I was 9 years old when I was jolted up from my sleep in the middle of the night. I was in excruciating pain that I had never felt before. It felt like something was pulling my legs out of their sockets and tears started streaming down my face. With all of the strength I could muster I ran to the other side of the house to my parents’ room and flung open the door, sobbing. I ran to my mom and yelped my agony through intermittent bursts of what words I could form through my blubbery tear and snot-stained face.
Immediately she began to pray:
“Jesus, help her to find comfort in You through her growing pains.”
It was the first time I heard those words: growing pains.
As my pain lessened, and I calmed down she began to explain what growing pains were. She explained that some parts of growing from a little girl into a woman would be painful, and that this wouldn’t be the last pain I felt as I continued to grow, but reassured me that in the midst of the pain, I have a Comforter who is with me, and if He doesn’t remove the pain, He will provide a way for me to have the strength to go through it.
As I look at my life, it’s so interesting to see how much I try to avoid discomfort, hardship, conflict, disappointment, rejection and difficult things. But what if there’s blessings hidden in your hardship? What if the disappointment and heartache is there to remind you that the world can’t satisfy?
I had a conversation with someone a while ago and I asked them, “What is your greatest goal in life?”
Their response was: “To experience the least amount of pain, suffering, and struggle by living a very comfortable life.”
Their answer astounded me. Of course that reality sounds glorious, even Eden-like. But if we’re too busy pursuing our comfort, where is there room for growth? What let’s you know that you’re even alive if you’re constantly striving and thinking about how to make your comfort zone more comfortable? How can you appreciate what it means to be comfortable, if you haven’t experienced discomfort?
I’m not saying being comfortable is bad, or that we shouldn’t enjoy life. Those are good, worthwhile things. But being comfortable shouldn’t consume us in such a way that causes us to avoid growth because it has the capacity to hurt us. Being uncomfortable requires us to lean on something greater than ourselves when we experience things outside of our control.
I’ve noticed that it’s most often the people who can find joy with less, tend to be more grateful. If we can train our minds and hearts to reflect a similar perspective to see every circumstance as a blessing regardless of how it “feels” or “serves us”, if it means that we’re growing because of it, isn’t that a good enough reason to see it as a blessing— even if it hurts as we go through it? What if the only growth we experience when going through a hardship is simply embracing that we aren’t in control, and allowing our faith grow in the midst of things we can’t understand?
The pursuit of only the comfortable things can lead us to a place of self-centeredness that causes us to not seek out opportunities to comfort those who are hurting, empathizing with those are are struggling, and making time for serving others.
What if it’s the story of what you went through that allowed you to see more of the fullness of who God is and what He did for you, what if that could be the very comforting strength someone needs to hear to know that they have the strength to endure what they’re going through, too?
As for me? I desire a life that reflects growth. If something is hard and I pray it away, and it isn’t removed, then I’ll strive to see it as an opportunity for joy to have the strength to endure the hardship that comes from it, and be better and stronger having gone through it knowing that somehow, some way God will be glorified through it (James 1:2-4) .
I know I’ll fail at maintaining this perspective, but it’s through the ongoing failure that I’ll still be striving for growth— I put to death the desire for perfection a long time ago. I’m now in the business of pursuing progress.
andrea statler 