This post delves into religious themes. If that makes you uncomfortable, feel free to skip this post.
To better understand the following, I have had chronic pain for eight years. I was nine years old when it began and as of this writing, I have not found a diagnosis.
Where is God? On my bad pain days, this question features prominently in my mind. How could He watch and let this happen to me? is another. I don’t like playing the victim, and that’s not what I intend to do. But I think it’s healthy to acknowledge that when I’m in a more severe amount of pain than usual, I do everything everyone tells Christians not to do—I question God. I bargain. If I get all As, please make my pain better. If I pray a little more, maybe the pain wouldn’t be as bad. I worry. Maybe I disappointed God, and this is the consequence. I grow bitter. Why me? Because no one expects to wake up one day with pain that never goes away, and I did.
Growing up, I believed—and I still do—in a loving God that gives grace and is merciful. As a nine-year-old (and sometimes even now), this pain doesn’t feel like mercy. How could a merciful God do this? This felt like a punishment.
Eventually, as my pain continued and had no signs of going away, I wondered where God was. Surely, He wasn’t in the doctor’s office as my first rheumatologist told nine-year-old me that I had fibromyalgia and sent me home crying. Surely, God wasn’t there for my many blood draws when the phlebotomists couldn’t find a vein. Surely, He wasn’t with me as I struggled to explain to my friends that not only did my legs not move like theirs did, but I now hurt all the time. How could God have been there as the many medications supposed to relieve my symptoms failed? Where was God as my body, ridden with aches and pains, stopped feeling like mine and turned into someone else’s entirely?
But God was there. I know He was. God was there to whisper strength into my ear when I wanted to give up. God was the crack of light peeking through that told me to hold onto my hope. As I slowly realized my pain was there to stay, God was holding my hand, telling me that He wasn’t ever going to give up on me.
Having said that, there are days where if anyone tells me that God has a reason for my being in pain, I will want to scream at them. On my bad days, being told that God’s plan is for me to have chronic pain will make me seethe at the injustice I feel.
I wanted more for my life than hurting all the time. When my chronic pain began, I thought it was the end of having a productive, fulfilling—and, most importantly, happy—life. But human plans can change. Ultimately, I firmly believe that God has a plan for us all, and having chronic pain just happens to be part of His plan for me.
When I was younger, I wanted to be a physical therapist (PT) to return the kindness that had been extended to me. As my pain changed and worsened over the years, I realized that I wouldn’t have the strength or stamina I needed to help patients as much as I felt they deserved. (My cerebral palsy limits the amount of strength I have anyway, but my chronic pain has sapped any ability I would have had to stand for a long time.) At first I was disappointed. I was confused. How is a physical therapist with chronic pain supposed to work? I wanted to ask God. Don’t you want me to use my cerebral palsy to help people? If not this, then how? But if God had a plan for me, who was I to shout at Him and tell Him “no”?
Granted, I’ve had my days when I’ve been tired, angry, and just plain sad.
“No, God, I can’t do this.”
“God, I don’t want this pain anymore.”
“God, why did you choose me? Please, please give this to someone else.”
“I’m not worthy. I’m not good. I’ve cried to You and begged and pleaded. Please give me a different plan.”
But for whatever reason, God’s plan for me right now involves my having pain. There are times where I worry God isn’t there, but there are so many more times when I know that He is—my pastor giving a sermon on pain and discomfort. My PT telling me that it was okay to be upset. Waking up after surgery to see my feet turned completely outward. My friend pushing me up a hill in a wheelchair after my surgery when I couldn’t make it on my own. Inching along the wall of the hallway at school as I relearned how to walk, my friends supporting me. An amazing physical therapist who was recommended at the right time and who I’ve worked with for 16+ years.
All of these examples and more tell me that God is here, as difficult as my challenges seem sometimes. Even though my faith shakes occasionally, I can trust in God’s plan and know that He believes in me as much as I believe in Him. As much as I struggle with my path in life and wondering why I have to suffer, I know that I will never walk my path alone.