My Pain is Real, and So Is Yours

Warning: this is not funny. Every now and then I am serious.

I have precious friends. They love me to the ends of the earth. When I say I cannot live without them, believe me, I mean it. My sweet friend Simone says she doesn’t know exactly how to process some of the things I write. I don’t know what that means. I think she gets concerned because my life always seems too complicated. My life is too complicated because God wants it to be. I believe everybody I meet and know is struggling with something. To what degree only they and God really know.

I told Simone not to worry about me until I lost my sense of humor. But tonight I have lost my sense of humor and I still don’t think she should worry, or anybody else for that matter.

Everybody is different and everybody is the same. Simple, right? We all hurt, we all struggle, and we all survive. How we do all those things is what makes us different.

So tonight I am laying in bed because my body is in so much pain I literally can no longer put one foot in front of the other. I think if my house was on fire, I would barely be able to crawl out.

Everyone stay calm. Nobody needs to bring a casserole, this is not a SOS. This is just me writing about my physical pain. No one needs to come running over. This is my life and me and my husband and kids are somewhat used to it. We know how to survive it. Sometimes our survival doesn’t look pretty and sometimes it is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. Sometimes we yell and sometimes we cry and sometimes we hold each other so tight time stands still. It’s all a lesson, a learning curve, and even though it is so hard and sometimes feels too hard, it’s a curve I want to be on because God uses it to make me who I really want to be. I want to be humble and wise so I can be used effectively to minister to the brokenhearted. So it is okay for me to be in pain and it is okay for me to lose my sense of humor because good comes out of the suffering. Beauty from ashes, right?

So I rethought what I told Simone. Years ago I told her something somebody else had told me. “Without hope we have nothing.” Lenny said it to me, I don’t remember about what, but it stuck with me. So when I lose hope, that is when you should bring over casseroles and interventions and whatever you have in your bag of tricks. When I have lost hope, that is when you should come. Hope is a terrible thing to lose. And feeling hopeless is much worse than being in pain, in my opinion.

I have only one time in my life lost all hope. It was a dark time and I was so sick. So sick I can’t even comprehend it looking back. I wanted to die. I had lost hope. God restored my hope over time and now I lay here feeling very sick, but not hopeless.

My heart is sad about a few things, my mind is racing about all the things I have to get done, and my body is not working, but my hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness. He is the ultimate hope giver.

Do not lose hope. And if you do, call me and I will bring you some tacos.

And just because I love me some pictures, here is a little pic of me lying sick in bed, just so you can have a pathetic visual.


3 thoughts on “My Pain is Real, and So Is Yours

  1. Mary Baird

    I cannot imagine having physical pain as you have. Perhaps God knew I wasn’t a good candidate to carry that off. My prayers go out for you and if I could, I’d take a portion of your pain on myself.

  2. Hansy

    Praying that you are feeling better now. Mindy, I am sorry you have so much pain, but thank you for praising Jesus in the midst of it, it is encouraging to me.

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