What purpose can be derived from pain? How can pain turn into a purpose, my purpose?
The definition of pain is... physical suffering or discomfort caused by illness or injury. I am guessing this is why when pain comes we believe that we are done for in that moment, allowing the pain to become the eraser of lives. We also tend to build a foundation on that pain that we make the staple of our lives. The pain comes in varying degrees; some like a their in the night that sneaks in the exposed areas of our lives that have not been protected. Other pain is self inflicted through our own choices, decisions or actions, which for all intents and purposes feel great when the decision is being contemplated; but in hindsight was not such a great choice. Then in a lot of cases the pain comes at the hands of someone else; could be someone close to you or someone that loves you.
Stephen Blandino, a Pastor in 7 City Church in Fort Worth, TX, put it this way: "Now we know we can't stay in our pain forever, a determination must be made what to do IN your pain and then what to do WITH your pain. Eventually we have to decide what to do WITH it. It takes both (IN and WITH) to successfully navigate pain, IN our pain, we learn to trust GOD".
Looking for something to protect us from pain is our natural tendency. We use food, exercise, work, our children, sex, sports, alcohol, drugs and each other as a way to protect ourselves, in an effort to file away the pain so as to minimize its effects. Soon our mental file cabinet gets too full, the drawers cant close, and it starts to spill out and overflow.
Until about 6 years ago I was convinced that my experiences was just who I was, because I allowed my pain to define me. From the time I was six years old until I left home at the age of 18, I was physically and mentally abused by my mother. I have had my tooth knocked out from a brush that she threw at me, my face burned with a pressing comb, because she said she was trying to wake me up so she can finish my hair. I had been beaten with telephone cords, iron cords; my hands beaten with knives, a Lysol can thrown at me which cut my chin open. Once she even tried to put my head down the garbage disposal, in an effort to free myself I hit my head on the cement tile on the counter and busted my head open. I had been called ugly and good-for-nothing so often by her that I felt...well she is my mother she must know what she is talking about.
She told me she hated my smile and I was not going to amount to anything. Being the Christian woman that mother claimed to be (Jehovah Witness), I remember thinking I never wanted to be like her if I grew up! I never thought for a moment that I was going to be a grownup, I knew she would kill me way before then. So I decided to take matters into my own hands. At the age of 13 I tried for the first time to kill myself, by drinking rubbing alcohol. Maybe if she were to find me dead, she would mourn me, she would cry or something and then I would not have been such a disappointment to her. By the age of 16, I made two more attempts, after the third attempt I just resolved she was right, I am good for nothing...I can't even kill myself right.
Healing my heart for my purpose...
Until next time
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