick up something from the liquor store on her way home from work. She never did. Even before I came to the realization about what I was and what I was doing, she had a firm boundary that she would never enable me in any way. We didn’t fight over my drinking. I’d pour myself a glass and she’d bite her tongue, but she wouldn’t fix me a drink. I think she sensed a danger there, the lurking desire in me to have just the tiniest bit of approval from her in regard to my dereliction.

She seems to have the same boundary with my complaining. She lets me do it, knowing that I’m miserable, but she doesn’t enable or encourage it. She waits for me to bring myself back around to positive thoughts, occasionally interjecting small encouragements to nudge me along the way, but she doesn’t enter into my misery with me. It’s among the most loving things she has ever done for me, and I am continually in awe of her strength. I keep praying that God will grant me the same kind of resilience should she ever need it from me.

Pondering this in the light of the entire Bible, with God’s constant concern for widows and orphans — those who have no one to help in time of trouble — has given me new appreciation for the kind of love that God both provides and demands. My discipleship group and others from our church surrounded us while I was in the hospital. People sat with Lisa during the surgery, ensuring that she wouldn’t have to do it alone. Others stayed up all night with me afterward, caring for my every need. This is the kind of love the entirety of the Bible is aimed at producing, encouraging, nurturing. I am increasingly convinced that one of the most important things we can do is make sure the sick, particularly the hospitalized, are surrounded by the love and support of the church. We may not be able to do the literal healing, but we can provide just about everything else. God wants us in community with one another, holding to standards against weakness but loving nonetheless, bearing one another’s burdens, and lifting people back to their feet when they’ve fallen or been knocked down. The thought of someone having to do life — with its sickness, injury, cancer, etc. — on their own should be too much for us to bear.