pain

Acknowledge the hurt is real so that you can heal

The first step in healing is acknowledging that, in fact, we have been wronged. That the hurt is real. That a debt is owed. That we are in pain. That an injustice has been done. But this is only the first step. 

If we are to heal, we must then be willing, through the grace of the Holy Spirit, to free the person who wronged us from their debt for the sake of our own soul. For the sake of our own peace. For the sake of our own joy. For the sake of those we love and serve. 

We cannot do this alone. Only God can transform this pain, this very real and justified pain, into healing, but we must be willing to sacrifice our suffering, our pride, and our resentment, at the altar of His love. We must be willing to let go of this debt we are owed, to release it, to release our debtor into God’s hands. 

Justice will be done, but it is not ours to do. We will all pay the price for our part in things when we someday face Him. But for now, we are called to let our debtors go, to heal, and to move on with the help of God and community, and with the love that can transform all pain and all suffering into purpose. 

Robert Van Valkenburgh
Grappling With Divinity

To read my poetry and shorter writing, please visit Meditations of a Gentle Warrior and subscribe to receive my daily meditations in your inbox. 

God allows us time to feel sorry for ourselves

When we are feeling hurt, betrayed, or disappointed, God allows us time to feel sorry for ourselves. Understanding that we are human and need time to process our feelings, he will give us space and let us live in our pain for a while if we so desire. Especially when we have been wronged by someone we care about, he lets us work through our emotions, even if it means wallowing in self pity and grief. Eventually, however, God expects us to get over ourselves and move on. 

We can’t live in our anger and depression forever, at least not if we intend to live for and with God. God does not like rivals and self pity is a major rival to the Lord. If we allow it to stay longer than its welcome, self pity becomes a sort of false idol for us. In fact, it’s really just a way of worshipping our own shortsighted desires and feelings. 

When things don’t work out the way we want or expect them to, it’s okay to be hurt, disappointed, and even angry, but ultimately, what we are saying to God is that we think we know what is best for us better than he does. Feeling sorry for ourselves means that we want something other than what God has given us. Self pity, at its core, is really just a lack of faith. 

But as much as God is a jealous God who does not tolerate rivals for his attention, he is also an understanding God who is loving and patient enough to allow us the time we need to come back around to him. If we choose not to, if we choose to live outside of his grace, we are headed for a life of suffering. But if we turn away from our self pity and turn toward the Father of Light, he will always be there to embrace us into his loving arms and guide us through our pain. 

Robert Van Valkenburgh
Grappling With Divinity

To read my poetry and shorter writing, please visit Meditations of a Gentle Warrior and subscribe to receive my daily meditations in your inbox. 

Capacity for love

Early in our relationship, my wife gave me this warning. She said, “Remember, the amount I love you is also the amount I can hate you.” I’ve sat with this statement for years and, the more I’ve thought about it, the deeper the sentiment becomes.

When I’ve told other people this story, I’ve gotten mixed reactions. Some people laugh, others are taken aback, and some people really get it. There’s a deep truth in her words.

Love, as I have come to understand and experience it, is more than just a feeling. It’s a capacity. In other words, there is a space in our hearts which love is intended to fill. The more we love someone, the greater this capacity for love becomes.

But what happens when that person hurts us, leaves us, or passes away? That same capacity for love then becomes filled with other emotions. Our potential for love becomes our potential to feel everything else.

So the amount we love someone is also the amount we can be hurt by them if they betray or abandon us. It’s the amount we can miss them if they leave or if we go away. It’s the amount we can worry about them if they are hurt or sick. It’s also the amount we can grieve for them if they die.

Upon understanding this truth, there is a temptation to protect ourselves by limiting or shutting off our capacity to love. If we don’t open ourselves up to love, we can’t get hurt, after all. But this is a grave mistake because any attempt to limit our capacity to feel pain, anger, or sorrow also limits our capacity to feel love, joy, and pleasure.

While these may all feel like different emotions, they have the same source. Our capacity for love is our capacity for all emotions. If we want to feel love, we get to feel everything. And the amount of love we are capable of feeling is the amount of every other emotion we are capable of feeling also. Love, after all, is a capacity.

When my wife told me the amount she loves me is also the amount she can hate me, she was really telling me, “I’m opening my heart to you. The greater my love grows for you, the stronger my feelings become for you, the more vulnerable I become in the process. By loving you, I am giving you the power to hurt me. Please don’t hurt me. I will feel it deeply. I am entrusting you with my heart. Please be kind.”

Robert Van Valkenburgh
Grappling With Divinity

To read my poetry and shorter writing, please visit Meditations of a Gentle Warrior and subscribe to receive my daily meditations in your inbox. 

I am terrified of my creative voice

I am terrified of my creative voice. It frightens me because it sounds a lot like my pain. 

I am hesitant to enter that place inside of me because I am afraid of what I will find, I am afraid of what will come out, and I am afraid that I will not be able to leave once I enter. 

I dance around this fear and I do good work, but it isn’t my work, not in the truest sense because it is impersonal. What is personal is the pain, the grief, the anger, and the shame, but I am afraid to go there. 

I want my art to be uplifting, I want to make a positive impact, and I want to make people happy, but I also need to dig deeper. I need to dive into the pain. I need to unearth the lessons it wants to give me. I need to not be afraid of what I will find because all I will find is the truth. 

I am still searching for my creative voice because it exists on the other side of fear and I have not yet gone there. I have not yet become truly vulnerable, and there is no art without vulnerability. 

Even this is merely writing around the truth, not diving into it headfirst without hesitation. Even this is a form of hiding. This is me avoiding the real work. 

This is not my creative voice. This is something else. 

A state of non-pain

Is there a word for not being in pain? The state of being healthy and pain-free is often overlooked and under-appreciated. We don’t notice it because it doesn’t hurt. It’s almost as if we need pain in order to pay attention to our bodies. 

When we are hurt, we pay attention. Pain can be unrelenting in this way. It refuses to go unnoticed. We obsess over it. In fact, when we are injured, if we don’t feel our pain, we check back in on it to see if it’s still there. It’s not that we want to feel it. On the contrary, we check in on it because we are hoping it is gone, but checking in on it only perpetuates the pain.  

Peace and comfort, on the other hand, go largely unnoticed. We take them for granted, at least until they are disrupted by pain. Then, we miss our peace. We crave comfort. We yearn for healing. But as soon as our pain is relieved, so are we. We relax and forget it ever existed. We move on with our lives like it never happened. 

We love to forget our pain. While we are in the midst of our suffering, we make all sorts of bargains and promises. We swear that we will change if we only find relief. Our lives will be different if we are given a second chance. Pain makes us liars, but it is not our fault. We don’t mean to forget. It’s just that pain distracts us from the truth of our complacency and our apathy. 

I’m not sure if there is a word for not being in pain, but I am sure that we should appreciate it more. We should be grateful for every moment we are not hurting, celebrate our lack of pain, and rejoice in the freedom it affords us. It’s a luxury that is promised to no one, and it will not last.