True Hope is Swift | Part 1

PAIN & RESILIENCE

Rain poured down on the two famished wolves as they sloshed through the woods, trying to get back to their pack. The scent that would have led them back had been drenched and washed away by the rain and wind, and the thick fog that permeated the forest now obscured their vision.

One wolf was exceptionally large, white and gray in color, and wearing a scowl of determination in the blustering wind. His name was Resilience. The other wolf was just as tall, but thin and sickly in appearance, with jet black fur and menacing eyes. His name was Pain.

The wolves trudged together through the wet undergrowth and muddy soil. Though they traveled together, Resilience was unwilling to let Pain cross his path, and would snap his jaws at the smaller wolf if he came closer.

Both animals were cold and ravenously hungry. Distracted by their empty stomachs, mud-slathered paws, and the bitter wind that confused their snouts, both wolves were unaware of the enormous pit hiding beneath the foliage and camouflage. It had been left over by hunters the season before; a pit too deep for any animal to climb out. Covering over the opening was a lattice made of sticks and twigs, which had grown brittle from the cold, and branches from nearby shrubs had been woven into the grid to camouflage it. The branches now served as solid bedding for the snow to conceal what lay beneath.

The wolves’ paws stepped onto the thin, wooden framework and the floor gave way. Before they could even hear the snapping of the twigs, they were plummeting into darkness. The layer of snow fell with them like heavy down feathers. The two befuddled wolves landed miserably in a pool of mud, covered over with an old but thin layer of ice, and now a heavy dusting of snow. The crashing wolves sent a tidal wave of sloshing mud against the pit walls.

Pain fell onto Resilience, which caused Resilience to rear back and snap his teeth at the runt. Pain snapped back and managed to bruise the big one’s heel. With a yelp, Resilience shrugged Pain off and scrambled to his feet. With a deep, commanding growl to keep away, Resilience forced his unwanted companion to the other side of the pit. There was a long moment of silence as the hierarchy was re-established.

But once Pain was reminded of his place, Resilience turned to survey the pit and see how far they had fallen, and if escape was possible. After looking for all-of-second and seeing no apparent alternatives, he ignored the height of the walls and charged up the sloppy sides. But the large wolf immediately found himself sliding back down into the muck. Angered, he attempted his battle-charge again, and again, and again, and sliding back down with each attempt. His fur became a coat of slushy filth and was soon indistinguishable from the pool of mud.

Pain watched his enemy with amusement. He lay comfortably in the mud and watched his superior fruitlessly struggle. But Pain had settled nicely into the mud as if he had been born from it. The jet-black, sickly-looking wolf had found his new home in this muck and mire. 

But Pain was still hungry. He resigned himself to simply watch and wait: his food would come to him.

As time carried on, Resilience found himself growing weary. Every time he got close to the lip of the pit, the earth would give way and he would fall back down again. Resilience repeatedly failed to anticipate the slippery slopes, and yet he continued to try, climbing higher and higher and coming nearer and nearer to the rim, but always just shy of it.

His weariness increased as his strength decreased. It began to take root in his limbs.

After three cold nights of resistance and exhaustion settling in like that gnawing growing in the pit of his stomach, Resilience was shocked when he felt a sharp pain in his back leg. Resilience whipped around to see the other wolf with his teeth sunk deeply into Resilience’s thigh.

Resilience reared back and bit Pain’s ear, tearing off a chunk: it tasted like tar. Pain wheeled away in agony. What hadn’t occurred to Resilience was that Pain had been waiting the entire time for his chance to bite. What had also not occurred to him was that Pain was now well-rested. Resilience may have been the larger and stronger of the two at the start, but now, the bent and broken form of Resilience no longer gave him mass. Pain was the larger and stronger wolf now.

Cold and tired and covered with mud and blood, Resilience took inventory of his situation. He found himself feeling supremely small and foolish baring his teeth at the shadow in the pit. Laying prostrate in the mud but feeling powerful from his prudent planning, Pain shook his head, spattering drops of blood, and rose to his feet.

Both were hungry. Both wolves bared their teeth. Both wolves were cold. Both wolves puffed icy blasts from their nostrils, yet one from intent to murder and the other from reluctance to surrender.

Thinking in worst-case scenarios can, at times, be viewed as somewhat overly-dramatic. This certainly may be the case from time to time, but I view considering worst-case scenarios as an essential element to effective planning. To anticipate and recognize potential problems before they arise is the crux of preparedness. Making contingencies for your own plans is what I consider wise strategizing. I love playing chess but feel incredibly dumb when I don’t see the traps I fall into, which, in hindsight, were obvious.

Of course, not all traps are foreseeable. This is why, from the time we’re able to understand the urgent tone of our parents, we’re told “Don’t do that! You’ll get hurt!”, “Pay attention!”, “Watch where you’re going!” and “Don’t repeat that!”

You don’t have to be clairvoyant to anticipate what wisdom warns us about. We don’t knowingly (I hope) put ourselves in harm’s way. We pay attention to our surroundings. We watch where we’re stepping. We don’t eat things found on the sidewalk. We’re careful not to say things that don’t end well for others when they say them.

However, we don’t always see the traps because we don’t know what to look for. As the saying goes: we can’t know what we don’t know. Therefore, I believe that learning the hard way is sometimes the best, or only, way to learn.

On the other hand, there can be a trap with always looking out for traps: you can drive yourself crazy. You begin to see an illness under your sky every time you look in the mirror; every cough comes with a disease and every sniffle reveals an underlying condition. Take care that you don’t fall into the trap of seeing monsters under every bed, boogiemen in every closet, or and spooky shadows at the end of every dark hallway.

Take care that you don’t fall into the trap of paranoia, as the possibility of pain or death around every corner can keep you from living life. Driving to work on a busy highway is no less dangerous than running with the bulls in Italy. Would you stop eating for free of choking? It can be painful to be married or raise children, but should the entire human race go extinct because we can’t bring ourselves to endure the pains we’ll inevitably face? Personally, I’m thankful that my parents braved living life together while raising a brood of rabid badgers.

I have a chronic illness, but even I can testify that having a wife and kids has been worth every ache and pain. And that says a lot when you consider that I would die for each of them.

My story about the two wolves is obviously fiction (and one not yet concluded). But each element is an analogy for living with chronic illness. I’m sure many of the metaphors are apparent, as they’re somewhat meant to be, but one metaphor that I’d like to focus on in this piece is the wall of the pit itself. How similar this wall is to living with an illness.

Storytime:

When I was in college, the men in my dormitory went mud-caving out in the Ocotillo Wells desert of southern California. This area is home to enormous sand dunes composed of hard-packed sand, having been compacted by the erratic rainfall. But when it rains, the waters burrow down into the dunes and carve out caves. These caves then open up into innumerable chambers connected by narrow passageways. These passageways are awkwardly contoured, as it’s unpredictable water that shapes them. At many points along the way, you’re required to lay on your side and snake your way through them, like some sort of recumbent belly dancer.

Yes, it is very easy to get stuck. And yes, it was very claustrophobia-inducing.

The most deadly part about this adventure was that the cave walls were, obviously, made from sand. And no matter how packed down the sand was, it was still sand; prone to crumbling away if pressure was applied.

Yes, we were dumb enough to do this. And yes, we pressed on through the caves.

At one point during our cave exploration, we were navigating through a long, winding corridor. But then we came to a sudden stop, as we were unable to go any further. I’ll never forget my Resident Advisor saying, “Hmm. That’s strange: this wall wasn’t here last time.” So we headed back the way we had come. Earlier in the expedition, we had passed under a vertical shaft that we could see shot straight up to the top of the sand dune, as we could see the sky at the opening.

One by one, about twelve guys “chimney-climbed” up the shaft. But as we climbed, the sand would break and crumble under our hands and feet. With every climb, the walls of the shaft were made less stable for the next climber.

Thankfully, we all made it safely to the top tunnel and then slid down the dune on our backsides. As a point of interest, though, while sliding down the dune, my tailbone caught a big rock hiding just underneath the surface of the sand and I ended up breaking my coccyx. It was difficult and terribly painful to sit in class for about three months.

Recall how Resilience fought to climb the walls of the pit, only to have his footholds slip away, sending him sliding back down into the mud. Mud can be invasive, restrictive, suffocating, and gripping.

The moment you think you have a handle on your chronic illness, something you thought was sure gives way; that foothold you so confidently pressed against suddenly becomes void space and your foot plummets. Oftentimes it’s our own temperament and physical endurance that gives us confidence. We say to ourselves, “I’ve got this! Ain’t no thing but a chicken wing! Reaching the top is gonna be a piece of ca–!”

But this is hubris; an arrogance inflated by many successes. Over-confidence blinds us to unsteady ground.

It’s a slippery slope to the freedom of good health, so naturally, this slippery slope requires us to learn to deal with failure. If we don’t, then the mud wins and Pain has his evening meal.

You’re going to fail. You’re going to slip. You’re going to get frustrated. You’re going to want to give up and lay down in the mud and watch in submission as Pain tries to swallow you up, but you can’t let it.

What matters most is how we respond to that inevitable failure. It’s okay to admit when you’re beaten and need new tactics; to admit when you’re broken and need help. But is it okay to get angry and rail against the sky when you fail, when your body has been beaten by itself?

Is it okay to snap at your child when they’re being particularly annoying?

No, it’s never okay. I’m sorry, but it’s not. Perhaps you thought I was going to say that it is okay, at least to the first question? But actions are not right, morally or otherwise, merely because they’re common to men. For me to say, “I understand how you feel” is true, as anger is common to me, but it is not me giving license to lash out.

Nevertheless, you’re going to get angry. You’re going to rail against the sky. You’re going to plead, “Why, God, why? Why did you do this to me? I demand an answer!” But His answer will always be, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.” (2 Cor. 12:9)

What matters, then, is how you respond.

Perhaps your strength will increase but expect the unexpected and plan for the worst. In my post, Become Blind Ben Affleck, the lesson is to change how you respond to hardship. The point of that article was to highlight the absolute necessity of changing your mindset. The truth is that all things are in a constant state of flux, including your body. This is a truth that, if you remember it, you’ll never be surprised again when the walls of your life slip underfoot.

You were not meant to continue as what you were born as: a child. You were meant to grow and learn. Though forever changed by this illness, life is not over yet but has merely taken a new form. We don’t get to pick the cards we’re dealt, but we do get to decide whether we’re going to keep playing the game or fold out of fear.

In this specific post, I encourage you to accept the hand that God has dealt you, knowing that His grace is sufficient and His plans are always purposeful. Own your cards and view them as a part of you now, rather than trying to trade them out with the Dealer. The deck is fixed.

In this overarching series of posts, called Practical Perspectives, I will also encourage you to persevere, just as Resilience did, despite his repeated failures trying to climb the wall. This post is an introduction to the perspective of persevering when all hope seems lost.

When we were climbing up that chimney made of sand, as best we could we made sure that our footholds were firmly planted to that brittle wall. So as you climb out of your pit, your cave, or your other preferred metaphor, take your time climbing. There’s no rush. Remember that you’re climbing towards freedom and the bright blue sky above.

You’re going to get tired. You’re going to fail. Fatigue will turn your muscles into molasses. Pain will nip at your heels while you try to climb your way out of its lair.

But to quote one more book–a quote that has stuck with me since high school and helped me through many difficulties–“…think of the solution, not the problem. If your mind was filled only with thoughts of why you were going to lose, then you couldn’t think of how to win.” (Zeddicus Zu’l Zorander, The Sword of Truth Series)

In order to win the war, accept that you’re going to lose some battles. Decide now how you’re going to respond–not react–to this new life, and I pray that you’ll focus on the solution and not the problem.

May God bless you on this journey through illness,
so that you might bless those who journey with you.

All Header Titles are quotes from various writings by William Shakespeare.
Quotes provided by AZquotes.com.