Listen to the audio version Jane’s essay.
When I was a young girl, I spent hours marching in my grandma’s living room, to the tunes of John Philip Sousa that played on her record player. Grandma gave me a plastic baton & I marched myself silly, dreaming of one day becoming a majorette in the high school marching band. In our small, northwest Iowa community, music was front & center in both church & school. Though I took piano lessons, I had my eye on our neighbor, who gave jaw-dropping performances as head majorette in the band.
Marching Orders
Around the time I was going to enter junior high, Yvonne offered baton lessons during the summer. I was all in! She was great at teaching and I marched in a few parades in junior high. It was fun and enjoyable & I was hooked! So, I was thrilled when I made the high school majorette corps as a freshman. The 16 of us practiced both during band hours and after school, working long & hard perfecting a variety of routines while wearing the traditional white boots with tassels. The band played/marched at football games, parades (the longest being 5 miles), the Tulip Festival, outside community events, & school competitions. It was physical work but all the marching orders that our band stepped off, in training, paid off. I don’t ever remember getting less than an A+ rating at competitions. It was a commitment, but it was FUN & one of my favorite memories. To this day, I can still twirl to routines # 1 & # 5. 😊
Fast forward 25 years, when in a crisis moment, my heavenly Father issued me a completely different set of marching orders. After returning from a family retreat, I received a late-night call from my brother, informing me that mom was in the hospital (28 hours away), had brain bleed resulting in a stroke, & wasn’t expected to survive. Arrangements made that evening are a blur to me even now. I went from doing laundry to standing by her bedside in a matter of hours.
My 2 siblings & I had the privilege of witnessing her final moments on earth. Even though it appeared she had no brain activity, she responded to my voice by turning her head toward me when I prayed. Then she resisted our hands & pulled her hands up, above her body. After 30 seconds or so, she slowly lowered them into her lap, folding them like she normally did. Her heart beat 20 more minutes before she went Home to Jesus. I can still see her in my mind. I’ll never forget it!
Two hours later, I walked into her house, immediately seeing the signs of her last moments there…the recliner where she was found unconscious, the broken lock from the EMT’s forced entry, & the little indicators that said she had completed normal tasks & was resting. She had fallen asleep listening to Christian radio. It was surreal! In 3 years, both dad & mom were gone.
Despite being up for 40 hours, sleep evaded my body because my mind was reeling. Sometime after midnight I got out of bed & sat on the carpeted floor in front of the upstairs furnace vent. My sis & niece were already sleeping. The waves of loss & exhaustion were hitting hard by this time. I was a heap on the floor. Still in my early 40s, I felt too young for this to be reality. Some of my friends still had their grandparents. Steve’s parents were still living. Combined with the fact that he & the girls were traveling in the van, I felt isolated, lonely, & despairing…like I was suffocating. I was crying hard & my silent, wailing plea was, “Dear God, help me!”
These days the phrase “God told me” is often used flippantly to validate independent decisions. If things don’t work out, God just “says” something else & folks adjust former plans. This is NOT the attitude I’m promoting in the experience that I’m about to share. In the parable of the Good Shepherd, Jesus makes it crystal clear that you can’t hear His voice unless you’ve received Him into your life. He is THE DOOR. (John 10:7-11) He isn’t some catch-all phrase to justify self-driven decisions. “…He goes before them & the sheep follow because they know His voice…a stranger they simply will not follow…but will flee…because they do not know the voice of strangers…I am the good shepherd; & I know My own, & My own know Me…My sheep hear My voice, & I know them & they follow me; & I give eternal life to them,& they shall never perish; & no one shall snatch them out of My hand.”( vs 3-5,14,27-28)
I believe the Spirit testifies to Biblical Truth, in indwelt believers, when they hear it. But God will NEVER tell you to do something contrary to what is already stated in His Word. When God spoke to me as I lay a weeping mess on the floor, it wasn’t some booming voice or some weird aberration in my imagination. I recognized Him. The words that came into my mind didn’t go against Scripture. And, I couldn’t have dreamed up what He whispered -- no matter how hard I tried. This was a defining, life-changing moment for me. He gave me my spiritual marching orders. In my deep sense of abandonment, I heard this: “Embrace the pain. Do not run from it. Milk it, (I pictured a cow) squeezing everything out that you can learn from it. I AM IN THE PAIN. If you run from it, you will miss me.”
Without talking much about it, my mom embraced a great deal of painful trials in her lifetime. But neither she nor my dad were crabby people. Pain didn’t make them bitter. They were loyal to the core. And they were tender-hearted. My mom was a praying, believing, never-give-up-on-God’s Word-and- promises kind of woman…to her grave. Even when things didn’t happen on her timetable. I am a more resolved person because of her unwavering faith. She is in my personal “triumphs of faith.” (See Hebrews 11)
Embracing pain has been my life message ever since that cold March evening by the furnace vent. Initially, I thought that God was referring to physical loss through death. Over time I learned that there are losses far worse than death, that I am required to live in daily, on behalf of other people for the purpose of forgiveness & prayer. Rarely a day goes by that God doesn’t remind me that my Savior lived embracing pain & suffering & grief for those He loved. His life-giving Words have sustained me through some of the hardest situations in my life, to date. But I’ll never get used to the reality of embracing pain. It will always hurt. Am I thankful for it? Not necessarily in the moment. But God has seasoned me enough in the lesson to recognize He’s at work, refining me continually. As I trust His love & faithfulness proven in His Word, no matter how I might be feeling in the moment, He reminds me that Jesus’ life on earth wasn’t a walk in the park. Most folks misread His intentions, misinterpreted & misquoted His Words, & some deserted Him in His greatest hour of pain. During His defining moments of grappling with God’s will in the garden, the disciples fell asleep…twice! And who stood at the Cross? A precious few who were not ashamed or afraid-- that’s it! Jesus learned obedience (submission/total dependence on His Father) through suffering. (Hebrews 5:8) Why would I ever presume to think I deserve an easy, predictable, carefree life?
As unappealing as unsuspecting prospects for growth might be, humanly speaking, I have learned that the most life-altering, freeing lessons are massaged into our lives through pain. In Christ, pain has an eternal purpose. Pain reveals our weakness & inability to help ourselves. Pain reveals our need, if we aren’t too proud to admit it. Pain can be a teaching tool, if we don’t resist the correction process. Pain can be a bridge to experiencing God’s great love, in Christ. Pain can Glorify God…which is the ultimate purpose for His children. So, I will continue marching, reminded daily that He sees all that concerns me & works to accomplish His purposes in my life.
“The Christian life is not about our own capacity and ability, but about God’s; not about who we are, but who He is; not about what we have to offer, but what He offers, which is all of Himself, if we are as available to Christ as Christ was available to His Father.” (page 124 THE INDWELLING LIFE OF CHRIST—W. Ian Thomas)
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