Where Will Your Pain Float You?

The LORD is great and righteous; our God is full of compassion.

Psalm 116:5

Stretched. Strained. Challenged. Expanded. 

I spent the last week reading Jeff Goin's Wrecked. His book wrecked me. Wrecked dares us to live bigger, love wider and splash our world with a typhoon of compassion-fueled action. 

Frankly it's easy for me to sit in suburbia, nod my head toward suffering with a donation, a remembrance of bygone mission trips and a mention of my church's work in the inner city. It's so safe here our realtor left his BMW running in the driveway when he went in to show us houses. I'm insulated from shock.

Shock can stun you so badly that you don't do anything. Or it can be used to help. But eventually, the shock goes away, and what remains is what we choose to do with the pain that lingers. ~Jeff Goins in Wrecked

 I looked particularly good the February day life shocked me. My hair had been expertly cut and highlighted. My soul had been saturated with scripture. My heart floated above me with exhilaration. A brownie was the punctuation mark on my perfect day.

I settled my two toddlers down for a nap and slid into the kitchen on the wheel of anticipation. A serrated kitchen knife willed my brownie from its comfortable spot in the pan.  It landed in my palm instead.

I had seen enough CSI to know blood squirting out of my hand wasn't good. I wrapped my hand in a red towel to calm my head from my hand's flow. I applied pressure to my gaping wound and left myself with no hands to dial or drive.

Mercifully I found the neighbor's two doors down home. She stayed with my children as he drove me to the hospital. About halfway from my door to the ER, shock melded with reality and pain slammed into my hand like a brick wall crushing my resolve. 

Two hours later I was stitched, wrapped like I was ready for Halloween and enjoying my meds. Four years later my hand is whole but it still hurts. This is the kind of shock Jeff's referring to. We can be shocked by poverty, brokenness and needs but if we don't let shock fade to pain, we have no incentive to keep going.

Loving others is hard. It's costly. It hurts and is rarely comfortable. That day in my kitchen I gave far more of myself to my day then I intended. It cost me and I was never the same.

Today I want to throttle the BMW of my heart where it isn't safe. Where loving might just not cost me something but everything. Where getting involved means giving more of me then I intend. With certainty, I will never be the same again.

Have you been wrecked? Will you wash up onto the shore of compassion-fueled action or let the pain that lingers float you toward futility?
_____________________________

Do you want to know more about Wrecked? Visit Jeff's website at goinswriter.com to explore the book and Jeff's writing.

Compassion Conquers Comparisons

Who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion.

Psalm 103:4

Handsome didn't begin to describe my youth group crush. All sense and strength drained from my body any time he entered the room. I tried to play it cool as my stomach played hockey. He was crossing the room with a bead on me.


"Do you want to go driving after?" 


What girl could resist such romance? I tried to offer a non-committal, "Sure," but knew my eyes likely betrayed my excitement. I must have counted to sixty a thousand times before he headed for the door. I sheepishly followed after.


He was one of those cool guys with a cool car built for two but with a minuscule back seat in which one could squeeze on an emergency basis only. Another girl was already standing by my car. What in the world was this? He asked me out.


When Mr. Dreamy arrived at his stud-mobile, he offered the cramped back seat to me and the prime real estate to Miss Moving-in-on-my-Man. A short drive later we were at the Alabama equivalent to Happy Days' Inspiration Point.


I was ordered out of the car. I sat on the back bumper as the windows fogged and the bumper began a rhythmic, albeit short-lived dance.


Humiliation seeped out and shrouded me in shame. 


I was nothing but a cover for Mr. Dreamy to pursue the girl he found worthy. I wasn't her. I was passed over. Unnoticed. Tossed aside.


I immediately drew comparisons between myself and Miss Shannon-You-Never-Had-a-Chance. She was well endowed; I wore two deflated balloons. She was flirtatious and fun; I was studious and serious. 


Do you ever draw comparisons between yourself and others?


When you see a mom with well-behaved children do you secretly wish you were less fun and more of a disciplinarian?


When you see a man who advanced quickly in his career do you try to guess the recipe of his success?


Comparisons are a losing proposition. We see the finish line not the pit stops along the way.


The woman with so-called perfect children may have pit stops such as kids who lack confidence, assertiveness and decision-making skills.


The man with the fast track may have pit stops such as compromising his values or ignoring his wife and kids.


Miss Chesty had many pit stops along the route of her life. They weren't pretty. They weren't desirable. They were tragic. 


A moment I thought of as humiliation was actually a crown of God's compassion and love. My purity was saved for another day. Eventually I would learn I didn't need a man to certify my beauty. I allowed the One who still inspires me to pull my life from the pit. He shrouded me in love and compassion. He compared me to no one and loved me exactly as He designed. His compassion conquered my comparisons. 


Have you ever been in the pit of comparison? How could God's love and compassion pull you out today?