Help me God; help me God; help me God; oh God, help me,” I groaned on the night of this writing.
It had been a particularly painful stretch of three days before that night as the harsh consequences of an abnormal spinal condition seemed to hold field days in my body.
And this clearly appeared to be finals night, with the coveted award to go to the pain dealers who could make me give up our fight.
Satan, full at hand.
Boy did it seem that every joint in my body harbored a team intently fixed on its goal.
Nowhere, though, did that seem more pronounced than on the inside of my once better leg.
My God, it felt so painfully stiff and pressurized, it was as if a heavy metal vice was steadily being clamped down on the leg’s bone.
“God give me relief,” I cried.
And did I ever know, at that time, that He was the only one who could bring me what I cried for.
I knew that nobody breathing could any longer.
I knew days like this were coming – medicos had, the best they could, prepared me for such an inevitability.
Now it was just God and me, the way I saw it.
And oh, at times, did I feel like I wanted to quit – had to quit.
Inside my head too, I could hear Satan urging: “Go on, give it up – say it: ‘I give up, I quit.’ And I will make the pain go away.”
Oh right then, even if I was about to throw in the towel, I wouldn’t have done it.
I’d heard that temptation act too many times before not to be insulted by it.
I felt I could have fought on even without the Holy Spirit’s ever present guidance.
It was there, but not through the customary voice in me.
This time I could feel Him all around me and urging me on through that presence.
It translated: “Persevere son; persevere.”
Then soon I could hear my own voice in my head, admonishing: “Take away only the positives from this experience. Write something about this.
“Share it with your brothers and sisters – you’re not the only Christian going through something like this. And maybe something you write can help buoy someone else caught in a rough spot.”
So I wrote.
And as always, it was good medicine for me.
Whether the process helped take my mind off the pain or it just brought me more in line with the Holy Spirit, I began to feel more comfortable with the hurting.
And I began to refocus on the coming glory.
No more pain; no more hurt; no more crying; no more dying.
What uplifting thoughts.
But even as I wrote this unto its end, I couldn’t write that all of the pain is completely gone away.
Nor could I write that it won’t, at some time, return in all of its fury.
But I will always write and say that the experience has refortified some strong lessons for me.
I’ll know how to better handle what may come along.
I’ll also be ever the more reinforced in my belief in the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me” (Ps. 23:4).
July 28, 2019