{Be Real} The Pain in the Process

Friends, I am going to be very real with you.

I have been the complete opposite of disciplined. All of those things I talked about a few weeks ago?

I’m still in the exact same place. Struggling with the same stuff. 

And that fact almost made me not write this. In this crazy and chaotic season of life, I had two of the hardest days this week. And honestly, I wanted a pass. I wanted to say, “Listen, I’m beaten down. I have nothing new to say. Let me off of the hook here. I’m not qualified to encourage because I don’t feel encouraged and I don’t feel qualified to give advice because I can’t seem to live it out for myself.”

I didn’t want to write because I didn’t want to sound like a broken record. I didn’t want to write because I am ashamed at the way my life looks right now, not a shining example of discipline and obedience.

I was reflecting on the state of my life and all the things I’ve let go wrong, when it hit me, all at once. I’m doing this all wrong. I’d turned it into a tangled mess, a broken thing. I actually physically felt the weight I’d put on myself, the pressure to have balance and control. It wasn’t like my intentions were misplaced, either. At the very core of me, I wanted to live this life well, for His glory.

But somehow, I realized, I’ve trusted in myself a little too much. So, in the middle of body-shaking sobs, I opened my hands and said, “Jesus. Help me.”

We always say that in order to be a leader we must first be a follower. What if, in order to have self-control and discipline in our lives, we must first allow ourselves to be disciplined?

I don’t mean discipline in a punishment kind of way. I mean we should open ourselves to correction.

… but He disciplines us for our good, that we may share his holiness. For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it. -Hebrews 12:10-11 ESV

And it is painful, inviting correction. I think one of the hardest things is the realization that we can’t do it on our own, that no matter how hard we try, we aren’t awesome and we won’t succeed in our own strength. It’s painful to realize we actually do need help, even when we’re trying to do all the right things for all the right reasons.

It’s like how I always hate going to the doctor. Because doing so would be admitting there is something wrong. Not only do I not want anything to be wrong, I don’t want to admit I need the help to get better, that I can’t nurse myself back to health on my own.

Am I the only one that does this?

How freeing it is to say, “Hey, there’s actually something wrong here.” How humbling it is to say, “Please show me my brokenness so You can fix it.”

When you open yourself up to correction, He’s going to show you where you’re missing it. And it’s going to hurt.

But it’s going to hurt like the resetting of broken bones. It’s going to hurt because we are so used to living in a broken state that we’re not accustomed to the right way of doing it. It’s going to hurt because we’ve got to relearn some things. It’s going to hurt because we’re going to have to shed some old skin in order for healing and holiness to take hold.

But the scripture says that all of this pain later “yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness.” I don’t know about you, but I am craving peaceful fruit, friends.

And I really love the what comes right after that verse.

Therefore lift your dropping hands and strengthen your weak knees and make straight paths for your feet, so that what is lame may not be put out of joint but rather be healed. Hebrews 12:12-13

And I just feel Him saying to me, “Pick yourself up, girl. Get up. Open your hands. Keep them high in surrender. Stand firm in My Word and all that it says you are. Then let Me redirect your course. Let Me pluck all the weeds you’ve let grow in your path, the ones that keep tripping you up. You’re not a lost cause and this is not the end of you. I’m refining you, and this pain means healing. This pain means holiness.”

Image credit: Samantha Hartzell