Last Monday was a typical day for me. I woke up and waited a couple of hours to see if my pain would allow productivity. As the sharp throbs danced throughout my head, they finally settled at my right temple (as they usually do). When the pain faded to a dull ache, I began browsing for dinner recipes on Pinterest. Once I finally found an appealing one (salmon with a Siracha and honey marinade), I got dressed, went to the store for ingredients, and immediately began chopping and prepping when I returned home. I’ve only been married a month, and already this routine feels tired and worn. I am sure women who’ve been married for much longer than me (especially mothers) often feel the dull monotony of everyday life (which I imagine is the reason grocery aisles are often interrupted by a wall of tawdry romance novels). Yet, when you add the elements of a constant dull headache, sore muscles, and relentless fatigue, this monotony is multiplied by ten.
Of course, at its worse, living in chronic pain means intense physical agony. But even at its best, living in chronic pain means trying to drive one more mile to reach the gas station, even though your tank reads “empty” and the “check engine light” glows impatiently. The hard part is that I never get full relief from pain. No matter how much sleep or rest, I get, I never feel rejuvenated. Plus, the brain fog is real-- I do embarrassing things on a daily basis, like putting plastic wrap in the refrigerator (so mentally, I am exhausted too). I am 25, but I imagine my body feels more like a 90 year old’s. It’s so hard to see the purpose in living like this-- a life where the goal of most days is to keep a relatively clean house and put dinner on the table. A life where even achieving such simple and boring goals feels like conquering Mt. Everest. How could this be the life God wants for me? A life where the greatest things I accomplish are dull chores as the world’s most mediocre housewife? From the time I was a kid, dreaming of ambitious career goals to the time I spent in college, studying furiously to achieve those goals, this was never what I had in mind for my life.
I did eventually get that marinated salmon in the oven, but it wasn’t easy. I often have to take breaks during cooking because it’s too hard to stand on my feet for that long. By the time my husband Stephen got home, I was simply done. When he entered the door, the salmon was on a plate, but everything else was a mess. The dishwasher had just finished its cycle and was filled with clean dishes needing to put away to make room for the newly dirty dishes. The pans and knives still needed to be hand-washed, and residual chopped vegetable bits decorated the counters and even the floor (I am a messy prepper).
“I can’t do anymore!” was basically my greeting to Stephen. “I know you’ve been at work all day and are also tired, but can you please please please clean up after we eat? I need to lie down.”
“Yes, that’s fine,” he responded, and his words felt like a cool breeze on a scorching hot summer’s day. Before he answered, I knew he would clean up for me. Moreover, I knew he would do it without whining (he’s one of the good ones). Still, I felt overwhelming gratitude, and more importantly-- I felt loved.
Looking back, really, the love went both ways that day. If I was unmarried and living by myself, there was no way I would have gone through the effort of making a home-cooked meal, especially with a low-grade headache (that’s what frozen chicken nuggets are for). But when my pain began to fade to a manageable level that morning, I made the choice to push myself to the limits (even though my personal limits are pretty lame). I overestimated how much fuel I had left in my tank and ended up stranded on the road. Luckily for me, Stephen pushed my car those final few yards to the gas station.
At its pinnacle, love is Jesus dying on the cross. But love, especially for humans on a daily basis, is not always this big. The love my soul needed that day was simply Stephen taking out 15 minutes, after a long day at work, to do the dishes. If I can receive love so strongly through such a simple task, it’s a lesson in giving love as well. Love is humble, and typically-- not glamorous at all. I never wanted to solely be a housewife (and even felt sorry for women who were), but here I am and I am doing my best. I can still choose to give all of myself that I can (even knowing full well, I will never come close to “Stepford Wife” status).
As a child at Catholic school, I remember sometimes hearing the bible story of a woman named Mary washing Jesus’ feet. Can’t he easily wash his own feet? I thought to myself, wondering how this story was significant enough to make it into the bible. Now, upon reflection, I understand it a lot more. Mary was simply humbling herself to show Jesus love-- perhaps in the only way she knew how at that particular time. (Not to mention, I can’t imagine it being a pleasant nor glamorous experience to get close enough to another human’s feet in order to wash them). Of course, Jesus himself also washes his disciples’ feet at the last supper. He says,
Ye call me, ‘The Teacher’ and ‘The Lord,; and ye say well, for I am; then I did wash your feet-- the Lord and the Teacher-- Ye also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have given thee an example, that ye should do as I have done to ye. Verily, verily, I say unto ye, the servant is not greater than his lord; neither he that is sent greater than he that sent him. If ye know these things, happy are ye if ye do them.” (John 13:13-15).
Of course the deeper symbolic significance here is a foreshadowing of Jesus cleansing humanity of sin the following day at his crucifiction. We obviously do not have the power to cleanse one another of sins, yet Jesus still instructs his disciples to wash other each other’s feet. And to anyone who may think he has a “greater purpose” than to do something so lowly, Jesus basically replies, “If I, your all powerful God and Master, can humble himself enough to wash his own servants’ feet, then you can, and should, too.”
On the surface, the action of washing another’s feet seems trivial. Just like baking salmon or doing the dishes, it appears mundane and insignificant. And perhaps, the action by itself is insignificant. What makes these chores worthy is not the actual chore itself, but the purpose behind the chore: love. Even though my pride often tells me my college education makes me “too good” to be a housewife, Jesus is directly telling me otherwise. None of us are too good to show love, no matter how small and humble the means. Quite the contrary, Jesus Himself demonstrates the servant’s heart, and commands we love each other in simple, modest, and selfless ways.
Of course, chronic pain adds another layer here. It is not just laziness and/or pridefulness making it hard for me to humble myself enough to routinely cook and clean. Physical suffering makes it even less appealing as I have to fight my own body to get these things done. Chores make me so tired. When I struggle to make dinner, it certainly shows a weakness of body. Yet far more importantly, it demonstrates a strengthening of heart. In this way, my current vocation as a housewife who suffers with chronic pain is highly noble; it demonstrates the triumph of love, even when it’s really really hard. On the surface level, God has called me to cook dinner and clean dishes. But at the core, God has called me to the same purpose as the rest of mankind: to love humbly and ceaselessly.
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