How to find God in the middle of your pain

“Everything is packed,” she told me as she came down the stairs. I smiled a little. It had only been a few minutes since I sent her up so I told her perhaps I’d better check. We walked into the room and there were her dresses, still hanging. The clothes folded on the shelves. The stuffed animals piled happily on her bed.

“No, dolly,” I explained, “you need to pack up everything.”

“But I’m coming back,” she said, “to be part of your family. I can just leave some stuff here in my room.”

Oh, Lord, how does one explain courts and the laws of adoption to a child? 

We sat right down, there on the floor of her bedroom, and talked about how things weren’t decided yet but she was loved so deeply and so wonderfully that everyone was going to work to take care of her. The adults would talk and do paperwork. There just wasn’t any way to know ahead of time what would happen. We just have to trust.

She nodded and I helped her pack up everything that was hers.

After she left I went upstairs to shut the bedroom door and saw a bump on her bed. The nose of her little stuffed dog stuck out just the tiniest bit. I shook my head and turned to leave when I saw two of her dresses hung back up. Oh, the little dolly, I laughed to myself, I can’t wait until she comes home to stay. 

But sometimes things don’t go as you desire. And sometimes lawyer bills get paid and home visits take place and no one ends up coming home.

When the email came I shut the door tight on my dreams. We flew to Alaska and walked through moss-covered forests and somewhere in the middle, when I was crying out to God and aching in pain, He came and sat quiet with me. A month of peace followed, where I was able to trust and lay it all down and find rest in Him who is able to keep us from falling.

But sometimes the quiet comes just before the storm.

We arrived back home and I braved the stairs and opened the door and packed up a box of my little girl’s things and mailed them off to the place where she lives without me. It was over. I was done. I had made it. I took deep cleansing breaths and thanked God for holding me tight through it all.

Later, one afternoon, I was working on a project and needed a piece of material. I climbed the stairs absentmindedly and pulled open the drawers where my sewing supplies were kept.

Sometimes pain surprises you and before you can put your armor in place, the fiery darts pierce and tear at your heart. She had tucked them in, another pair of pants and a shirt. Her hopes of someday were wrapped up in the clothes that she had hidden away to be there when she came back. But all our hopes were gone and I ached so much all I could do was sit and cry.

When I finally found shuddering breaths all I wanted to do was curse God and this broken world and all the stupid pain that seemed to fill every part of life. “What was the point?” I demanded of Him, and my fists clenched to stop the shaking.

I couldn’t sleep that night, so wrapped in anger and sorrow, so I paced the house and held trembling hands to my aching stomach that twisted and writhed. All the vicious lies were back, mocking me, laughing in glee as they fed my mind with their condemning deceit. You’re not good enough. You’re not thin enough. You’re not rich enough. You’re not smart enough. If you had built a better house. If you had hired a better lawyer. If you had answered those questions differently. If you had… If you had… If you had… 

Finally, something in me snapped. I tore open my journal and started scratching hard words onto the pages. The curses and fears and sorrows and anger bit into the book and somewhere in the confusion, things began to make sense.

With You, God, there is unfailing love, remember?
With You there is full redemption.
So where is it? Is it really for me or is it just for the ones you love more?
Maybe I don’t deserve it. Maybe I’m just one of the dogs begging at your table. 

Tears blurred my vision because this is it, isn’t it? The greatest fear I carry, the reason pain debilitates me. I see the journey through pain as the lack of love. And I fear that I am unlovable and unwanted and unworthy.

But even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from the master’s table. 

So I opened up to the book of John, there at my kitchen table at one in the morning, and started looking for miracles. Because all I needed was a crumb. Just a taste. Something to stop the starving ache that was tearing apart my insides.

And I found Jesus at the wedding supper, saying to His mother, “My time has not yet come.” And Mary not listening. And Jesus preforming a miracle for her. (John 2)

Then I found Jesus at the well with the Samaritan woman who is broken and unworthy, but to whom He gives streams of living water. (John 4)

The Official, who comes to Jesus to ask for his son to be healed. And Jesus rebukes them for needing miracles to believe, but His compassion is so great that He does what is asked. (John 4:43)

And Jesus, talking to the man at the pool, saying, “Do you want to get well?” But the man doesn’t answer the question. Doesn’t have any idea what Jesus is offering. He just gives excuses. And Jesus heals him anyway. (John 5)

Then we find the five thousand who are hungry, and the disciples who don’t know how to feed them, and Jesus who gives thanks and breaks the bread, and there are twelve baskets left over. (John 6)

And the voice of God thunders through my kitchen. For here we have found my true beliefs. 

I don’t believe. Oh, God, forgive me. I don’t believe there is even a crumb left for me?

His promise is more than enough. It is.

When I [personally] stand face-to-face with Jesus Christ and He says to me– “Believest thou this?” I find that faith is as natural as breathing, and I am staggered that I was so stupid as not to trust Him before. – Oswald Chambers

I couldn’t see because I wasn’t standing before Him.

The truth runs deep. To find God in the middle of my pain, I have to turn to Him. He’s right there. He is. With the bread of life and the living water held out with nail-pierced hands. But it’s my choice to face Him or curse Him.

And when I turn, when I reach out my hands, He fills them to overflowing. His Word reigns truth into my heart and my mind and the lies are silenced in the face of glory. And He Is. Even here where it hurts. He Is. 


21 thoughts on “How to find God in the middle of your pain

  1. My heart hurts with yours.

    This is very close to home for us right now (and will be for a while, I’m sure.) Meggie made sure to leave certain items here. Lord haste the day when there is no “leaving” at all.

    I’m going to pray for you tonight, with a heart full of faith. I am begging at the table with you.


    • Thank you. And thank you for being willing to share your family’s story as well– while the outcome may be different, I know that others have journeyed through similar difficulties and God has always been faithful.


  2. Friend, your honesty is incredible. But I know that doesn’t make a difference in the moments that your arms are just empty and your heart aches and your mind screams “Enough.” All I know is that He will be enough for each of those moments. Somehow. It is a mystery to me. This is still his mosaic that he’s carefully putting together. Cracked, shards of glass will tell His story. And you will radiate in the beauty. Until then, hold on. Look up.


    • He is enough, isn’t He? Such goodness still astounds me. I have loved watching His hand in your life as well. We each have our story and may they each bring glory to His name, above all.


  3. In your deepest hurt, Tasha, you’ve discovered what faith is all about–turning to face God, to see Him, even when our hearts writhe in pain and we see no end to it. In Him is that end. Blessings, my friend. *hugs*


  4. wonderful writing, Natasha.
    Finding God in our pain, in His Word, where he promises to be…
    it is so hard, with the loose ends, and the aching, and the children that should be here but are not.

    But you are right, He is here.
    It will not always be this way.


  5. I really appreciate these convicting, true words. Finding God in the midst of my pain has not always been easy, but it’s necessary. So often I lose sight of the fact that He is always there, never forsaking me, forever present, and get muddled in the murky, painful facts of reality. Thank you for sharing your heart, Natasha! It blessed me.


  6. “Tears blurred my vision because this is it, isn’t it? The greatest fear I carry, the reason pain debilitates me. I see the journey through pain as the lack of love. And I fear that I am unlovable and unwanted and unworthy.”

    For the past month and a half this very thought runs through my head and I am crushed with fear and doubt. The despair that sits quietly in my heart is awakened and flows out freely and washes over me. I pray and pray to get through and that it doesn’t consume me. I know I have to be strong, I know I have to take heart and trust in the Lord. But honestly, I feel my faith wavering and I don’t know how to hold on. I just feel despair and when that subsides, I feel empty.

    I found this today and it gave me a bit of hope. Thank you for sharing your story.


  7. Pingback: true mother-love belongs to more than just mothers | Natasha Metzler

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s