I hurt all the time. I have an autoimmune condition that causes elevated levels of pain, fatigue, and brain fog. This, coupled with my mental health and learning struggles, makes me a really fun character. My autoimmune condition was launched by a traumatic event well into my adult life. It has been a struggle to adjust to my new existence. Three years into it—I can hardly remember what it felt like not to hurt.
Do you know how the Bible says that God’s ways are higher than our ways, and His thoughts are higher than our thoughts? Yeah, it’s not kidding. I don’t understand why God would call me to ministry, let me serve for a year, then have it in His plan for me to become disabled. I don’t get it, but I kind of just cling to what the Bible says when it promises us that God’s power is made perfect in our weakness, and that He uses disability so that “…the works of God might be displayed in us” (John 9:3). I cherish those scriptures, live obediently, and ride the roller coaster that is chronic pain.
I have been in the rudest of never-ending flare ups. Oh, it’s been bad. Intense pain days—every day—for two months. Last weekend, I led a respite night at our church, then I preached the next morning. Spiritually and mentally, that is an ideal weekend for me. It brings me much joy to serve people, to love on kids, and then to teach my precious parishioners. That is so very special—but physically, it was too much.
As I climbed the stage to preach, I knew I didn’t have the physical strength to do it. I knew it. I could feel my body trying to give out. I even had a chair put onstage in case I began to fall (I like to walk when I preach). Standing on that stage—for two services, mind you—I held my cane and talked about an ‘even if’ kind of faith. There is something special about serving when you know you can’t really do it; this is what I want to share with you. Before I do, please realize I’m not saying you should do more than you are called to or hurt yourself to serve. Instead, I want you to realize something.
If God calls you to it, He will sustain you while you do it.
Chronic pain is terrible, though I feel like this is true of most disabilities, in one season or another. Being disabled is hard. That’s okay. You can call it like it is and not devalue the person. Chronic pain is hard. I never know what body I am going to wake up to, nor will I know what I am going to be able to do during the day. I never know if I’m going to have the physical energy to climb my stairs, or cook dinner, or play with my children; I just never know. This means on low pain days I overcompensate, over-work, and often injure myself because I don’t know if I can do “this” tomorrow— whatever “this” is. Even with my naturally high pain tolerance, it wears me down to hurt like this—physically, mentally, and emotionally.
While I was preaching, a trained eye could see my pain; my dearest friends could see the moments when my brain fog set in, and the average parishioner saw me lean on my cane once or twice. The average person could perform the tasks I completed over the weekend, then stand before a congregation to preach with few side effects. For me, on a level eight pain day, this was not the case. I fought back so many tears. But on that stage, in our little church, I saw what I consider a miracle. Something unique, something special. I want to tell you about those times. I want to tell you how I see God in chronic pain, when God calls me to something that I cannot do alone. Maybe you have been called to such a task.
Photo credit: Levi Meir Clancy on Unsplash.com.
You see, there is something really cool about having chronic pain—and let’s be honest, there aren’t many things cool about pain. It’s so clear—when I am serving or teaching on a day when my body does not have the strength to do the things I am called to—that God is being my strength. I don’t know many other people who get to experience God actually being their strength. Before the pain, I never did. For me, as tired as I am of hurting, I don’t think I would trade that for the world.
There are times at night where I am in tears because I am so tired, but the pain won’t let me sleep. In those times, it is like God is holding me. I have grown to trust Him in a way I never could have imagined before my chronic pain. I hear His truth, His word, so much clearer in my head when I pray through a pain spike. I love people better because I know even more deeply what it is to hurt.
I am different than who I was before chronic pain. As much as I wish I didn’t hurt everywhere all the time, I know that God works all things out for the good of those who love Him (Romans 8:28). When I step away from the self-pity party and look at the bigger picture, I can see several ways that chronic pain has been beautiful. Some would even say it has been a gift. And every good and perfect gift comes from above.
We have to embrace the life God has given us and learn to celebrate it. You can and should celebrate living, no matter what disability you have. I know it’s not always easy, but it is always good to do that. I thought you could join me in that today.
In the spirit of Sunday’s sermon I say this:
I know the God I serve is able to save me from this (pain, disability, or another struggle) but even if He doesn’t, I will serve no other. I will worship Him always because He alone is worthy. Because He is good.
I pray God shows you the way His power is made perfect in your weakness.
I pray you celebrate the beauty God is making from your trials—because God makes all things good.
I pray you learn to rest in God’s promises—knowing He keeps His word.
I pray your trust will grow—because He walked with you through the valleys in life.
I pray you will know God better—because of your pain.
I pray this Christmas, you would be given the gift of knowing God is for you, and nothing can change that.
Joanna French is the special needs pastor at Flint Hills Church, Junction City, KS. Joanna and her husband Jairmie have two boys with autism. In 2017, Joanna started Flint Hills Embrace, with the goal to make Flint Hills Church a place where everyone belongs. Why? Because we all have a place in God's plan.
