“Growth suffering”

I recall that day with deep regret. And pain.

 

You, too, have regrets. You remember suffering the pain of them.

 

But did you know there’s good pain and bad pain? Did you know suffering the good kind can be helpful?    

 

Dr. Henry Cloud explains the difference between bad and good pain—between destructive and valuable pain.

 

We can suffer bad pain for various reasons. One is the pain someone else inflicts upon us.

 

But there’s another pain that we bring upon ourselves because of our own “character faults,” Dr. Cloud says, the pain that comes from “repeating old patterns and avoiding the pain it would take to change them.”

 

Dr. Cloud says we need to recognize the pain we bring upon ourselves is “a wake-up call,” otherwise we are wasting that pain.

 

Wasting our pain. Think about that. Are we wasting our pain?

 

For several decades now, I’ve cherished five little words Chuck Swindoll spoke on his radio program. The words changed me. He said, “GOD DOES NOT WASTE YOUR SUFFERING.”

 

So, if God doesn’t want to waste our pain and suffering, we’d better not fight against Him by choosing to waste our pain!

 

Dr. Cloud says that wasted pain “is the pain we go through to avoid the good pain of growth that comes from pushing through. It is the wasted pain we encounter as we try to avoid grief and the true hurt that needs to be worked through.”

 

With God’s help, our job is to “face the growth steps [we] need to keep from repeating [our] mistakes.” This is how good pain can help us mature.

 

“We all have coping mechanisms that cover up pain, help us deal with fear . . . and help us hold it all together,” writes Dr. Cloud. “Trials and suffering push those mechanisms past the breaking point so we find out where we need to grow. Then true spiritual growth begins at deeper levels. . . . Righteousness and character take the place of coping.

 

“This kind of suffering is good,” he continues. “It breaks down the ‘weak muscle’ of the soul and replaces it with stronger muscle. In this suffering, the prize we win is character—a very valuable prize indeed.

 

“Suffering is the path Jesus modeled for us, and he modeled how to do it right. He went through it all with obedience and without sin. This is the difference between those who suffer to a good end and those who suffer to no good at all.” (Click on Dr. Cloud’s article, “When Suffering Helps and When Suffering Hurts.”)

 

The good kinds of pain and suffering lead us to ask ourselves (a) what is God trying to teach me, (b) what God is trying to help me do now, and (c) will I cooperate with Him?

 

James 1:5 says “If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all liberally and without reproach, and it will be given to him.”

 

The Nelson Study Bible (NKJV Version) says this about James 1:5 “The wisdom God gives is not necessarily information on how to get out of trouble but rather insight on how to learn from one’s difficulties. . . . It is not more information about how to avoid times of testing but instead a new perspective on trials.”

 

So there I stood on that blistering hot afternoon in the middle of nowhere in South America, feeling like an utter failure as a wife, mother, and child of God.

 

And I had choices to make.

• Would I recognize this as a wake-up call?
• Would I embrace the pain and regret and suffering and would I learn from the experience?
• Would I push through? Would I climb up out of this low point with a change of character? And a deeper, more mature faith?
• Were the battle and perseverance part of the training for what God planned for my future?
• Would I choose to mature as a person?
• Would I let the experience bring me into a more intimate relationship with God?

Often it’s difficult to see any good in our failures and suffering, but God asks us to not waste those times. He holds out His hand and says, “Do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand” (Isaiah 41:10).

 

Today He’s offering His hand to you. 

It’s a strong yet gentle hand. 

Go ahead. Grab ahold of it.

 

Longing to get over the bad stuff

 

"My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going,” wrote Thomas Merton. “I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end.” 

Merton’s words sum up my state of mind that afternoon at Lomalinda, our out-of-the-way mission center. I’d been fighting to survive the next few minutes, and then the next few minutes. 

“Nor do I really know myself,” continued Merton, “and the fact that I think I am following Your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please You does in fact please You. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. 

"I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this, You will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it.

“Therefore I will trust You always though I may seem to be lost. . . . I will not fear, for You are ever with me, and You will never leave me to face my perils alone." (Thomas Merton, Thoughts in Solitude) 

Merton penned such encouraging, hope-filled words for desperate times.  I didn’t know him or his words back then but reading them now offers me comfort. 

Back on that unforgettable afternoon in Lomalinda, in my distress—flustered, discouraged, troubled, lost—somehow God impressed upon me what Elisabeth Elliot discovered and then shared with the rest of us: “Sometimes life is so hard you can only do the next thing. Whatever that is just do the next thing. God will meet you there.” 

So I kept doing the next thing, one baby step at a time—unpacking, arranging, cleaning, caring for the kids, and planning what I’d cook for dinner that evening.

And just as Elisabeth said, God did meet me there. Sometimes He remains very quiet, settled calmly in the background. He was on that day—but He was there. Oh, yes, He was there with me that afternoon. 

He was not angry with me. He would not reject me. I was His child in need of comfort and grace. A weary child of His in need of a new perspective that would lead to hope. 

To arrive at that new perspective and grab hold of that hope, perhaps I needed to grieve—grieve my loss of home and family and country, grieve my inability to properly, healthily carry out my responsibilities in my new house and to nurture my husband and young ones. And to grieve my meltdown and angry outburst at my husband. 

Even grieve the loss of who I had thought myself to be. “Nor do I really know myself,” Merton wrote. 

Dr.Henry Cloud says when we voluntarily enter into grief, it can lead to resolution. 

He says grief “is the most important pain there is. . . .  It heals. It restores. It changes things that have gone bad. Moreover, it is the only place where we get comforted when things have gone wrong.

 

“. . . Grief is the way of our getting finished with the bad stuff in life. It is the process by which we ‘get over it,’ by which we ‘let it go.’ . . .

 

“. . . It is the process by which we can be available for new things. The soul is freed from painful experience and released for new, good experience.” (Dr. Henry Cloud, “Why Grief is Different from Other Kinds of Suffering”)

 

Yes, looking back now, I believe I needed to grieve. Though I couldn’t have put it into words, I longed to move on, ready for new, good experiences in Lomalinda. I longed to be a happy wife, mother, and missionary. 

I think again of Thomas Merton’s heart-wrenching cry and how it captured my state of mind that afternoon: "My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end.”

But that’s not the end of the story. 

When we are disoriented, unable to look to the future, when we flounder, fail, and fall apart, we have many promises of God’s unfailing love and patience with us. One of them is this: “It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you; He will not leave you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed” (Deuteronomy 31:8).

With the Lord going before me, I just kept taking one little step after one little step, doing the next thing.

 

When you really make a mess of things

 

I had really messed up. Maybe you’ve messed up, too. If you’ve ever lost hope and felt desperate and then blown it, you’ll know what I’m talking about.

 

I had yelled at my husband, refused to unpack, and insisted we leave for the States immediately.

I’d yelled at God, too. “God, You got this wrong when You sent us here! What could You have been thinking?!?!”

 

Exhausted, suffering from several days of culture shock, and feeling trapped, I’d crashed into a “fight or flight” mode. Dr. Henry Cloud explains: “When we’re in a crisis and need help, our brains have instantly changed.

“When we are under threat,” he continues, “our higher brain’s ability to think clearly, make judgments, find solutions, solve problems, and calm down is being interrupted by a bath of stress hormones that take us to a ‘fight or flight’ mode.”

Dr. Cloud described me perfectly.

But my husband, seemingly unable to empathize with me, insisted we stay, pointing out he’d committed to teaching those missionaries’ kids and he wouldn’t let them down.

And he was right about that. He’d made a commitment—we’d made a commitment—and should not back out.

But knowing he was right didn’t ease my despondency.

The wilderness. I was in it—a parched wilderness. I couldn’t have put it into words that day, but somehow, deep down, I knew that despite my hollering at God and questioning Him, He was not angry at me. No, He loves us “even in the wilderness, especially in the wilderness, because he has been in the wilderness with us,” writes Frederick Buechner. “He has been in the wilderness for us. He has been acquainted with our grief. . . .

“And rise we shall, out of the wilderness, every last one of us.” (Frederick Buechner, A Room Called Remember)

That reminds me of these words of hope from Micah in the Old Testament: “My  God will hear me. . . . When I fall, I will arise; when I am in darkness, the Lord will be a light to me.” (Micah 7:7-8)

Lloyd John Ogilvie penned this prayer: “Father, help me take life’s . . . defeats as a part of a bigger process on the way to final triumph. Give me a faith that defies defeat. Help me get up and press on. . . . Nothing is more crucial than trusting You. . . . Lift me up when I get down. . . . I rise to fight again!” (Lloyd John Ogilvie, Quiet Moments with God; emphasis mine)

“We have a [Heavenly] Father who understands the weakest and most foolish of His children,” wrote missionary Amy Carmichael. She was talking about the likes of me—weak and most foolish.

“So,” Amy continued, “scattered throughout His Book, we have little simple prayers. . . .” (Edges of His Ways)

Prayers like: “Lord, hear me when I call; have mercy and answer me. . . . Do not turn away from me. Do not turn [me] away in anger. . . . Do not push me away or leave me alone, God, my Savior. . . . Lord, teach me your ways and guide me to do what is right. . . .” (Psalm 27:7-11, NCV)

Prayers like: “O Sovereign Lord, deal well with me for your name’s sake; out of the goodness of your love, deliver me. For I am poor and needy. . . . my heart is wounded within me. I fade away like an evening shadow. . . . My knees give way. . . . Help me, O Lord my God; save me in accordance with your love.” (Psalm 109:21-26, NIV)

At that remote mission center 

on that afternoon of mental, physical, 

emotional, and spiritual distress, 

God my Father understood. 

That’s staggering, really.

In the chaos of unpacking, setting up a home, and acclimating to extreme weather, He was capable of being my one stability.

While navigating through a new culture and meeting dozens of new people (as lovely as that is, as an introvert, the experience overwhelmed me), He was capable of holding me together, sending me a little dose of stamina, giving me the tiniest measure of courage—just enough to keep me going from one minute to the next.

And He was doing all that despite my inability to feel Him genuinely close or hear His voice. My deep angst did not keep Him from doing His work.

“Your faithfulness, Lord, is my peace,” writes Lloyd John Ogilvie. “It is a source of comfort and courage that You know exactly what is ahead of me. Go before me to show the way.

“Here is my mind; inspire it with Your wisdom. Here is my will; infuse it with desire to follow Your guidance. Here is my heart; infill it with Your love.” (Lloyd John Ogilvie, Quiet Moments with God)

But let’s talk about you for a minute: We all have days of weariness and discouragement. We all feel broken at times. Occasionally we all lack the will to keep fighting the good fight.

When that happens to you, when you feel alone and misunderstood, when you feel like you’ve really blown it, remember the words of Micah 7:7-8, “My  God will hear me. . . . When I fall, I will arise; when I am in darkness, the Lord will be a light to me.”

Go in peace.

 

In the “fight or flight” mode

Last week I told you about the onset of my meltdown in Lomalinda, an out-of-the-way missions center near the equator in South America.

I had yelled at my husband, “We should not have come here. We made a bad mistake. And I’m Not Unpacking One More Thing. We Are Leaving! We Are Going Home!”

And then everything went from bad to worse. (Click on that link if you missed it.)

A black panic threatened. I felt caged, unhinged, alone. A sinking, cold sensation overtook me, despite the tropical heat. I struggled even to breathe.

“When we’re in a crisis and need help,” writes Dr. Henry Cloud, “our brains have instantly changed.”

“When we are under threat,” he continues, “our higher brain’s ability to think clearly, make judgments, find solutions, solve problems, and calm down is being interrupted by a bath of stress hormones that take us to a ‘fight or flight’ mode.

“We get anxious,” he said, “and can be more prone to reacting than thinking.”

Dr. Cloud was describing me and yes, I was in the “fight or flight” mode.

In Chapter 8 of Please, God, Don’t Make Me Go, I wrote about the aftermath of the noon-time portion of the meltdown:

That afternoon Dave returned to school, the kids went to play at a friend’s house, and I continued unpacking and praying, Please, God, get me out of here.

I pictured myself hiking over to the hangar and demanding a flight out—but that wouldn’t work. The pilots would make a fuss and report me to somebody and in the end, I’d have created a kerfuffle and would still be stuck in Lomalinda.

I had to find another way. Another way.

Before long, Eureka! I stumbled upon a comforting thought—bizarre but comforting. If all else failed, I did have a way of escape. I could walk away, unnoticed, and keep walking, from Colombia through Central America and Mexico and California and Oregon and Washington and eventually arrive in Seattle. I wasn’t sure how pedestrians crossed the Panama Canal, but there had to be a way.

Oh, but wait—I didn’t have my passport! It was locked in some safe in the Bogotá office. I was trapped.

I’d never found myself in such a panicked state. I didn’t know what to think, what to do, what to pray.

I couldn’t even give myself a pep talk. At a time like that, words didn’t exist.

I can’t recall what I did next but now, years later, I am comforted by Bible verses that tell us: “the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express. . . . The Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God’s will. (Romans 8:26-27, NIV)

The New Living Translation words that last part this way: “the Spirit pleads for us believers in harmony with God’s own will.” That was what I needed so badly when I felt powerless to know what to do.

God didn’t seem distant during those dreadful hours that day. I sensed Him close by me in the room, but He remained silent, standing firm while I whimpered and stumbled around in my distress. I could only groan and reel.

But in the midst of my temporary insanity, somehow—somehow—deep down I comprehended that the Spirit was praying for me, pleading on my behalf with groans my own words couldn’t express. I was rattled and confused and desperate, but He was not.

My crisis reminds me of Jacob wrestling with God in Genesis 32.

God had told him to leave the land he’d lived in for twenty years and return to his home country, so he set out in the direction God’s finger pointed, even though it could put him and his family in grave danger.

Verse  7 says it was a time of “great fear and distress” for Jacob. He must have been worried sick. Stressed almost to the breaking point. Anxious. Maybe in a panic. Desperate.

And it was in that place Jacob wrestled with God all night, despite receiving a wound to the hip. Continuing to fight while injured had to take great strength and steadfastness. He didn’t give up. He persevered, and he came through it—with a limp, yes, but also with God’s blessing and a new name. “Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel, because you have struggled with God and with men and have overcome” (Genesis 32:28). The name Israel signified his change in character as well as what God intended to do with and through him.

Similarly, in Lomalinda that day, I feared for my wellbeing and that of my family, even though I’d discerned months earlier that God had given us His blessing to go there.

For several days I’d been grumbling, wrestling with Him and my new surroundings, questioning His wisdom and goodness:

I had prayed: “God, You got this all wrong

when You sent us to this place.

What could You have been thinking?”

During those first few days I had felt increasingly broken—perhaps something like Jacob’s wound to the hip. Exhausted and afraid and desperate, I fought, I persevered.

Was it wrong for me to get steamed up and question God’s leading?

Was it sinful to wrestle with Him? 

Joy Smalley writes, “I used to believe that my need to wrestle with God came from a place of distrust and a lack of faith. . . .

“There are so many feelings, actions and desires that cause shame but wrestling with God should never be one of those.

“In fact, facing the truth of our perceptions about God, who we believe he is or isn’t and questioning him is an act of faith. It is an act of love. It is an act of trust and courage.

“This visual of Jacob on the ground, refusing to release God and demanding that he be blessed . . . reminds me of myself,” Joy continues. “I find myself wrestling in the dirt with God often, demanding that he show himself to me, demanding that he stay with me, questioning his sanity and care.

“Yet this fight isn’t about turning my back on God, it is about facing him, gripping him and refusing to let go.”

Joy has a point.

I wonder if I can extend a little grace to myself.

Can I believe that, like Joy, I wasn’t turning my back on God

but instead, I was facing Him, grabbing Him,

holding on for dear life?

She goes on to say, “Faith in him is an ever-changing, ever-evolving journey that is intimately personal with hills, valleys and deep deserts. But I still hope in him because of how he met with Jacob in the dirt. How he allowed Jacob to man-handle him, to throw him, to grip him and demand of him peace.

“. . . Our God gives us space to question his character, his will, his goodness and his purpose. This is why my feet are still planted in faith because my God wants me to be fully exposed before him without shame. . . .

“This God of yours is inviting you to wrestle and I encourage you to join him for there is peace to be found in the dirt.” (JoySmalley, “Processing God”)

Yes, Joy has given me much to mull over. Did I, like Jacob, come out of the fight with a change of character? Were the battle and perseverance part of the training for what God planned for my future? Did my messy meltdown strengthen my faith and bring me into a more intimate relationship with God?

Getting back to the verses from Romans, above, my heart overflows with gratitude because “the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express.” The next verse tells us, “And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them” (Romans 8:28, NLT).

That’s God’s grace. Mindboggling grace.

He offers it to you, too.
Claim those glorious Bible verses for yourself.
Let God's amazing grace rest on you,
fill you.
Remember: He delights in you!

Stress hormones, anxiety, and reacting instead of thinking

“When we’re in a crisis and need help, our brains have instantly changed,” writes Dr. Henry Cloud.

He went on to describe what happened to me and my brain when Glenny darted into my kitchen to show me his boa constrictor. (Click on Have you ever been standing in front of a mirror when you yelled at your kids?)

“When we are under threat,” Dr. Cloud continues, “our higher brain’s ability to think clearly, make judgments, find solutions, solve problems, and calm down is being interrupted by a bath of stress hormones that take us to a ‘fight or flight’ mode.

“We get anxious,” he said, “and can be more prone to reacting than thinking.”

That was precisely what had happened to me. I felt under threat (boa constrictors do kill people, cows, pigs—I have another story to share with you about that). I didn’t think clearly, I made a hasty judgment, and instantly went into “fight or flight” mode.

And within seconds I regretted that. For many years I grieved over screaming at poor little Glenny (he was just entering second grade) and I feared he’d always remember my ugly face yelling down into his.

And he was only trying to welcome me to Lomalinda in the coolest way he could imagine!

But as I told you last week, Glenn has generously forgiven me. I still get emotional over his grace. (Click on Part Two: Standing in front of a mirror and yelling at kids.)

That afternoon, standing in my kitchen in that foreign environment—unpacking, perspiring, exhausted, and sick to my stomach—I had no way of knowing Glenny and his boa were just the beginning of the extraordinary, sometimes-fright-inducing, experiences God had planned for me in Lomalinda!

“God does not change, but He uses change—to change us,” writes Jen Hatmaker.  

“He sends us on journeys that bring us to the end of ourselves,” she continues.

Boy, oh, boy, Jen got that right. That boa constrictor brought me to the end of myself.

“We often feel out of control. . . .”

Yep, she nailed that part, too.

“. . . yet if we embrace His leading, we may find ourselves on the ride of our lives.” (Jen Hatmaker, Interrupted: An Adventure in Relearning the Essentials of Faith)

So true. I was at the very beginning of the ride of my life.

One of my memoir’s reviewers, award-winning author R.M. Kinder, wrote this about my time in Lomalinda: “Adventures and surprises abound.”

But adventures and surprises are not my cup of tea.

Some people thrive on risky undertakings. When they call their names, they answer and plunge right into them. For a reason I struggle to understand, challenges thrill certain people. They handle the ups and down and surprises without flinching.

But not me.

Here’s what I wrote in Chapter 1 of my memoir, “My parents raised a non-daring, non-adventuresome girl—the wrong kind for the mission field. They prepared me to lead a conventional life, and working in Lomalinda was the least traditional existence I could imagine. . . .

“No one would use the words ‘confident’ or ‘risk-taking’ to describe me. If my graduating class had voted on who was most likely to live a middle-of-the-road life with no adventure, no risks, they’d have chosen me.” (Please, God, Don’t Make Me Go: A Foot-Dragger’s Memoir).

Yes, I was just beginning the ride of my life.

And along the way,

I would drop into some gaping potholes.

Sometimes I would try to create a detour

that God didn’t want me to take.

Other times I’d fall into mud puddles.

And at least once I would run out of gas.

On that first afternoon, I had no idea what the rest of that first week in Lomalinda held for me. It would stretch me in ways I’d never been stretched before. And much of it I wouldn’t do right. It would be messy.

But by the end of our family’s three years in Lomalinda, despite my initial protestations and ongoing cowardice, I would recognize that going there was the right thing to do.

And I still marvel at God’s grace:

“Lord, Your patience with me

is a source of amazement and contrition.

You accept me as I am,

but You never leave me there.”

(Lloyd John Ogilvie, Quiet Moments with God)

With God at the wheel, I had opportunities few people will ever experience, adventures I could never have dreamed up. Perhaps that’s what George Matheson meant when he prayed, “Show me that my tears have made my rainbows.”

God loved me enough—He pushed me and drove me to tears—because He knew the person I could be if only I’d trust Him. (From Chapter 23, Please, God, Don’t Make Me Go: A Foot-Dragger’s Memoir)

I had flown into that mission center as a scared, immature, unadventurous, doubting Thomas. God didn’t need me to accomplish His work in Colombia—He could have found someone else to do my job. He did more inside me than He did through me, and I suspect that was His point all along. He knew my faith and I needed to mature.

Through situations, experiences—sometimes derailing, other times almost imperceptible—God expanded my heart and soul and mind and revolutionized the way I would look at life and Him for the rest of my days. (From chapter 42, Please,God, Don’t Make Me Go: A Foot-Dragger’s Memoir) 

But I didn’t know that then, 

not on my first day in Lomalinda.