Heal My Suffering as I Wait

RENAE MILLER


As I thought about the theme for this week, I felt hopelessly inadequate to be able to respond to it. I’m overwhelmingly grateful, during a time when so many are not well physically due to both factors they can and cannot control, that I do have my health. If I am brutally honest, one of my biggest fears is having a major health concern, and because of that I can be sort of a religious fanatic about taking care of my physical body — you can ask my family about the ways they have had to suffer in order to stomach the menus on my “healthy” palate. (I would feel quite culinarily accomplished to be able to say that I enjoy the taste of beets and liver since they are so healthy — but alas, I have only prepared them thus far in ways that could not be considered better than blah.) I would love to say that my healthy behaviors are present purely because I have such a good self-concept and am so emotionally healthy that I just want to take care of the body I’ve been given. Sure, there are moments where that’s true — but let’s be real, I’m decently motivated by fear. And of course there are also the moments where fear be damned, let’s eat Christmas cookies! :)

So digging into the text for this week, Psalm 6, I read words like, “heal me, Lord, for my bones are in agony!” I think to myself, I don’t want this to ever be me. I don’t want my bones to be in agony. I try to put myself in the mindset of the psalmist who is writing this — what would it be like to feel agony in my bones and be left to wait for God to do something? Anything. To relieve my suffering. It’s a horrifying thought to me, and so I think about all the ways that I try to avoid suffering of any kind, how I don’t want to be left in a position where the only thing I can do is wait on God. I also think about the ways that I lean on my own ability to steer clear of suffering, perhaps particularly on my own delusion that I somehow have the power to stay away from that which I most fear. 

At the same time I think those thoughts, I also think about how selfish it is for me to think these thoughts. There are many throughout history and present day who are in such a spot where their body aches and is riddled with disease. What a jerk am I for recoiling in horror at a sentiment that resonates with the experiences of people I know and love. Could I be that person? That jerk? The one who is just happy she doesn’t have to wait for God to fix that really big problem some other poor soul has? 

But even though I might be selfish (welcome to the inner critic of an Enneagram 1!), I come back to the idea that although this psalm was written thousands of years ago, it continues to speak to people of all ages, cultures, situations, etc. Solace is found when we realize that others share our experience, or even the experiences that we fear will be true for us one day. Solace is also found when we know that “the Lord has heard my weeping” and that “the Lord accepts my prayer.” Pain is universal. Waiting for God to intervene when I am in pain would be a great skill to acquire, because I will need it at some point — undoubtedly. 

Also, what if there is something beautiful that I miss if I try to avoid having to wait on God? When I hurt from the monthly reminder that I am a female, I take my ibuprofen, get out my heating pad, and try to pretend it is not happening. I know that in a couple of days, this too will pass. But what if I was living during the psalmist’s time, where ibuprofen and heating pads did not exist, and what did exist perhaps provided little relief? The time I threw my back out while pregnant and had to crawl across the floor just to use the facilities — I didn’t know how long I would suffer, but I could reasonably believe that my husband would help me limp to the chiropractor and all would be well again eventually. What would it be like to rely on God’s sustenance during times of suffering with no predictable end point? Not that God does not provide all of these different ways to relief we are blessed with in modern times with modern medicine — but there is something beautiful about sitting in the waiting and reflecting on the beauty of the psalmist’s words: “The Lord has heard my weeping.”

If you all figure it out, you’ll have to be sure to let me know. :)

Advent means waiting. We are waiting on Christ to return and make all things new. To right the wrongs. To heal the suffering. To bring justice to the afflicted. Waiting takes a long time.  Waiting is hard. Remembering the joy of the incarnation is the heart of Advent — that Christ waits with us. To be heard in our cries for relief from suffering are sometimes enough. I was working with a psychotherapy client on their early childhood, pre-verbal experiences a few weeks ago. They acknowledged a time when they had physical suffering as an infant, and there was a moment when their suffering was reduced by the idea that they were held, cared for, and seen and heard in their suffering, even though the physical pain didn’t go away. I think we all want that — to be seen, heard, and understood in the midst of our pain, of whatever nature. Perhaps that is why Christmas is my favorite time of year. The reminder that Christ is with us and within us, during whatever pain we may bear while we wait for restoration.

We are not alone. We have each other in the waiting. Presence in the waiting. May your suffering be filled with reminders of presence — Christ’s presence within and the Imago Dei in those around you. Grace and peace.


Renae is a wife to one, mother to two, and part-time mental health therapist to many at a private practice in Peoria, specializing in anxiety disorders and OCD. She has attended Imago since the 2nd Sunday it has been in existence and loves the church and its people deeply. She sings in the Peoria Area Civic Chorale and kickboxes for fun. She has ridden over 220 different rollercoasters and continues to love traveling to different theme parks to increase that number. She has been excited to join the Leadership Team at Imago to add this to her list of adventures.



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