This is getting harder every day. The pain is relentless today; the kind that makes me ask AJ to hold me tight as it keeps growing in intensity, squeezing and pressing me. The kind where I can't help but cry, silently screaming, "I can't do this a single day longer. It's too much." And the kind where I just want to be unconscious, asleep, so a nap in my husband's arms this afternoon was a merciful break.

 

It's hard to admit all of that; I worry I'll sadden people who love me, or sound like I'm complaining. But it's the reality of being trapped in this torturous body right now. And I don't believe God ever asks us to suffer numbly, or to deny our reality. I think He wants us to feel all of it, the glorious and the excruciating, the joy and the grief, to walk through it fully aware and human and vulnerable and soft. I think only then do we experience when He eases the pain, or when the miracles come, or when a small mercy gives us outsized comfort.

 

I'll be honest, I grieve for myself and I in moments like today, I think "Please help me; please make it stop." I don't want to go through this painful decline, the last 12 days before surgery. The utter brokenness. The sheer pain. But when I follow Him wherever He leads, He is always faithful to rescue me, and to reward me with such peace and knowledge of how He's making my suffering count for His name. The pasture to which I've been led, full of lush, glorious blooms, and eternal, life-giving blossoms, is surrounded by thickets, thorns, and wire. The glory in the center can only be accessed through pain and blood. I won't shy away but will walk the path Christ has set before me with boldness and joy.