Image by Oliver Hale via Upsplash.
We returned home after 11 long days of meetings, fellowship, and hotel mattresses, to a freezer full of maggots and rotting meat. I can’t even describe the horrific smell, but if you know, you know.
Suddenly, it was as though my emotional levee broke. All of the stress I’d been keeping at bay from our transition overseas and preparation for another move flooded my street. And I felt as though I was drowning. A switch flipped inside me, and I no longer liked my husband, my children, or really anything other than coffee. Specifically lattes. Overly sweetened lattes, capable of giving me a warm hit of dopamine.
Over the next 48 hours, I did everything I could to clean the refrigerator and freezer. I did not have gloves. My hands were as raw as the meat that spoiled. It all looked spotless, but I couldn’t get rid of the smell. And every other time I opened the freezer door, I would find a tiny maggot – or two, or three – crawling around and clinging for life.
I found myself identifying with the remaining maggots, desperately trying to survive.
This chain of events caused me to pause. And by pause I mean hide away in bed. But I began to question the existence of my emotional levees in the first place. I was so busy trying to hold things back and call it coping, that I wasn’t actually allowing for a healthy flow of emotional and spiritual processing.
I struggle with a back log of emotional and spiritual baggage that makes dealing with the present in a healthy way challenging. Is a day spent hiding away in bed the worst way to deal with the troubles of life? No. But are there better ways? Of course.
Life impacts me deeply. But I am not very good at feeling all the things. It’s like a cancer only caught once it has metastasized to the point where symptoms are undeniable. As a child, going numb meant survival. Emotional expression of any kind could trigger explosions in our home, so I learned to just avoid displaying my emotions, and eventually, I learned to avoid feeling all together. Retraining the unnaturally developed instinct is…almost indescribably difficult. It feels like an impassible mountain.
I suppose it is a response rooted in my flesh – survival at all cost. Does that make it a part of my sinful nature? The struggle is not a sin, but the struggle would not exist were it not for the existence of sin. The sin of those that caused my fear. The sin of those that ignored it. My own sin that does not allow me to appropriately place my fear before the only One deserving of it.
I find that talking to another person about my problems before I take them to the Lord does not usually go well. It doesn’t matter if it’s a professional or a friend. It’s not that the talking isn’t helpful; as a verbal processor, the talking is usually very cathartic. The problem is the critical spirit, the negativity, the lack of grace and forgiveness that flows from my flesh.
Enter in the practice of lament. This is, in my opinion, one of the most underrated spiritual disciplines. In his book, Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy, Mark Vroegop defines lament as, “the honest cry of a hurting heart wrestling with the paradox of pain and the promises of God’s goodness”. I cannot recommend this book enough. Written with a profoundly pastoral heart, the author uses his own journey with grief and lament to graciously carry the reader through their own chaos.
Later in the book, Vroegop writes, “Lament is the song we sing while living in a world that is under the curse of sin….this minor-key song shines a light on the brokenness underneath our human experiences…Lament reminds us that the problem in the world is sin, and God is the only one who can make it right.” Lament is not merely whining and complaining while praying. Lament is the practice of bringing our pain to God with a humble heart, acknowledging who He is in praise and worship.
Maggots are often thought of as a sign of rot and decay, but they actually have medicinal benefit. Maggots will only eat dying flesh, which means they are excellent from cleaning out contaminated wounds. They are applied to a wound just long enough to eat (and therefore, remove) what is no longer healthy. What remains when the maggots have done their job is clean and ready for further intervention to allow for healing. The process may seem gruesome, but a wound will only heal if it has been properly cleaned.
Through the power of the Holy Spirit, lament washes our wounds clean, so proper healing can begin. We must take our pain and burdens to the cross. And then to the empty tomb. The two places that made redemption possible, making beauty from ashes. The places that sanctify the numbness and turns it into pain. The pain that allows us to acknowledge our need for a Savior.
Do you have wounds in need of cleansing and healing today, friend? I invite you to consider practicing lament. The Lord does not require eloquence – He simply invites us to come.
I’ve made a quick reference guide to lament which you can download for free here. I pray this resource blesses you. To read an example of lament, read Lament: Part II.
Faithfully,
Joy From Fear 