This month marks the 20-year anniversary of my journey with back pain. It began on September 11, 2003. I was 28 years old.
Young and active, a brand new pastor’s wife in a brand new city, with 2 babies depending on me, my back locked up and stayed there.
It never made any sense to me.
Of course, I wasn’t trying to make sense of it at the beginning. I was just trying to get better so I could do the work that was mine to do. After four years at seminary with my husband, I was eager and ready to jump into my new position. Instead, I showed up in a position of vulnerability and need.
“Of course, I wasn’t trying to make sense of it at the beginning. I was just trying to get better.”
I couldn’t stand up, roll over, or walk without passing out. We immediately called people at the church and asked for help. They came. They brought pain meds, a back brace, and a plan. I still remember half-walking and half being carried into the back of a staff member’s Suburban filled with pillows, then transported to the office of a member who was a specialist.
I remember the ladies who came to my house to play with my children over the next several weeks as I laid on my couch, unable to attend to anyone’s needs, much less offer hospitality. I also remember eating the meals they brought. Then there was the woman from church who cleaned houses and came to clean mine – incredibly well, I might add. I couldn’t believe the help I was offered.
For months, and then on and off for years, it was difficult for me to sit for any length of time. I spent many a Bible class and church service and conference laying on the floor in the back of the room.
While I was grateful for all the help, I never liked having to need it. It’s not the way I would have wanted to get to know people. It’s not how I would have wanted to stand out.
Over time, my back started to improve. Never completely better, but good enough to do a lot of things with just some on-going maintenance and attention to the incessant flare-ups.
Fast forward 8 years. It was two babies later, and I was starting to get active again. Life was getting fun as the kids were beginning activities and so was I – date nights, dancing, indoor soccer, running. I remember that time so fondly.
Commence back saga stage 2. One thing led to another – new doctor, new tests, injections, etc – until the summer of 2012 when I was stuck in bed due to leaking of my spinal fluid. If I stood up for more than 20 minutes, a spinal headache began to rage that took double the time laying down to recover.
I remember it being the summer of my son’s 7th birthday. I had endured the difficulties with patient resolve until that point. The straw that broke me was my inability to make my son his cake.
I collapsed into the anguish that had been lying in wait under the surface. I felt useless and pitiful – a waste of space on the earth. Always needing help. Not able to give.
“I collapsed into the anguish that had been lying in wait under the surface.”
That was the summer of my faith crisis.
Looking back, I see how valuable that crisis was, but at the time, it felt horrible. I remember saying, “I’m afraid to ask God to heal my back, because I’m afraid God won’t do it. Then I won’t be able to believe in him anymore.”
It’s as if I thought the Almighty God was akin to the Wizard of Oz. Maybe a part of me was afraid of what I’d find if I peered behind the curtain. What if I put him on the hook – as in, actually needing him for something – and discovered that either he wasn’t able or he wasn’t willing to do anything to help me? What if I found out it was all up to me all along?
There was a part of me that determined to keep my image of God intact. If God was not strong enough or loving enough to help me, I didn’t want to know. I preferred to keep my beliefs about God secure by not asking anything significant of him.
“I preferred to keep my beliefs about God secure by not asking anything significant of him.”
Until that summer. My experience of deep pain and deep need pressed the issue until I couldn’t help but ask. I decided to pray to God to heal me and let the chips fall where they may.
While I didn’t experience full healing, I did get my spine patched, offering me relief from my headache and the ability to stand again. With that small resolution came an initial glimpse of the God who legitimately does things. I think maybe a seed was planted in the depths of my soul in the crack opened by my crisis. It would take years to see what this seed would grow into.
The next decade of my life held a variety of activities and adventures, always with my back issues as a significant player – sometimes the lead, but always at least a secondary character. I tried new doctors and treatments from time to time, each one suggesting they had the solution, and each one leaving my hopes dashed. Even surgery, the last resort, caused just as many problems as it solved.
When would I get past this problem and onto living my life?
Twenty years later, I would never have guessed how much of my life this back journey would end up holding. If I have a regret, it would be this: I spent the last 20 years trying to get past a thing that turned out to be my life.
“I spent the last 20 years trying to get past a thing that turned out to be my life.”
In this world you will have troubles (John 16:33).
I’ve heard that verse quoted a lot, but somehow I still believed that if I did the right thing, found the right treatment, got the right help, I could make my problems stop. I must have thought that verse meant something else.
This trouble has companioned me for 20 years. It has been there no matter what I did – right or wrong or otherwise. It has given me an unfathomable amount of grief to bear.
I know God is good and loving and able, and at the same time, a part of my soul cries out with the Psalmist, and even Jesus himself, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, from the words of my groaning?” (Psalm 22:1).
Something about that cry from the depths of a person’s being – I think it must have a strong impact on the Lord’s heart, because each time I release the deep anguish, I experience him drawing near. Even as I type, I sense the nearness of the Holy Spirit’s presence and the gift of a new perspective. I suspect Jesus is also authoring some practical help that will cross my path very soon.
The following verses are found later in Psalm 22:
You who fear the LORD, praise him… For he has not despised or abhorred the affliction of the afflicted, and he has not hidden his face from him, but has heard, when he cried to him. ~ Psalm 22:23-24
The Lord has not despised; he has heard.
I have despised my own affliction. A lot. Yet if I’m honest with myself, I must also admit the abundant treasure I have gained through my suffering – a completely different variety than gained in my strength – compassion, understanding, perspective, endurance, patience, curiosity, kindness, help, and a connection with God himself.
I have no problem at this point in my journey telling the Lord anything – the worst of my thoughts toward myself or others or even him. I’m no longer trying to protect his reputation. He’s on the hook for being God; not me.
God has declared one principle;
two principles I have heard:
God is strong,
and you, O Lord, demonstrate loyal love.
~ Psalm 62:11-12
When I gazed upon the God behind the curtain, I discovered a God of whom I can ask anything, even that which seems off-limits or extravagant. This is a God who himself has cried from the depths. And a God who sank to the depths for me. This God is strong, and he is loving.
Admittedly, I’ve mostly seen his loving side. But what is a love that doesn’t move one to strong action? I have grown in confident expectation that God is defeating my trouble in a way that will one day cause me to marvel. A future perspective will show me what I cannot see now, and I will be amazed at what God has done in and through the parts of my story I would have edited out.
“He’s on the hook for being God; not me.”
Where am I in my back journey now? I found a new doctor I’ve been working with this year. She and her team seem to be doing some good. Maybe they’ll be the ones to get me past this.
Regardless, my time in her office has been rich. We talk about the body, and how it works, and God, and how he works. We marvel at the positive shifts my body makes, and we wrestle with questions about how to best move forward. Together, we believe God to be a healer, and we look for ways to partner with him, even as we wait and work and trust him with the process we are walking.
I have gained a lot from my back pain journey. While I would not have picked this theme for the story of my life, at this point, I’m not sure I would trade it either.
Of course, I’d also be fine with picking a new theme for the next 20 years.
Breathe Life Ministries 