of Pain

As a child I fantasized about Prince Charming rescuing me—from what I don’t know, because my childhood was virtually problem-free—and the two of us sailing into the sunset together. I dreamed about and strove toward this “happily ever after” I heard so much about.

Then life happened.

I won’t bore you with details—you have your own details. You know the story. You are coasting along minding your own business. Then WHAM! Life.

Divorce.

Miscarriage.

Death.

Unemployment.

Parenting a difficult child.

Chronic pain.

The “unhappy ending.” Or is it?

One homeschool day recently I was reading from Shadow Spinner by Susan Fletcher. The main character walks with a limp because her mother smashed her foot to keep the Sultan from taking her as one of his brides. At first the girl is bitter about the foot, but as the book progresses she learns her mother marred her out of love. It’s an excellent read and has many useful nuggets of truth. But on this particular day, this truth stood out to me:

But real life isn’t like that. Its endings are squirmier than the ones in stories. You try to tuck them in neatly and they kick the blankets off. The thing about life is, no matter what happens to you, it goes on. What seems like an ending is really a beginning in disguise.

I paused. Yes, that’s so true. My life had not ended when tragic events struck. In many cases, those very events were catalysts to deepen my relationship with the Lord or cause me to see a need in someone else’s life. For example, because it was so difficult to adopt Melinda, Don and I started an adoption ministry. Now we help others trying to adopt.

I was mulling this over when Kenneth spoke up. “That’s like death. You think it’s an ending but it’s really the beginning . . . of your eternal life with God.” WOW! Now that’s an ending to look forward to!

I stepped into the room; the MRI machine filled it with scarcely enough space left for the operator and me. I eyed the circular opening of the apparatus. “Am I going to be okay in there?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” the operator answered, handing me the panic button.

A few minutes later I lay wide-eyed as my upper body glided into the dark machine. It surrounded me, only inches from my face. The farther I moved into the enclosure, the faster my heart raced. Then, I couldn’t breathe. So I did what any sane person would do in that circumstance. I pushed the panic button! The trustworthy operator reversed the process. Out I slid.

“Would you like to try with a cold wash cloth on your face?” the lady asked. But it was too late. The damage was done. My heart raced, my palms were sweaty, and I felt lightheaded. I teetered on the edge of a panic attack.

On the drive home, I chastised myself. After nine years of battling lower back issues, I finally asked my doctor for an MRI. I pleaded my case, and he reluctantly agreed. However I chickened out and still had no answers.

I seriously considered ditching the whole idea and living with the unknown. Instead, I called the doctor’s office. We discussed my options—valium or an open MRI forty-five minutes away. I chose the latter. While I waited for the appointment, I had time—time to stew, and time to repeatedly visualize the small space that had stifled my breath.

Two weeks later I drove to the appointment. Music blared through the speakers in my car as I sang praises to the Lord. I prayed He would comfort me, relax my tense body, and dissipate the fear of another anxiety attack. Then I heard these lyrics: Your breath fills up my lungs. It was Christy Nockels’ voice, but God’s answer to my prayer. He reassured me that He would carry me through the MRI. He would put the breath in my lungs.

Pneuma, a Greek word, means both breath and Spirit. Therefore, breath and Spirit are interconnected. The air we breathe sustains life. And God gives us each breath. Genesis 2:7 reveals this fact. God breathed life into Adam. It is further demonstrated in Romans 8:11 when Paul explains, “And if the Spirit (pneuma) of him who raised Jesus from the dead is living in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through his Spirit (pneuma), who lives in you.” His Spirit lives in me. His breath sustains me.

We, in and of ourselves, cannot compel our lungs to pump air in and out. At the very most we can only stop our breathing momentarily. Although even in this act, our body has a built-in defense mechanism. If we hold our breath too long, we will pass out, and our body will involuntarily begin pumping life-sustaining air back into our lungs.

These facts became reality for me the day I had the open MRI. Just the vastness of the room eased my conscience. More than that, as I slid into this bigger contraption (with a cold wash cloth on my face), God whispered into my ear, “I am the breath in your lungs.” I rested comfortably and confidently, breathing normally.

(Author’s Note: This piece was written a few years ago before having lower back surgery.)