A thought about pain

This morning, I got up before the sun and went for a run. As I always do, I checked the weather app before heading out and noticed that rain was possible within the hour, but I’d have time to get in a (relatively) quick 3 miles. Out the door I went.

About halfway through the run, as I was listening to an audiobook, I heard the sound that sleet makes when it hits the leaves and wondered if it was sleet or rain since the temps were only a little above freezing.

And then, I felt it. That stinging sensation when sleet hits your face and I smiled. Well, if I’m being honest, I did a little more than smile. I actually laughed out loud at the idea that I was running in the sleet.

Now, a thought about pain. The ice hitting my already cold face didn’t actually feel that great. It was a tad painful, but the pain of the sleet made me acutely aware of the fact that I wasn’t running in the rain (something that I’m not really a fan of doing). In that moment, I allowed the pain to remind me of something else — even something that I could be thankful for.

Pain in life can be the same. Pain reminds us that we’re, well, still alive to feel it. I’m not minimizing the deep emotions that come with pain, but I am realizing that pain can have a purpose, and sometimes, in the moment, that purpose is to remind us of what we aren’t experiencing.

In 2 Corinthians 4:17, Paul reminds us that pain here can actually remind us to be thankful for what it is accomplishing for us in eternity. In case you’re wondering what kind of “light” pain Paul was talking about, he mentions a ton of painful moments later in his letter in 11:23-27.

I’m not sure what you’re facing that is causing you pain — or even if anything I’ve written today makes sense — but my encouragement is to ask you to consider what God could be saying through it.

“I’m here. I’m with you, near you. I’m holding you and perfecting you. I’m seeing more and more of my Son in you. I know it hurts, but so often the process that helps us in the long run has to hurt us in the moment. But you aren’t alone, and I am not only the surgeon who cuts you. I’m the physician who heals you and the Father who holds you.”

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