You know how sometimes you hang out with one person a lot, and this other person sometimes, but you can't really hang out all together because your two friends can't even stand each other?
And then whenever you are with one, the other one is like, "So I saw your post from Thursday night. You tried to crop So-and-so out, but I totally saw her arm in the picture. Is that why you weren't texting me back? What did she say about me?"
And then you have to assure her that her name truly never came up because the last thing you want to do is spend your evening rehashing "All the ways So-and-so is trying to ruin my life."
And your other friend hears that you and the first friend talked and then she gets this quiet look of betrayal and her eyes fill up with tears and she spends two hours pouting while you make conversation with yourself.
And you're tempted to ditch one friend and just hang with the other because you are SOOO sick of the drama, but you can't do it because they both bring something important to your life.
Like, the one is somewhat hard to be around because she's the total opposite of you and a little crazy, but she's really challenging and she makes you think and spurs you to become stronger in your own beliefs, but the other is such a gentle soul and her very presence infuses your spirit with light and peace and you can't really imagine your life without either one.
It's so much fun, right?
So, I grew up with one of these friends. Her name is "Gratitude" and I can't say enough about how sweet she is. A little high maintenance, if you must know--always getting her feelings hurt and needing reassurance that you still value her, but overall worth the investment because her very existence lifts you to a higher plane.
Then a few years back, I met a gal named "Pain". To be honest I couldn't stand her at first, and even now, I don't call her. She calls me. And for some reason, I can't say no. We have a sort of love/hate relationship. She comes around and wreaks havoc and drags me around, and I never enjoy it at the time, but later, I see she has sharpened my thinking, inspired me, grown me beyond my borders. She is like a disease, but somehow she leaves me better and stronger.
I still dread her visits, but perhaps a little less each time? I don't know.
Her friends though! Awful creatures. Always lurking in the background, smirking. Dangerous. They go by the names "Anger" and "Fear" and I don't trust them any farther than they can throw me.
But here's the problem.
Pain and Gratitude are arch enemies. Or that is what they've told themselves, and I'm in the middle trying to keep the peace.
Their spat began a few years back--well actually, it was right after the Garden of Eden--and ever since then they can barely stand to be in the same zip code.
In fact, they don't ever like to occupy the same space, but Gratitude is the more delicate and skittish of the two.
For instance, for a while, Gratitude and I were roommates and Pain called and needed a place to stay. Wouldn't you know, Gratitude packs up and moves out in a huff.
Pain is not quite as fickle.
Since then, I have felt lucky if Gratitude shows up at my place with an overnight bag. But Pain often comes with a moving truck, and after she has established residence, even if I have managed to wheedle and coax Gratitude to return for a visit, Pain tries to move her to a cot in the attic and take over the rest of the house--with her weird friends.
If I do not keep a careful watch, Anger and Fear typically try to arrive within hours or days of Pain, and they also don't play well with Gratitude.
Every time Gratitude tries to open her mouth, Anger and Fear tell her to shut up, and then they try to convince me that Gratitude is a liar and a pervert and that their version of reality is the right one and that we ought to tie Gratitude up and starve her in the basement.
On the other hand, Pain's nasty friends demand to have sole access to the fridge, as well as full possession of my conscious thoughts. You can't imagine how irritating that is!
They drink up my energy and leave the empty cans lying around. They leave alarming smells in the corridors of my mind and put their stinky feet up on my mental furniture.
They sleep in all the beds and leave disgusting stains on my convictions.
They doodle on the pages of my first edition copies of truth, and rifle through my well organized thoughts.
Complaining about the fresh air of faith and the light of hope, they shut the windows and draw the drapes, belching up their foul doubts and the darkness of dread into every corner of every room.
If Gratitude survives this onslaught, she often grows thin and pale, gasping out her encouragements with frail, wispy words that dribble out of her mouth and fall in sad little piles at her feet. (Honestly, I think Gratitude likes to play up her fragility, and it is difficult not to become irritated at her helpless flutterings in the wake of Pain's visits.)
Sometimes Gratitude becomes so quiet I can't even find her, although I know she must still be in the house since (last I knew) she was too sick to leave her bed...
...unless she has managed to slip out and disappear altogether. She does that sometimes. And then I am just left alone to contend with Anger and Fear--a prisoner in the equivalent of an emotional frat house, with two flaccid, debauched slobs who never plan to graduate and spend their days slouching around the house in filthy clothes, laughing at their own lewd jokes and leering at me from dark corners.
Sometimes it's my own fault and in a moment of insanity, I invite Pain and her friends into my life.
But sometimes they just show up and despite my door locks and deadbolts and home security systems, they make it into my life and set up camp.
What then?
This is an important question because Pain is a frequent caller in the lives of most of us, and her friends often sneak in with her, so unless the above scenario sounds appealing, we'd best figure out a coping strategy sooner than later. (If you haven't experienced this yet, sorry to break it to you--you will.)
This decade has been rough. I have chronicled that story in a previous post. Since I wrote that, we have gone through an injury resulting in a serious surgery, the loss of a job, struggles and pain in some very close relationships, and an Autism diagnosis for one of our children.
Even without the external hardships, Jamey and I have long struggled with feeling like inadequate parents. We feel under-trained and over-tasked. We are two selfish introverts in a perpetual circus.
And the schedule is brutal. And there are clowns.
Lots of clowns.
So is it any wonder that we struggle to live in a spirit of thankfulness?
And yet, we know there is gratitude to be had, and we do not want our children to think that living in a joyless house with sticky floors and cranky parents and broken...everything...is their fate.
We want to make a place where Gratitude and her friends, Joy and Peace can unpack their things and stay. I'm not saying that Pain will ever leave, but we can at least make her come alone and abide by the house rules.
Actually, although her visits always leave a mark, I've made peace with the fact that Pain is a useful part of my life. In some ways she is the yin to Gratitude's yang.
When Pain knocks out some of my smug self-confidence, Gratitude reminds me of where my confidence should lie.
When Pain destroys my beloved health or wellness or sense of security, Gratitude comes behind and points out all the lovely things that are left to me--often things that I had overlooked before.
When Pain wrecks my plans, Gratitude points beyond the horizon to the hope of things eternal and unseen (2 Corinthians 4:18) and to the time of all things made new (Revelation 21:1-8).
Pain pries our hands off the useless pursuits of things on earth (Ecclesiastes 1:14). Gratitude gives us a vision for opportunities of eternal significance (Colossians 2:7, Matthew 6:33).
They really should be friends, because as much as we may wish it were not so, we need both the rest that accompanies Gratitude and the agitation Pain provides. The pleasure is keener in light of the sting and the sweet plays well off of the spicy.
As for Anger and Fear, well, I haven't much use for them. Ideally, I want them to either see the light, airy spaces in our house and feel too uncomfortable to stay, or else be evicted by "the expulsive power of a greater affection" (Thomas Chalmers)--specifically our great love for our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ (Colossians 3:15-17)
Meanwhile, I want to neither dread the challenging acerbity of Pain, nor fail to nurture the gentle affections of Gratitude in my life.
While they may always share an uneasy peace with one other, together I think they both make me better.
**********
James 1:2-4
Count it all joy, my brothers,
when you meet trials of various kinds,
for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness.
And let steadfastness have its full effect,
that you may be perfect and complete,
lacking in nothing.
