One thing that irks me (and really shouldn't) is when people try to instill hope in me that my chronic pain will get better. I know, deep down in my heart, they are coming from a place of genuine love and concern. They are trying to keep me going. Maybe this new drug or this new doctor really is the answer we've all been praying for. Or maybe it's just the simple statement, "I know you'll find the answer one day." The reason that this unsettles me so greatly is that no one can actually know that. I've already tried so many drugs, treatments, and different doctors, and in all honesty, the pain has just gotten worse. We don't actually know that I am going to find that miracle cure. We don't actually know that the pain will stop. We don't actually know that I am ever going to get better. That is my reality I'm trying to accept.
Perhaps what my well-intentioned family and friends do not know, is that hope and I have a highly dysfunctional relationship. I can't even count on two hands the number of doctors who told me (even promised) they could help and filled me with great hope and joy. I've spent a myriad of hours on the internet, searching my symptoms, convincing myself it's a thyroid problem or TMD or whatever-- something with clear treatments that would eradicate the pain. My kitchen drawer is so filled with prescription medications that it gets jammed and I regularly have to clean it out. So many times I've let my heart swell with hope, only for it to be broken time after time. Only to cry alone for ten minutes in the stall of the public bathroom of the doctor's office. Or to lie on the family room floor all day, feeling entirely devoid of the energy to do anything else (as my cat crawls all over my body, probably wondering what on earth is going on). Hope has been a cruel lover. And like an ex-boyfriend, I often believe I am much better off without him.
Even if I take away my personal experience of despair, I can logically explain how hope is...well, to put it bluntly...stupid. What good can hope really perform in my circumstance? Either the headaches are going to get better or they're not regardless of how much I hope. As I've learned time and time again, you can't hope the pain away, so really-- what's the point?
Several months ago, I received an MRI of my neck, in HOPE that they would find a pinched nerve or just anything that might be responsible for my pain (spoiler: they didn't). When I was in their little dressing room, there was a picture on the wall that said, "Life isn't about waiting for the rain to pass. It's about learning how to dance in the rain." Ground-breaking stuff here. Of course I've read this saying a billion times, but this time, it legitimately angered me. I wanted to take down the picture as I checked out and ask the receptionist, "Why do you have this stupid thing up? 99% of the people here are here because they are in so much pain and are desperate for answers. The last thing we need is to contemplate a picture of a rainbow and some cliche about how we need to learn how to "dance" with our pain. Can you please tell me how to dance when I have sharp, stabbing, sensations piercing through my eye and causing me to incessantly vomit?" (Of course, I would never actually do such a thing, but these are the fantasies I entertain myself with).
So yeah... From a secular standpoint, I am not afraid to say it: Hope is at worst, heartbreaking, and at best, totally stupid. But as a Catholic, I'm not allowed to just crush and drain hope down the garbage disposal, no matter how justified I feel in doing so. The bible preaches a lot about hope. In Corinthians, St. Paul preaches about "hope, love and charity" being the "three things that will last forever," (1 Corinthians 13:13). Hope is also regarded by Catholics as one of the three theological virtues, so obviously it has got to be important.
As I've been contemplating the subject, I may be starting to get why hope is such a big deal. Yesterday (Good Friday), I asked my husband Stephen "What do you think Mary and all of Jesus's apostles were thinking and feeling from the time Jesus died to the time he rose? Do you think they genuinely believed God was dead?"
Stephen replied, "I don't know. I mean, Jesus told them that he would come back."
I contemplated this for a few seconds, and replied: "True...but still. They were probably really freaked out. The were probably extremely anxious."
I think it would have been extremely difficult to have hope at this point. I mean, they watched Jesus get nailed to a cross, a reliable and common execution style of the time. They watched the blood poor out of his hands and feet. If they were up close enough, they could see him take his last breath. And then they watched Joseph from Armithea take his limp and lifeless body down from the cross, wrap it in a linen cloth, and place it in a tomb.
I think getting through Saturday would have been brutal. Jesus is dead...he is in a tomb...and nothing is happening. Did man really succeed in murdering God? For all intents and purposes, I'm sure it seemed so. Stephen is right-- he did tell his apostles he would be coming back. He told them, "Destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up" (John 2: 19). We can look to other books in the bible, even way back in the Old Testament to see God prophecising this reality again and again. But still: for me personally, actually having hope that Jesus would return would have been a challenge.
At the same time, it would be crucial for me to have hope at this point. It would be crucial for me to love and trust God enough to carry this hope (instead of totally losing it...which I'm really good at). I suppose I am still correct in my assertion that having hope would not change the outcome. Whether I was totally filled with peace due to my hope in Jesus's return or I was panicking like crazy, Jesus still would have risen from the dead that next day. Still, I am presented with two ways of living: (1) a road of hopeless despair, or (2) a joyful anticipation. Which one do you think God wants for us?
Really, my life feels like a super long Holy Saturday. I've been broken by pain and I am waiting for Christ to make everything better and beautiful. Luckily for me, Jesus made two other promises: (1) that he will come again, and (2) that if I follow his commandments, I will be with Jesus in Heaven for eternity. So regardless of which comes first, one thing God promises: the pain WILL go away at some point. It's up to me how I choose to live until then. Of course I still should not rely upon the doctors or new cutting-edge treatments to stop the pain. Hope in earthly things will often, if not always, lead to heartbreak, and I still stand by that assertion. I may very well be living in bad physical pain until the bitter end. (But that won't really be the end.)
In this way, real hope is worthy. It isn't saccharine words on a dumb poster or a band-aid to slap on a gaping wound. I still do believe that chronic pain is just a part of my reality, likely until I die. But Christ's promises are also a reality. Hope is listening to Christ when he says, "And they will see the Son of Man coming on the clouds of Heaven with power and great glory," (Mathew 24: 30). Hope allows us to see beyond our earthly circumstances, towards a far greater truth, and living our lives according to that truth.
Perhaps what my well-intentioned family and friends do not know, is that hope and I have a highly dysfunctional relationship. I can't even count on two hands the number of doctors who told me (even promised) they could help and filled me with great hope and joy. I've spent a myriad of hours on the internet, searching my symptoms, convincing myself it's a thyroid problem or TMD or whatever-- something with clear treatments that would eradicate the pain. My kitchen drawer is so filled with prescription medications that it gets jammed and I regularly have to clean it out. So many times I've let my heart swell with hope, only for it to be broken time after time. Only to cry alone for ten minutes in the stall of the public bathroom of the doctor's office. Or to lie on the family room floor all day, feeling entirely devoid of the energy to do anything else (as my cat crawls all over my body, probably wondering what on earth is going on). Hope has been a cruel lover. And like an ex-boyfriend, I often believe I am much better off without him.
Even if I take away my personal experience of despair, I can logically explain how hope is...well, to put it bluntly...stupid. What good can hope really perform in my circumstance? Either the headaches are going to get better or they're not regardless of how much I hope. As I've learned time and time again, you can't hope the pain away, so really-- what's the point?
Several months ago, I received an MRI of my neck, in HOPE that they would find a pinched nerve or just anything that might be responsible for my pain (spoiler: they didn't). When I was in their little dressing room, there was a picture on the wall that said, "Life isn't about waiting for the rain to pass. It's about learning how to dance in the rain." Ground-breaking stuff here. Of course I've read this saying a billion times, but this time, it legitimately angered me. I wanted to take down the picture as I checked out and ask the receptionist, "Why do you have this stupid thing up? 99% of the people here are here because they are in so much pain and are desperate for answers. The last thing we need is to contemplate a picture of a rainbow and some cliche about how we need to learn how to "dance" with our pain. Can you please tell me how to dance when I have sharp, stabbing, sensations piercing through my eye and causing me to incessantly vomit?" (Of course, I would never actually do such a thing, but these are the fantasies I entertain myself with).
So yeah... From a secular standpoint, I am not afraid to say it: Hope is at worst, heartbreaking, and at best, totally stupid. But as a Catholic, I'm not allowed to just crush and drain hope down the garbage disposal, no matter how justified I feel in doing so. The bible preaches a lot about hope. In Corinthians, St. Paul preaches about "hope, love and charity" being the "three things that will last forever," (1 Corinthians 13:13). Hope is also regarded by Catholics as one of the three theological virtues, so obviously it has got to be important.
As I've been contemplating the subject, I may be starting to get why hope is such a big deal. Yesterday (Good Friday), I asked my husband Stephen "What do you think Mary and all of Jesus's apostles were thinking and feeling from the time Jesus died to the time he rose? Do you think they genuinely believed God was dead?"
Stephen replied, "I don't know. I mean, Jesus told them that he would come back."
I contemplated this for a few seconds, and replied: "True...but still. They were probably really freaked out. The were probably extremely anxious."
I think it would have been extremely difficult to have hope at this point. I mean, they watched Jesus get nailed to a cross, a reliable and common execution style of the time. They watched the blood poor out of his hands and feet. If they were up close enough, they could see him take his last breath. And then they watched Joseph from Armithea take his limp and lifeless body down from the cross, wrap it in a linen cloth, and place it in a tomb.
I think getting through Saturday would have been brutal. Jesus is dead...he is in a tomb...and nothing is happening. Did man really succeed in murdering God? For all intents and purposes, I'm sure it seemed so. Stephen is right-- he did tell his apostles he would be coming back. He told them, "Destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up" (John 2: 19). We can look to other books in the bible, even way back in the Old Testament to see God prophecising this reality again and again. But still: for me personally, actually having hope that Jesus would return would have been a challenge.
At the same time, it would be crucial for me to have hope at this point. It would be crucial for me to love and trust God enough to carry this hope (instead of totally losing it...which I'm really good at). I suppose I am still correct in my assertion that having hope would not change the outcome. Whether I was totally filled with peace due to my hope in Jesus's return or I was panicking like crazy, Jesus still would have risen from the dead that next day. Still, I am presented with two ways of living: (1) a road of hopeless despair, or (2) a joyful anticipation. Which one do you think God wants for us?
Really, my life feels like a super long Holy Saturday. I've been broken by pain and I am waiting for Christ to make everything better and beautiful. Luckily for me, Jesus made two other promises: (1) that he will come again, and (2) that if I follow his commandments, I will be with Jesus in Heaven for eternity. So regardless of which comes first, one thing God promises: the pain WILL go away at some point. It's up to me how I choose to live until then. Of course I still should not rely upon the doctors or new cutting-edge treatments to stop the pain. Hope in earthly things will often, if not always, lead to heartbreak, and I still stand by that assertion. I may very well be living in bad physical pain until the bitter end. (But that won't really be the end.)
In this way, real hope is worthy. It isn't saccharine words on a dumb poster or a band-aid to slap on a gaping wound. I still do believe that chronic pain is just a part of my reality, likely until I die. But Christ's promises are also a reality. Hope is listening to Christ when he says, "And they will see the Son of Man coming on the clouds of Heaven with power and great glory," (Mathew 24: 30). Hope allows us to see beyond our earthly circumstances, towards a far greater truth, and living our lives according to that truth.
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