You prepare for all kinds of things in parenthood. You prepare for birth with classes and books that go into too much detail. You prepare for potty training with more books and all the knowledge that playground talk with allow. You prepare for school with reading and teaching them to sit still small increments at a time. You teach them to talk to grown ups, walk across the street, pack a snack, and tie shoes. You teach them so much and you prepare in every way possible. I never minded the teaching…it felt like progress.
What no one prepares you for is the reality of carrying your children’s pain with them. In my 37 years of life and 11 years of parenting nothing prepared me for when my kids would come home crying because someone was mean to them (and I’m not talking I don’t like the color of your shirt mean I’m talking stuff you bring up in therapy down the road mean). Nothing prepared me for sitting in the waiting room while they had painful but necessary procedures. Nothing prepared me for the back scratches while tears rolled down their face. Nothing prepared me for the tears I would cry when I put my kids to bed and let the real weight of life’s pain hit me.
In the last month we have buried a beloved pet, dealt with the very real transition to middle school, classroom bullies, and braved dental procedures nightmares are made of. I have sat weary in bed asking God to please take away their pain. I have asked him to give it to me. I have considered fighting sixth grade girls (only to have Ben talk me out of it). I have felt weary in a way I didn’t know I could because growing pains are just that, pains. I wasn’t prepared though. I wasn’t prepared for the true heartbreak that would follow when my daughter is asking me questions about her worth that make my heart ache in a way I haven’t felt since I was 12 myself.
The truly painful part of it all is that there is no solution. I know that because I’m 37 and I still get my feelings hurt when I’m left out. I know that because I have not been chosen, been rejected, and felt lonely. I know in my gut if they don’t learn to handle the pain now they will turn to unhealthy things to cope. I know that if I can just walk with them, hold their hand, and cry with them then they will feel a little less alone.
My favorite song right now is by Cory asbury and it’s called “Only Jesus for my pain”. The chorus goes like this…
Only Jesus knows the questions
The things I’m scared to say
Only Jesus holds the answers
To the troubles I can’t face
And every single road I take
Leads right back to this place
Only Jesus for my pain
I’ve held my kids as they cried for a myriad of reasons and then run to this song knowing pain doesn’t always have a bow to tie on the top just a shoulder to cry on. If we are looking for a solution we will miss the chance to just be held. I wish I could take away the pain but I can’t. I can just hold them, tell them I’m so sorry, and point them to the one who provides peace that transcends understanding. I can show them that pain can be lived through and faced because they are loved. I can’t walk it for them and I can’t prevent it.
We have been in the best married small group for the last four years and it every group starts the same. Everyone shares their story. I’ll never forget a friend saying to me, “you know what I realized everyone has something painful no one gets out of it.” It just hit me pain doesn’t discriminate, it’s not prejudice, and it doesn’t care about your socioeconomic status. It’s one of the few guarantees. Perhaps thats why Jesus said, “in this world you will have trouble BUT take heart, I have overcome the world.” While this isn’t all that comforting sometimes it helps me prepare… only Jesus for my pain.
