Pain is a Messenger

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11

Friends,

Pain is a messenger. This is something I used to tell my patients when I was working as an intern acupuncturist. I had heard it said by wise folks whom I respected and it seemed to make sense to me. So, I would say it to people and encourage them to try to tune in to what it was their bodies might be trying to tell them. And then in 2014, I ruptured one spinal disk and slipped another. This caused tremendous back pain but also inflamed my sciatic nerve and so hot electricity surged through my hip. Showers of irate ants seemed to be parading up and down my left leg day and night. The pain was blinding. I was irrationally angry. I sobbed regularly. I had a new, fat baby boy that I could barely lift. Sitting, standing, and laying down were all equally hellish. It stayed that way for months. The thought of someone telling me in those moments that pain was a messenger would have had me throwing hands. Certainly, the experience was humbling. I learned empathy for those dealing with chronic pain and I learned some tact when it came to repeating maxims to patients.

And yet, I say to you: pain is a messenger. We don’t have to like that, but physiologically and, I think, emotionally/spiritually this is true. Our bodies are marvels of biology and physiology. We are fearfully and wonderfully made. And in our sophisticated creation and evolution, we have developed a mechanism that alerts us when something is out of balance. We learn quickly once we touch something hot to avoid it in the future. I think it is possible we can tune in to messages more subtle, as well.

I don’t know about you, but on the days when my body works well, it is easy to think it always will. Perhaps those of you who are older than me have more insight here, but even in my fourth decade--I find my habit of taking my physical health for granted is a hard one to let go of. I have a habit of immersing myself in the wisdom of mystics and sometimes it is hard to remember that I have a physical body that requires care. Balancing mind, body, and spirit is hard for me. Body usually takes the short end.

As I write this to you today, I am in the midst of a sciatic flare-up. I remember now that I have a body. It is screaming at me to do so! It has been years since I have had one of these flare-ups, but it is no surprise. Of course, something is out of balance. The world is amid a pandemic. Like many of you, my life is vastly different than I expected it to be six months ago. Circumstances have dictated that we go into “survival mode”. For some of us, this has caused little or at least, manageable disruption, for others, a tremendous amount. I don’t know about you but my body has layer upon layer of memories that have to do with survival mode—none of them are good. I have tried my best to do all of the things, to do my work, to teach my kids, but have forgotten about me. Sound familiar? This might just be the pandemic of the West. Death by Protestant work ethic gone turbo. 

The good news is that a messenger brings a message. We can sit in prayer with our pain and ask it earnestly what it wants us to know. That might sound woo-woo to some of you but try it. You might be surprised. I have been in deep conversation with my pain this week and it has helped me to clarify many things. A few I will share, some are just for me. One: caring for ourselves is a sacred act. As a leader in my family and the community, I need to model this. God’s plans for me require me to do my part. Two: respecting a Sabbath day even during the pandemonium of a pandemic is paramount. Netflix isn’t nourishing, but nature is. I am going outside more! I am putting down my phone. And finally: angels of mercy exist. Sometimes, they look like an old friend bringing you some milk and some CBD cream or an ex-husband sweeping your porch and picking up your groceries. Thank God for them!

Blessings, Amy

On Pain
by Kahlil Gibran

Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.

Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.

And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;

And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields.

And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief.

Much of your pain is self-chosen.

It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self.

Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquility:

For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen,

And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has moistened with His own sacred tears.