In Your Season of Pain, He Is Present

I flee from pain. In a fight-or-flight scenario, I’m outta there. I’m running as fast as I can (basically 5mph) in any direction. Even in a novel, when the storyline unavoidably builds to a painful point and something earth-shattering is happening, my heart rate picks up, the tears flood, I close the book, and I’m sad for the rest of the day. I’ve put myself into these fictional characters’ shoes, and I’m beside myself. There have been several times I couldn’t even finish the book because I didn’t see how it could possibly end happily ever after. And that’s one thing I long for, no thanks to Walt Disney: happy endings.

So what happens when someone like me actually has to walk through something devastating? Let’s say your younger brother dies, and the funeral is the day before your honeymoon? Or maybe your mentally handicapped cousin has a heart attack while he’s in jail, and his parents don’t want to hold a funeral for him? Or perhaps your uncle goes for a motorcycle ride on Father’s Day and is in a fatal crash? Or maybe you want to have children, but it’s been years of unanswered prayer? Let’s add in the rest of your grandparents passing away, too, and then a global pandemic.

These scenarios aren’t just scenarios for me. They have been the low points of my past three years. Most of you could add even more devastating stories to this list; ones that seem unable to end happily. Such a season of pain sometimes seems hopeless. We are walking through Psalm 88:

O Lord, God of my salvation,

I cry out day and night before you…

For my soul is full of troubles,

and my life draws near to Sheol.

I am counted among those who go down to the pit;

I am a man who has no strength,

like one set loose among the dead,

like the slain that lie in the grave,

like those whom you remember no more,

for they are cut off from your hand.

You have put me in the depths of the pit,

In the regions dark and deep…

I am shut in so that I cannot escape;

My eye grows dim through sorrow…

O Lord, why do you cast my soul away?

Why do you hide your face from me?…

Your wrath has swept over me;

your dreadful assaults destroy me.

They surround me like a flood all day long;

they close in on me together.

You have caused my beloved and my friend to shun me;

my companions have become darkness. (ESV)

The end.

Did you know some psalms end this way, without acknowledging the goodness and greatness of God? There’s no, “But wait, there’s more! It all ends happily ever after!” There’s just raw, unadulterated emotion. In my own devastating season of pain, instead of acknowledging my need and utter despair, I landed in a mess of anxiety—a week-long mental health program and a month-long medical leave, sprinkled with insomnia and pills promising relief from my depression.

Not fun. But at the same time, useful.

During this time, I began to understand God’s unconditional love for me. I don’t have to pretend when I’m with God. No slapping on smiles, no showering and making myself look presentable, no cleaning of the house, no freshly painted fingernails or perfectly planned responses. Just boxes and boxes of tissues, loud cries of pain, an untamed appearance, an unmade bed, a sink full of dishes, some four-day-old pizza, and baskets of laundry. Come on over, Lord!

This is exactly why God came to earth as a baby at Christmas—to draw near us in our pain. And he does. And he doesn’t judge. And he doesn’t bring back anything he just saw to share it with the neighbors. He doesn’t talk soothingly to me and then talk harshly about me behind my back. He doesn’t complain about my state of mind or state of living. He doesn’t rush me to see his faithfulness in my season of pain. He just shows up and loves.

Isn’t that amazing? Isn’t it unheard of? And isn’t it freeing?

Friends, if you are in a season of pain, I hope you realize it’s OK. And if you are living in a season of Psalm 150, praise the Lord! But when we push ourselves to rush through our pain, we don’t experience the proper healing. A broken leg most likely means weeks of hobbling along on crutches. We wouldn’t expect someone to be walking without them by the next day. And would you blame someone for using crutches if their leg was broken? No. So why are we so hard on ourselves when we’re in seasons of pain? Why do we expect to be able to keep pushing through when we’re weary and need some crutches?

Allowing ourselves the space and time to acknowledge our pain, seek medicine (literal or spiritual), and wait for God to bring healing is so incredibly important and, unfortunately, often overlooked. While we wait, we should not expect ourselves to be superwomen. It’s not what God requires of us.

Once the Psalm 88 season has begun to lighten, we can turn to God’s truth that tells us, “…after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you into his eternal glory in Christ Jesus, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you” (1 Peter 5:10 ESV).

Believe these wonder-filled words, that God himself will walk you through this devastation and restore your soul, confirm your life’s purpose, strengthen your faith, and establish you as a wholly refilled woman. No matter how long it takes, no matter how far down in the pit you are, no matter how long you’ve wandered away. Let my own personal recovery be testament to this! God never celebrates our season of pain—he wants only to comfort us and bring us healing, if we will simply let him draw near. He is faithful to use even our deepest pain to make us stronger and to bring us closer to him.

Audrey Osborn has been happily married for just over two years and currently works in Grand Rapids, Michigan as a part-time nanny. She loves quiet mornings, decaf coffee, cats, crafting, and spending quality time with Jesus, family, and friends. She and her hubby are excited to be pursuing foster care or adoption with the hope of bringing love to kiddos in need. “Now may the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him.”