Suffering

2.5 years ago now, Scott was injured at work in a kind of life altering way. Looking at him, even from the accident you wouldn't be able to see it. A huge pipe  rigged improperly by his foreman slipped and fell directly on Scott's head. If he did not have his hardhat on, he would not be present today. This is a HUGE pipe and fortunately because it was still connected to the crane it did not squash him like a bug. 

L&I has taken over his care and even though it has been 2.5 years, nothing really has improved. What continues unabated for 2.5 years is a headache. It is a weird headache, pounding, sharp spiking, pressing and sometimes all of the above. Sometimes the headache is so powerful that he can feel the effects all the way to his feet.  Not every day is extreme, but every day  he deals with a headache. It is sore to the touch so resting his head on a pillow doesn't bring relief. Looking at him though, unless you know him, you wouldn't know he is suffering. There are no visible gashes, bandages or splints. 

He has adjusted his life to the rhythms of the pain. He does what he can, stops when he needs to and just carries on to the best of his ability. We have tried every pain medicine, migraine intervention, pain therapies, cognitive therapies, vision therapies and month long brain rehabs. Yet, in it all he suffers. We are waiting for an opening at the headache clinic at UW medicine, but that is 6 months out. 

All suffering simplifies prayers and stretches faith. In these thin margins of faith my prayers are anxious and desperate. I feel His absence and seeming lack of concern as we sit and wait for relief.  Not long ago, while pleading once again for wisdom, open doors, break through, relief, justice I realized we are in a room full of others suffering. This waiting room is so full of silent hope and thinning faith. Some are amazing in their unfaltering courage, some losing sight of whatever love was supposed to look like in the absence of relief. 

I know God can, I am not sure why He doesn't.  But I know this for sure, in this place of suffering while he endures and I watch, the miracle is the kindness and gentleness, anyway. How we hold each other carefully in this terrible place. This is not a natural place for me, it is the reason I did not become a nurse or why my children never came to me when they were sick. I am not naturally empathetic or sympathetic when it comes to human suffering. I care deeply when people suffer but distance myself from the emotional burden. I can seem indifferent. But in the here and now, the fullness of suffering that lives in all our spaces I don't get a pass and suffer alongside. In it all, though, I am trusting God and this is the miracle that doesn't make sense. 

Because I trust, there is peace. Because there is peace, we endure and hope even in these thin places of faith.