Painful Purification: Beauty from Ashes.

I’m so stoked, and honored, to share a special guest post from Deanna Brown. This dear friend has walked a difficult road the past four years. One most of us will never be challenged to experience. When I came across the quote (below) from Madeleine L’Engle, I knew I could not relate to the type of pain expressed in the passage with the same depth as others. Deanna naturally came to mind as I have watched her deal with varied, longterm affliction. Her raw honesty is beautiful. She takes her crumbling world to the feet of the cross and finds a gracious, faithful Savior that lifts her and enables her to continue to share His love and goodness with others. Deanna pours herself out and Christ fills her up! Read on and be encouraged. (This is Part 1 of 2 posts).

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Thank you, Heather, for the opportunity to be a guest in your domain 🙂 The subject of ‘pain’ is near and dear to my heart. When I began working on this piece, the proverbial bottom fell out of my less-than-idyllic life, and I was tempted, for a moment, to blame it on you (I might be a bit superstitious). However, I soon came to my senses and realized what a gift it was to meditate on these truths in the midst of the storm. And so I say thank you for the encouragement of this assignment. Thank you for your friendship and your prayers. Thank you for sharing your public with little ol’ me. Now to the task at hand. The quote:

“The unending paradox is that we do learn through pain.

    “My mother’s long life had more than its fair share of pain and tragedy. One time, after something difficult had happened, one of her childhood friends came to give comfort and help. Instead of which, she burst into tears and sobbed out, “I envy you! I envy you! You’ve had a terrible life, but you’ve lived!”

     “I look back at my mother’s life and I see suffering deepening and strengthening it. In some people I have also seen it destroy. Pain is not always creative; received wrongly, it can lead to alcoholism and madness and suicide. Nevertheless, without it we do not grow.” Madeleine L’Engle Walking on Water

Recently I was talking to a friend about dealing with a particular behavior of a three year old and I was reminded of the above quote. As the purpose of this post is not to discuss methods of child discipline, I will refrain from expressing my opinion on proper child rearing techniques other than to say that it is sometimes necessary to provide unpleasant consequences to curb inappropriate or dangerous behavior. And sometimes that child will happen onto the unpleasantness for himself. I have heard, more than once, the story of a child who was cautioned not to touch the hot stove. But, while the parent repeated this caution earnestly and often, the child didn’t learn the lesson for himself until he reached his finger out and felt the burn. We learn through pain.

As always, when I am giving mommy advice to the various younger women in my life, I am reminded that these familial relationships are a reflection of my relationship with my Heavenly Father. As a child in His family, I also learn through pain; some of it from the hand of a loving Father who will not rest until He has completed in me what He began at my conversion (Philippians 1:6). Some of it self-inflicted because I simply won’t learn until I reach out and feel the burn. And some of it because I live in a world that has been full of death and pain, ever since the first Adam sought to be god. All three of these forms of pain have been a part of my learning and growth.

I am a rule keeper by nature. It’s not that I am good. Nor do I think I am particularly proud of my rule-keeping accomplishments. The truth is, I have an over-zealous fear of authority. I do not like to get caught. Consequently, I am not a risk-taker. But not having the desire to be outwardly rebellious does not keep me from often having to be chastened by my Father for the secret sins of my heart. Those verses in the Sermon on the Mount are there for the Pharisees of the world like me – you may not murder anyone, but you hate, which is murder of the heart. Sin is of the heart.

So, much of my pain has been of the heart. The Holy Spirit brings to light for me my sins and I am grieved by them. But as a believer I find great comfort in this, because I know that this is God’s way of bringing about in me that likeness to Christ that I so desire. We are reminded in Hebrews 12 that the Lord chastens the one He loves. Just as we train our children through discipline—because we love them too much to let them destroy themselves and the people around them—so the Lord loves his children, and will discipline them.

Can it be said that people always learn good lessons through pain? Of course, not! As L’engle states, there are some who learn to mask the pain with substances that give temporary relief, whether that be food, drink or chemicals. There are those who learn to inflict pain on others, either verbally or physically. There are those who learn hopelessness and depression. What makes me different? How can I learn, as L’engle’s mother did, to be strengthened and deepened by suffering instead of embittered and self-destructive?

As a believer, there is only one answer: Count it all joy (James 1:2). I do not mean to sound trite here. I have suffered much in this life in American terms (in terms of what my brothers and sisters in other countries suffer on a regular basis, I have not suffered at all). I have not always done a good job of being joyful in those trials. But I have come to understand the value of pain in the life of a believer. Malachi 3 describes the Messiah as being like a refiner’s fire, and a launderer’s soap. This concept is seen throughout the Psalms as well. The trials that we face as believers, whether they are in the daily living of life in a broken world, or true suffering for the cause of Christ, work as a tool to draw out the impurities in our hearts and leave behind the pure white cloth of Christ’s righteousness. Back in James 1 we see a similar idea presented, “My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience. But let patience have its perfect work, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing.” There is something about those trials that strip away the selfishness and sinfulness of our hearts and leaves behind the completeness of Christ’s righteousness. That is why we can count it all joy. We know that whatever pain and suffering comes into our lives is not senseless. It is used to help us put off the old man and put on Christ (Romans 6).

I have found that suffering has a way of elucidating what is really of importance. We are often distracted by the glittering temptations offered in a wealthy society. We want things. We want comfort. We think that if we have the right job, eat the right food, and conduct our lives in a certain way, we will be able to control our destinies. When one or more of these are removed from us, we realize that they are not necessary for existence. They are not even necessary for happiness. And we begin to have an inkling of the value of our relationship with Christ. As Martin Luther once penned, “Let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also; the body they may kill: God’s truth abideth still; His kingdom is forever.”

There is something else that is learned when a believer suffers. We see this hinted at in the above reference by the friend who exclaimed, “I envy you! I envy you! You have had a terrible life, but you have lived!” Here I think we have a peek at a person who comes to offer comfort and who, instead, is comforted. I am imagining that the testimony of L’Engle’s mother was such that the visitor was struck by the strength of character exhibited. It reminds me of the passage in 2 Corinthians 1:2-7. Paul and Timothy were experiencing great suffering for their faith. In the midst of their pain they were comforted by the triune God. As Paul wrote of it, he explained that, as they were comforted by God, they learned to comfort others. If we suffer with the comfort of God, we give courage to fellow believers as they suffer. They realize that what they are experiencing is not strange . . . but a normal part of the Christian experience. They see the example of suffering with patience, and they are bolstered in their own efforts to suffer patiently. And in our suffering, we learn what really helps in terms of comfort. We are equipped through our experiences to be a help to others.

Do you need another confirmation that we learn through suffering? We need only to look to the example our Savior, who was without sin, but who was described in this way, “[Christ] in the days of his flesh, when He had offered up prayers and supplications, with vehement cries and tears to Him who was able to save Him from death, and was heard because of His godly fear, though He was a Son, yet He learned obedience by the things which He suffered.” (Hebrews 5:8) This passage has become a great comfort to me in the past few months. While my heart is never as pure as Christ’s, it is encouraging to know that suffering is not always a punishment for sin. Instead, it may be a tool for learning obedience. And should a servant be above his master? Should I not cheerfully submit to the same tools that were used to teach obedience to Christ?

I also learn from this passage that it is permissible to pray with vehement cries and tears. I am allowed to acknowledge before my Heavenly Father that His good providences are often disguised as very unpleasant circumstances. There is no sin in my tears, if I remember the words of my Savior that were spoken through those tears, “Your will be done” (Luke 22:42).

This is what makes the difference between whether pain will teach me alcoholism, madness, and suicide—or how to really live as L’engle’s mother, with strengthening and depth of spirit. Will I see pain only at face value? Or will I look beyond the pain to the work it accomplishes in me through the grace of God? Will I trust what I see with my eyes and feel with my body of dust? Or will I trust what I have been told by the God who does not lie? There is a choice to be made, every day, with every pain. I don’t look for ways to suffer. But if I find myself in pain, I have a joy of spirit in the knowledge that there is a purpose to it all. And so I have the courage to say with my brother, Jesus Christ who has gone before me, “Father, if it is your will, take this cup away from me; nevertheless, not my will but Yours be done.”

In this way, pain is creative. It creates in us a clean heart and a new man. As Christ makes beauty from the ashes in our lives, He teaches us to create beautiful things from the depth of our experience. For me, that has been in the crafting of words. For others it may be in painting or sewing or repurposing the discarded things of this world. Consider all the lyrics that have been written over the ages from the depths of pain. In the fiber of it all is the hidden truth of the spirit. We suffer, but we survive. More than that, we thrive. I will attempt to expound on this idea in the next post.

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Deanna Brown grew up in East Africa as the daughter of Southern Baptist missionaries. She has a BSW (Bachelor of Social Work) from University of North Texas. After a very short career as a medical social worker, she married and became a stay-at-home mom. She home schooled the three youngest of her five children, one of which struggles with a chronic illness. When she was not quite finished home schooling, her husband had a massive stroke, which left him severely debilitated. For the past three and a half years she has been a full-time caregiver. When Deanna was young, she had a love for writing and dreamed of some day being published. This dream was mostly forgotten in the midst of responsibilities of wife, mom, and teacher. However, as she struggled to cope with the difficulties of caring for her husband, she found refuge in the keys of her laptop. Thus was born her blog, www.strokemanswoman.wordpress.com. There she types away her grief, her struggles, and her consolation in the Triune God. Occasionally she also writes of the many happy memories of her childhood and her children – especially the ones that made her laugh.