Our Fear of Pain + Losing
Pain is enviable in this life, and when we finally catch a break — if we ever do, it’s hard to want to open ourselves up to be there for another because we want to feel good.
Oh, to bask in peace and never have pain interrupt us again.
Right?
The rich man (found in the Gospel of Luke) died and went to a place no wants to dream of.
Whether this actually happened or was merely a parable to get us to think, it had me thinking.
Why?
If things aren’t inherently bad, it has to go deeper.
Maybe over time, the stuff, comfort, familiarity, routine, expectations and all that — took the place of his convictions.
I want to think at one point he had them.
That he started off on the right foot.
But over time, maybe those convictions were buried with #allthethings, taking place of his “give a cares.”
From the outside, it probably seemed to others that this man was doing all the right things.
All the things one does to find success.
Even with good, ol’ hard work.
But then he learned to stockpile his blessings.
Or maybe he was scared to share out of fear it would never be enough; so he trained himself how to step superior and throw a toothy grin to the ones who looked up to him.
The sufferer who sat at those very palace gates, being passed by day after day died and went to a glorious home of perfection and beauty, where tears have no place.
Some of us have read this story over and over again in the Bible which is made up of poems, stories, songs, retellings, and more. I’ve pondered this story lately and its relevance to my own life, which I frequently do.
Minutes upon minutes have led me to the thoughts below.
I don’t want to be the rich man, and I thought I wasn’t. But I began to ask myself, is there someone near my gate I am all too familiar with? Whom I stopped second-glancing?
Am I living my life only-glancing?
I say I want to slow down and pay attention, but am I?
Who’s outside our borders, fresh out of encouragement?
Are we hoarding joy, peace, vitality, light?
Let’s share it.
Not by tossing confetti on someone’s blisters, telling them to cheer up because it’ll get better soon — but let’s share by sharing in their grief.
“But I’m scared,” we say. “Change is hard. When I move from this safe place, something will change.”
Yes, it will.
When we become available to a hurting soul, something in us opens up like a flesh wound. We feel a tiny drop of their pain.
This gift, though stinging, is medicinal to us.
We can’t always see why or how right then, but it is.
We may never wear their shoes, but being available is a way to sit or walk with someone in the shadows. It changes our lofty perspective and widens the caverns of our soul.
We feel dark in the shadows but to our Maker, there is no difference between the dark and the day.
We feel like the shadows might swallow us up, but we are already held in the arms of love.
Stepping into the shadows, beyond the stellar walls we erect to self-protect, helps us see past the fog we assumed to inhibit everywhere else.
It helps us see there is light everywhere if only we will look.
Look past the pain to see the person.
Look past the wall to see the plight.
Look past the gate to see a friend.
Look past the mirror to see there are others fighting to peek beyond their own iron gates.
Maybe if one of us unlocks the gate, we will experience a new kind of brave: One that isn’t based on how great we have it here, surrounded by the things that make us think we must be doing something right.
But one that gives voice to the doubts, fears, questions, assumptions, and humans we’ve subconsciously tried to hum away with our merry tunes.
There’s a time to be merry, but is it always — 24/7?
I think not.
Copyright 2019 Meghan Weyerbacher Writes, LLC