The beauty of being sick
Step 3: We came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
During the pandemic I had a nervous breakdown of sorts. I would have benefited from treatment, or at a minimum some extended time for reflection, rest, and recovery. In case you have forgotten, the world shut down for six weeks. Maybe you think the pandemic, so long as you didn't get sick or die, was the perfect time for reflection, rest, and recovery. This was not true for a pastor whose primary focus is serving those who suffer with substance use disorder and their families.
It was brutal. ALL THE THINGS that I believe help foster recovery were unavailable. Sure, there were zoom meetings, but interpersonal CONNECTION is the cornerstone of healthy recovery. If zoom was all we had, it is what we would use but it is NOT ideal. Isolation is a Petri dish of substance abuse. Daily use is easy to hide. Beer for breakfast is an option if you are not worried about cramming into a conference room at 9 am to discuss the latest profitability numbers for the quarter. People frown on beer breath in the workplace.
I did not handle this well. Understatement. I crashed. If I did not exactly lose my belief, I certainly began to question it. I came to the point of questioning one of my beliefs in particular: We can do hard things. Children brought up in a stressful environment always end up with a host of childish beliefs that they carry with them into adulthood without question - this was one of mine. My childhood felt hard. I not only survived it - I crushed it. I did the hard things. I came to believe that this is what "good" people do; what I do; what God would have us do. And I, like most people, did not notice that the scriptures teach the opposite. Sure, there's the Philippians 4:13 passage that says, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." But does it mean that I, that we, can do hard things?
Look, let's get real. The only action heroes in the Bible without clay feet are not human. We quake at the sight of angels; we forget God in the blink of an eye; we will defy God at every turn; the obedient inevitably crack and do naughty things. The scriptures are actually quite clear if I stop reading them through the lens of a traumatized child looking to fight my way out: people are weak. Post breakdown, when I ended up having to go back and re-examine my foundation for cracks, I realize that when Paul talked about strength, it was AFTER he reported a total lack of confidence in the flesh!
Here's what I'm thinking today. My experience, the scriptures, and a whole lot of people way smarter than I am or will ever be believe that in order to heal, one must first acknowledge they are sick. Another thing I learned, people get well when they believe that healing is possible and their healer is trustworthy. Today, I do not think I do hard things particularly well. But, oddly enough, I experience myself as a bit sturdier having acknowledged this.
Last week the air conditioning broke in my office on the third floor of an old, old brick building. It was 87 degrees in there with 16 people sitting in a circle for four freaking hours trying to figure out how to be their best selves. I now know what it is like to be a rotisserie chicken. While I sat in my sweat, I did not pretend I was strong. I knew this was an experience to be endured or quit. No pressure. I could do either. Because I'm not trying to be strong anymore, I am choosing to be faithful, and courageous - which by the way, trust me, you can do from a position of fear, weakness, terror, rage, sickness, etc. BUT never from a position of strength.
I love the Third step because it serves as a daily reminder that in this life there must be a constant acknowledgement that I do NOT have power, but I DO have choice. And today, I choose to surrender to a power that is greater than myself. I picture Paul, crying out, "I can do all things!" without an ounce of conviction. He's hoping. He's praying. He's encouraging. He's framing it within the context of belief in a power greater than himself. Today I set aside my childish conviction that Paul boomed these words from a pulpit before thousands in a show of strength; today I am free to wonder. Was he simply being courageous and exercising his faith? Did he have a fever that day? Did his sciatica bother him? Was he reminding himself as much as he was instructing the people to whom he was writing? I dunno. I wonder. The third step is an invitation to wonder. It is not a test. It's a choice, not a demand.
