Archives For pain

I wish I could forget

Ben Reed —  January 31, 2014 — 3 Comments

Ever said this? I bet you have. There’s something that’s happened to you that you wish you could wipe from your memory forever. You wish it would never pop up when you hear that song. Or visit that restaurant. Or smell that smell or see that movie. You wish you could go back to the time before it ever happened because the reminder is so deeply painful.

I was recently meeting with someone who had been deeply sinned against. He had been hurt by someone else, and he made the statement, “I just wish I could forget that this ever happened.”

Maybe you’ve said something like that.

You wish you could forget

  • that relationship
  • what she did to you
  • how he treated you.
  • when your dad left.
  • when you failed at ___.
  • when you quit ______.
  • the pain of divorce.
  • when you started your addiction.
  • when he hit you.
  • when you got fired.
  • when you had to ask my kids to forgive me.
  • the time he sinned against you.
  • the time he sinned against you again.
  • the time he sinned against you again and again.

It would be easier to just forget this pain, wouldn’t it?

But remembering the pain of someone hurting you allows you to love them in a way you couldn’t otherwise. It gives you the chance to offer grace where it is not deserved. Forgiveness where it hasn’t been earned. And it encourages you to seek God in a way you wouldn’t otherwise, being forced to lean on Him for support in a fuller way than you may have without the pain.

God doesn’t let us fully forget. Because by leaning more fully on God, and offering more grace, love, and forgiveness, we become more like Jesus.

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose. For those whom he foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, in order that he might be the firstborn among many brothers. – the Apostle Paul, Romans 8:28-29

 

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Don’t waste your fail

Ben Reed —  March 7, 2013 — 2 Comments
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image credit: vmvt.it

When I was in college, working on my undergraduate degree, I had a class in swine production.

I know, I know…sounds just like what you’d expect a guy who would end up as a pastor would study, right?

My path to full-time vocational ministry was not the one of least resistance.

A few times that semester, we got to visit a pig farm, and see the whole production. We’d help with the newborn pigs, watch a feeding time, see how research was conducted (on the research farm on campus), and meet with various workers. It was fascinating.

And made your clothes smell horrible.

There was no faking that you’d been to the pig farm. You had to change clothes and shower before your next class…every time.

One thing that stuck with me from that class was the way that nothing was wasted on the farm. Not even the pigs’ poop.

The poop was piled in a barn, and over the course of a year, the poop would compost, leaving a rich fertilizer that the farmers would use to fertilize the fields that other animals would graze. It was an incredible additive and boost to those fields, giving yields that greatly surpassed the non-fertilized fields. In other words, the poop made the crops grow faster.

Pig poop, though foul-smelling to us humans, contains nutrients that help crops grow really well. After it was harvested and composted (by which time it didn’t stink anymore), it was simply spread across the field in the spring, just before a rain, its nutrients used by the budding crops.

The poop from your past

You’ve got poop in your life. Things you’ve done that you’re not proud of. Things that have been done to you that you wish hadn’t happened. Dreams that you lost, relationships that crumbled. Jobs lost. Marriages destroyed. Addictions that you’re ashamed of. You’ve messed up in a way that you’d hope and pray nobody would ever mess up. You’ve done things…or not done thing…that you never want to repeat.

We typically do one of two things with that pain and suffering:

  1. Ignore it and act like it never happened.
  2. Wallow in it.

Neither is healthy.

Option 1 leaves us judgmental of others who have real pain, ignorant of our own Pharisaical stench. We’re left with a shallow understanding of our sin and pain…and thus a shallow understanding of God’s goodness and grace. Acting like “poop” never happened wastes our pain.

Option 2 leaves us in a crying, heaping, depressed, self-depracating mess. All of the time. We get stuck in what “could’ve been,” what “should’ve been,” and “who I wish I was,” constantly making ourselves pay for our past mistakes over and over again. OR making others pay for our past mistakes by disengaging from those who love us, and who would love to help. Wallowing in our “poop” wastes our pain.

I’ve got a 3rd option, and I take my cue from the pig poop.

Allow your failures to help someone else.

The way God brought you through the junk can help someone else who, right now, can’t see the light. They’re stuck. They’re in the middle of an addiction or the throes of suffering.

Live a life full of grace because you’ve been graced so much by the King. Live a life of love because you were loved first. Live a life of forgiveness because of the heaping amounts of forgiveness you’ve been given that you can never repay. Live a life of generosity because you’ve been given so much.

Your valleys can become great pastures that others can graze from as they see you living life to the full. (John 10:10)

No need to ignore the past. It’s purpose isn’t to hold you back. No need to wallow in it, either.

Let someone else graze from it.

If we are distressed, it is for your comfort and salvation; if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which produces in you patient endurance of the same sufferings we suffer.  And our hope for you is firm, because we know that just as you share in our sufferings, so also you share in our comfort. – 2 Corinthians 1:6-7

 

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I originally posted this 2 years ago. My wife and I are coming up on the 2-year mark for this portion of our stories, but with the massive changes in our lives recently (I’m now on staff at Long Hollow), I wanted to share this again. Just so you know, this was, and is, a painful part of our story.

 

It wasn’t just a miscarriage. It didn’t feel like we were “losing a pregnancy.” It felt like we were losing a baby.

Those are the words I’ve uttered countless times to countless people. As the news eked in through little spurts of information from multiple ultrasounds and blood tests, what we feared became a reality. “It’s not a viable pregnancy” didn’t make the pain or reality disappear. It didn’t make the baby growing inside my wife any less of a human.

Earlier this year, my wife experienced the most pain we’ve experienced in our marriage. My wife processed it out loud on my blog HERE.

Though the pain wasn’t as visceral for me, it was no less real. Through the process, I learned some valuable lessons.

Lessons I learned through a miscarriage

Every life is a gift.

I value my own life, and especially the life of my won, so much more now. It’s so much more valuable.

Every life is miracle.

Seeing that this whole pregnancy/birthing process doesn’t just happen automatically has really helped me see how each and every birth is a great miracle.

Experiencing a miscarriage is a real loss.

Not that I didn’t understand this from a theological, academic standpoint. But going through it myself, experiencing that loss, has given me a greater understanding of how to minister to people who are experiencing this. We had talked about the difficulty of miscarriages in seminary. But it was all theory. And I know that someone doesn’t have to go through every difficulty before they can help someone else. But there’s a different weight, a different level of help, that you give once you’ve experienced the exact pain that another person is experiencing.

There’s no “getting over” this.

I dont’ think it’s possible to really “get over” this loss. You can move on. You can grow. But to think that you can “get over” this as if it never really happened is foolish. Anytime you experience significant pain, the answer in coping is learning how to deal with life differently, because life has been altered.

My wife and I are doing well. We’ve grown because of this. Grown in ways we probably wouldn’t have otherwise.

We’ve still not had the joy of getting pregnant again. Maybe God will see fit for us to head back down that path. But maybe not.

Regardless, we’re trusting Him.

*photo credit Creation Swap user: Joe Cavazos

 

 

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Thoughts on love and loss

Ben Reed —  March 5, 2013 — 10 Comments

I originally posted this 2 years ago. My wife and I are coming up on the 2-year mark for this portion of our stories, but with the massive changes in our lives recently (I’m now on staff at Long Hollow), I wanted to share this again. Just so you know, this was, and is, a painful part of our story.

_________________________________________________________

This is a guest post from my wife, Laura.  We had a miscarriage earlier this year, and here are her thoughts moving forward.  You can follow her on Facebook HERE, and the company she (and my wife and sister-in-law) created HERE.
image by Reggie Tiongco

I still remember the first time I saw our baby- all curled up on the monitor screen- the sweet profile of the head, nubs of arms and legs not quite developed.  It was love at first sight.  That was our baby.  The one we has waited so long for.  The one that made our Rex a big brother.

Looking back, the night we found out we were pregnant was such a bad time to take a pregnancy test. It was humorous really, Superbowl Sunday, people expected at our house any minute.  I’m not really sure what I was thinking.  With all of the negative test we had taken over those months, I knew whichever way the test went I would find it hard to be a good hostess. Maybe not knowing would have been just as hard.

I surely didn’t expect it to be positive. Oh, and the events following that night and it’s announcement.  I have often tried to make sense of the purpose of that short life growing inside of me.  It’s true, that through announcing our joy we were able have a heart-to-heart with loved ones- clear the air about where our relationship had been and where we all wanted it to be.  And while I wouldn’t trade that sweet moment in their living room for anything, our baby was alive then.

Where is the meaning in the death?

My mother-in-law once told me that what she remembers most about that day was me.  She said I looked so small and vulnerable on the bed in that big ultrasound room.  I tried to be strong in that moment- maybe just optimistic.  I’ve noticed that about myself- I’m always looking for a way to make things happen, even when I’m told they can’t.  I just kept trying to tell myself that maybe the ultrasound tech was wrong.  That once I saw my doctor she would be able to see whatever the tech couldn’t.  If I were honest though, I think I knew that the life was gone. I had that sinking feeling since the beginning of the pregnancy.  I prayed about it a lot, begging God to protect the life growing inside me.  I pushed down the worries, thinking that buying maternity clothes and picking out names would magically change what I suspected might happen.  As if we can DO anything to change what God has already written.  That is, anything but pray.

The rest of March came and went in a blur of emotions.  In some ways I feel like it flew by, in other ways it drug on and on.  For the most part I guess I knew I was okay, but I wondered if I had really come to terms with my situation or if I was running from dealing with it.  I guess both may be true.

It’s a funny thing about love and loss.  There is hardly a day that goes by that I don’t think about the baby on that monitor screen.  Not so much grieving the loss any more, these days I am mostly filled with questions:

Will I continue to have miscarriages or even be able to get pregnant again?  Will I ever meet my little one? Know if I had a he or a she? Will I ever feel that baby in my arms, the way I now do with my sweet niece?

I’m sure that asking ten different professionals would yield ten different answers.  And in a way, maybe the answers don’t really matter.

What matters is the journey through this time.

I surely cannot say that I am on the other end- but, I can say that the Lord is walking me through it.

And, while I don’t know all the ways He is working on me as a result of this experience, I know He is working.  There is unbelievable comfort in that.  He promises never to leave us or forsake us.  He promises to work good for those who love him- making us more like Himself with ever step.  Whatever the storm, whatever the situation, He is there and He is working.

There is no question in that.

 

 

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The difficulty of Christmas

Ben Reed —  December 18, 2012 — 3 Comments
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image credit: Joe Cavaszos

I was standing in line at Wal Mart, checking out with a few snacks that my wife and I were taking to our staff Christmas party. We were both pretty excited to celebrate a great year with the staff at Grace, whom we loved.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I slipped it out to see who was calling as I slid my credit card to complete the transaction. It was my mom.

“Hey mom, we’re checking out at Wal Mart. Can I call you right back?”

All I heard in reply was the rapidly-inhaling wheeze someone has when their words are battling with their tears. I instantly squatted down beside the register, cupped my hand over my right ear, and strained to hear every word coming through the phone.

“Mom? What’s wrong? Take a deep breath.”

“It’s Grandma…she’s…”

*wheeze*

“Mom. I can’t hear you. What’s wrong with Grandma?”

*wheeze*

“She’s gone, son. She’s gone.”

My world started spinning. I felt like things slowed down and sped up, all in the same moment. Everything seemed incredibly real and tangible…and at the same time, chaotic. In shock, I relayed the information to Laura as we grabbed our receipt and bags, rushing out the door. I remember the sound of the ignition as it combined with the screams from the ambulance and fire trucks. I knew they were for Grandma. I knew they were headed in the same direction we were.

My grandma’s house was less than 2 miles from Wal Mart. When we pulled up, the flashing lights of the Emergency vehicles lit up the house like Christmas lights normally would that time of year. I parked in the driveway and ran up the shiny metal wheelchair ramp that had recently been installed. My dad walked out, holding my son, Rex, in his arms. They were playing with a toy. It was Dad’s way of distraction-coping. He had just lost his mom, and to keep from crumbling under the emotional weight, he played with Rex. I talked to Dad briefly, then went inside, pushing past the medical personell who didn’t know what to say to me.

Grandma was laying on the bed. She’d died in her sleep. She hadn’t been in the best of health, but her general demeanor and look were improving. Then, she was gone. In an instant, she went to be with Jesus. I bent down and kissed her cheek, a tear dripping down mine onto hers. “I love you, Grandma” I whispered.

2 years ago, just a couple of weeks before Christmas, I lost my Grandma. I’ll remember that day for the rest of my life. I’m reminded of her love, her warmth, her laugh, and her put-everything-from-the-freezer-in-the-pot soup. Every Christmas Eve, I remember the breakfasts we’d eat and the gifts we’d open. I remember the shows she loved and the coffee she drank. I remember the smell her house had.

Every year, I wish I had one last Christmas with her. That I could have one last Christmas to hear her laugh at Rex jumping off of her wheelchair. That we had one last Christmas Eve to eat her huge, very-unhealthy-but-very-good breakfast. That one last time I could hear her say, “Eat, honey. Eat ’til you’re full. Then eat some more. Eat slow and eat a lot.” That I could open up the refrigerator one last time and see all of the drinks she’d gotten…she always had your favorite good and cold.

Just one last time.

Joy for the Joyless

For so many people, Christmas is pure joy. Gifts. Family. Food. Relaxing. Celebrating.But for some, Christmas is tough.

It’s a reminder of our pain.

Maybe you lost someone you loved, and every Christmas season you’re reminded.

Maybe you’re lonely, and all of the chatter about family, friends, and celebrations reminds you that you don’t have anyone. No family. No children. No spouse. Nobody to celebrate with Christmas morning.

Maybe you got fired during the holidays one year. Maybe your dream crumbled before your eyes.

If you have a family, and you’re able to see them on Christmas, you’re prone to forget about others’ loneliness.

If you haven’t lost someone you love this time of year, it’s easy to forget that others have.

If you have plenty, it’s easy to forget that others don’t.

This season, remember that Jesus came for the broken. The hopeless. The helpless. The shattered. The confused. The sick. The lonely. The angry. The depressed. The fakers. The weak. The ones in pain.

Jesus came for us.

He didn’t stay up in heaven and simply tell us he loved us. He entered our pain. He shifted our world. He came to be one of us, and offer us hope.

He doesn’t offer hope that this life is going to be easy, pain-free, and full of wealth. But He promises to be with us through it all.

Christmas reminds us of that. At Christmas, we see a God who’s not far off, but is near. A God who can sympathize with us in our weakness. (Hebrews 4:15) A God who doesn’t just let His creation groan in pain from afar, but through whom all things hold together.

For God in all his fullness was pleased to live in Christ, and through him God reconciled everything to himself. He made peace with everything in heaven and on earth by means of Christ’s blood on the cross. – Colossians 1:19-20

Jesus came for us.

 

 

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Golden children who lives a perfectly clean, easy, pain-free, frustration-free life don’t die a hero.

Heroes are born on the battlefields of life.

pain

image credit: CreationSwap user Chris Vasquez

The best stories always involve pain, and conflict, and heartache, and failures, and then victories.

Without the sting of failure, you can’t understand the sweetness of victory.

Without the gut-wrench of pain, you can’t understand the beauty of love.

Without stumbling flat on your face, you can’t understand grace.

God’s willing to breathe hope and life and beauty into your frustrating story if you’ll ask.

our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. – 1 Corinthians 4:17

 

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I’ve made it no secret that I’m loving me some amateur gardening. My wife and I have tinkered with raised bed gardens now for a few years. We’ve moved the garden, planted different vegetables, started from seeds, started from plants, experimented with fertilizers, sprayed for deer, thrown oranges at deer (and hit them, thank you very much), and had a blast doing it.

But do you know one thing that’s never happened?

We’ve never had a plant that shot its roots towards the sky and its fruit down into the ground.

We’ve never had to say,

Aww shucks (because that’s what gardeners say…), this plant got it wrong…we need to dig it up and turn it over.

Wouldn’t it be weird to see roots growing towards the sky? To have to dig into the ground to get your fresh tomatoes? To wonder, when you planted your squash, whether the plants would guess, correctly or incorrectly, which direction was “up” and which was “down”?

Plants grow the “right” way because God intended them to grow that way. Science may have pinpointed the reason why this happens, but that doesn’t discount the hand of God to sovereignly direct things for His good and our benefit.

The crazy plant

I wonder how often a plant questions its Maker, though.

Wow, how great would it be for me to do things my way? I so hate growing towards the sun. If I could only sink my flowers down deep into this dark soil, things would be much better.

Ridiculous, no? We all know that that won’t work. Roots have to go into the soil. Fruit grows in the sun. (well…unless you’re a potato. But that’s another post for another day) It doesn’t work if this process is reversed. It’s not how plants are supposed to function.

We’re like a crazy plant

We do the same thing, though, in our lives, when we think we know better than God. We ignore the full life that God offers us. We go at life our own way, ignoring the wisdom God offers through others, through Scripture, and through life experiences. We think that we must know better. That our way must be the best. That roots don’t grow deep into the soil. That our roots need a bit of sunshine, and our fruit a bit of darkness.

There is a way that seems right to a man, but its end is the way to death. (Proverbs 14:12)

But life doesn’t always happen as we’d like it to, does it? What we thought would happen by the time we turn 25 hasn’t. We’re not married. Or we don’t have children. Or we’re not in our dream job yet. Or we don’t have a house. Or we don’t have much money. Or we haven’t finished our degree. Or our dad still doesn’t want a relationship with us. By 40, our kids don’t like us. We’re on our 3rd marriage. Still in debt. Still have a dead-end job. Maybe life has left us trashed.

And life itself has stopped making sense.

If God is who He’s claimed He is, our natural inclination would be to accuse, blame, and turn our backs on the One who has created it all.

But let me challenge you with a better way. I think it’s time to trust the Guy who knew us before He crafted us in the womb (Psalm 139:13-16). Who knew what He was doing before we were born.

Even when it doesn’t make sense. Even when things are chaotic. Even when things are falling apart.

The One who created all of this knows what’s best. His perspective is bigger than ours. His ways are higher than ours. (Isaiah 55:8-9) His love is deeper than ours. His joy is more full than ours. And He’s able to bring beauty out of ashes. (Isaiah 61:3)

Choose to scream and rail and throw your hands in the air if you’d like.

Or choose to let your roots sink deeper…and let your fruit grow upwards.

 

 

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Don’t waste your pain

Ben Reed —  May 21, 2012 — 8 Comments

What does it look like to live a good story? Am I living a good story? Why does it matter? I’m blogging as a part of a series today for Prodigal Magazine on what it looks like to live a good story. You can catch the rest of the writers HERE.

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When I was in graduate school, my wife and I joined a small group. Small groups are supposed to be a place of safety, and trust, and growth and encouragement. A place where you form relationships that help you make sense out of life, pursue Jesus together, and enjoy friendship. That’s the bill we were sold, and we bought it. Every Sunday night, we’d trek across town, 35 minutes south, reading our small group study on the way to group (don’t judge us), praying we weren’t the first to be called on to answer a question. Praying we weren’t asked to sign a sheet of paper that said, “I read all of this week’s lesson…before I got in the car to come over here.”

For a season, everything was great. My wife and I were both in seminary, so getting ourselves out of the academic classroom was refreshing for us. As we focused on applying the Scriptures to our lives, we found the Bible coming alive once again.

When things go sideways

But then we had to miss group for 3 weeks in a row. We had to be out of town for various (and might I add, legitimate) reasons, and couldn’t make it to group. The moment I got back in town, our group leader called me, and said, “Ben, I noticed you and Laura have been absent from group for a while now…” and he just kind of let it hang out there, hoping that I would pour out my heart in confession. But I didn’t. I just made things more awkward, letting the silence hang, creating a thick air of tension. My main reason for the silence was because I had no idea what he was driving towards. He pointed out that Laura and I had been absent for a few weeks, questioning our commitment to the group and our integrity as individuals. He said that because of our spotty attendance, there were people in the group who didn’t trust us anymore.

“Because we missed 3 weeks?” I said.

“Yep.” he confidently returned.

He began to unpack his thoughts, calling my integrity into question because, “I just think you’re holding stuff back from the group, Ben…because when we share prayer requests, you don’t cry.”

I can’t even begin to tell you how frustrated I was…we thought we were committed to the group! “Ok…I get it. This is a joke, right? Joke’s on me! I almost fell for it,” I said.  But as I dug a little deeper, I found that there was a family in the group gossiping about us. They’d pull the leader to the side and plant little thoughts into our leader’s head, calling Laura and me into question. And as far as my lack of crying goes…I’m just not a cryer. Not that there’s anything wrong with guys crying…I make fun of those guys, but there’s nothing wrong with it. (that’s a joke…if you’re offended by that, then cry about it and I’ll make fun of you. :) ) I’m not trying to be uber-tough, it’s just not my personality. But it was the personality of some of the guys in the group, and so, because nobody talked with me about this, space was created for people to think I was masking some deep pain. I wasn’t.

Over time, the leader began to believe the lies. Something that was absolutely benign, that could’ve been handled with one conversation, grew to a point where my wife and I were ready to be done with community. We were soon to move anyway, so we were just ready to check out of small groups altogether. Forever.

So we did. We walked away from this great gift God has given his people.

Until I got a call 2 years later from Grace Community Church to be their small groups pastor. Suddenly, this gift was placed back in my lap, and I had to wrestle through the risk of stepping back in, making myself vulnerable once again. I had to figure out whether I believed that biblical community was a gift…or a weapon. I had to discern if God was calling me to help others experience this weapon-gift or not.

4.5 years later, I can tell you with great certainty that I’ve found an area of life and ministry that I’ll give the rest of my life to promote. “Community” is a value that I hold in high regard. It was through frustration, though, that I found it. Had I not experienced the dark side of community, I wouldn’t value healthy, authentic, biblical community like I do.

Isn’t it funny how God works?

Isn’t it funny how God uses pain and frustration to shape who you’re becoming? How He uses an event or a relationship or a season of life to shake us to our core, and cause us to question so many things. And through that, mold us into who He created us to be.

I’m quick to pray the prayer, “God, please remove this suffering…I don’t like it.” But I have found that prayer, in my life, to be a reflection of an immature side of my faith. Instead, I’ve learned to pray, “God, through this suffering, give me eyes to see what you’re up to.” I wish I could say that my knee-jerk reaction to anything difficult in life is this prayer. Alas, I’m a work in progress.

It’s not wrong to ask God to remove pain. But through pain, don’t miss what God’s teaching you. Don’t miss the bigger picture that He’s up to, and how He’s ready and willing to use your pain to help others. (2 Corinthians 1:3-11)

Don’t waste your pain. Let God use it.

Question:

What pain, that you’re experiencing right now, might God be using to shape you into who He created you to be?

What pain, that you’re experiencing right now, might God use to change someone else’s view of life, difficulties, and Jesus?

 

 

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The Quiet

Ben Reed —  September 30, 2011 — 6 Comments

The Quiet

In this room, The Quiet is victorious.

It’s heavy and loud and visible.

Nervous laughter and fond memories

open the gate that’s quickly shut

as once again the conquerer is

The Quiet.


The Quiet beckons to let life go.

The room hangs on every breath.

and for a brief moment hearts grasp for life.

The exchange of slow breaths for open eyes

quickly give way, yielding to

The Quiet


Gaining strength with every vacuous breath,

Stealing hope and drawing water from eyes,

One force dominates through stress,

multiplying fatigue, frustrations, and pain,

Growing stronger with every moment:

The Quiet


Until The Quiet loses ground.

Hope bursts forth as life slips

and tears sprout a tension of joy and

sadness.

The battle is over.

Eternity begins.


 

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Did you know that studies show that toddlers who wear cloth underwear tend to potty train faster than those that wear disposable pull-ups?

I have a two year-old now, and we’re in the middle of potty training. And 9 times out of 10, we have cloth on him. Because we’re ready to be done with this stage!

Do you know why children who wear cloth underwear train so much faster?

Because when they go to the bathroom, they feel the discomfort. It’s not immediately wicked away by a disposable diaper.  They feel the same discomfort you’d feel if you wet your pants right now.

It’s not a pleasant feeling.

Discomfort is a great motivator

Discomfort is a great motivator for a child to not pee their pants. Because they instantly feel the discomfort, and until someone changes their pants, they remain in that discomfort.

It’s as if part of their growth comes through pain.  And part of their immaturity is allowed to hang around if they are never exposed to that difficulty.  In other words, their difficulty is wasted (no pun intended) because they don’t feel it.

Don’t Waste the Pain

The exact same thing can happen in our lives.

Difficulties have the chance to grow us.  To help us take steps of faith towards God.  Or, we can move so quickly past them that we waste them.

If you never feel the sting of defeat, the pain of losing someone you love, the failure of your plans, the loss of a job, a bad decision, rejection, heartache, or just the dark side of the soul…then you can’t grow through the pain.  Difficulty incubates growth.

Some of the greatest times of growth in my life have come on the heels of great failure.

I don’t know what you’re going through right now.  But I know something about your struggles.  You can act like the pain’s not there.

Or you can acknowledge it, feel it, invite others into it, and grow through it.

God allows difficulties to fall on us because He’s interested in our growth.  Because without pain, growth ekes.

Don’t waste pain.  Let God use it for good.

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. – Romans 8:28

 

 

 

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