Absolutely beautiful essay, Lindsey. When I got sober, I truly thought I might not be able to survive the pain that rose to the surface, which I had been drowning in alcohol and distraction for so many years. But I did indeed survive, and realizing that I could withstand my own pain gave me the confidence and fearlessness I always thought alcohol was giving me. Pretty wild.
I haven't even finished this essay yet, but I have to relate to something you articulated so well. I received a life-changing diagnosis about five years ago. Before that, I had lived for years with crippling anxiety, but I sometimes talk about my diagnosis as something like being shocked by a defibrillator. I was dead, and then I was alive. I had lived for years afraid that something might happen to me that I couldn't survive. But then the thing happened - the thing I thought I couldn't do - and I did it. It rewired me. It changed everything. In nearly every way, it healed me. Thank you for saying it so well.
After reading this essay, I need to engage in thoughtful self-examination to understand how the pain in my life has been formative rather than destructive. Thank you.
I'm scared of formation, of being chiseled in the face, of manhood, husbandhood, fatherhood. You know, all the things boys do in the process of becoming men. I'm scared of the eventual death of my parents. I'm scared they'll die before I become a man. I guess I'm scared of having to become a man too soon.
And still, my fate pushes me forward anyway. Or my hormones. Or my heart. I seek love, even though it will bring a world of pain. But that's kind of how humans work. We somehow do things we didn't think we could. Things we didn't think we would. We do them, or we fail trying. Or we rot and root around in ruin and regret.
Sometimes we need someone else to (help) make the decision for us. To get chiseled in the face I mean. They say you learn to swim in the deep end, and I guess it's true for every kid that doesn't drown. I hope I don't drown. It helps to know God's keeping watch from His lifeguard throne. He won't let me die. And if He does, I'll be going back to Him anyways. So in the end, it all works out. I either learn to float and swim, or I die the good death and return to my Lord.
Thank you for another gorgeous and insightful essay, Lindsey! And for the introduction to Andy Crouch. I felt everything in this essay so very deeply, and appreciate the distinction between trauma and pain that whispers “all is well.”
Lindsey, you're a great writer. The idea of pain or difficulty shaping us rather than thwarting us is important to me, too. I write comedic essays about personal foibles, and this one entitled "She's DEAD!!!" deals with the refining crucible of caring for the elderly in our lives. Please enjoy! https://katesusong.substack.com/p/shes-dead
Absolutely beautiful essay, Lindsey. When I got sober, I truly thought I might not be able to survive the pain that rose to the surface, which I had been drowning in alcohol and distraction for so many years. But I did indeed survive, and realizing that I could withstand my own pain gave me the confidence and fearlessness I always thought alcohol was giving me. Pretty wild.
That's a really beautiful comment. Thanks for sharing it. Wild, indeed.
I haven't even finished this essay yet, but I have to relate to something you articulated so well. I received a life-changing diagnosis about five years ago. Before that, I had lived for years with crippling anxiety, but I sometimes talk about my diagnosis as something like being shocked by a defibrillator. I was dead, and then I was alive. I had lived for years afraid that something might happen to me that I couldn't survive. But then the thing happened - the thing I thought I couldn't do - and I did it. It rewired me. It changed everything. In nearly every way, it healed me. Thank you for saying it so well.
I know exactly what you mean.
After reading this essay, I need to engage in thoughtful self-examination to understand how the pain in my life has been formative rather than destructive. Thank you.
Thanks for reading. It is such a tricky thing to tease out.
Woah!
I'm scared of formation, of being chiseled in the face, of manhood, husbandhood, fatherhood. You know, all the things boys do in the process of becoming men. I'm scared of the eventual death of my parents. I'm scared they'll die before I become a man. I guess I'm scared of having to become a man too soon.
And still, my fate pushes me forward anyway. Or my hormones. Or my heart. I seek love, even though it will bring a world of pain. But that's kind of how humans work. We somehow do things we didn't think we could. Things we didn't think we would. We do them, or we fail trying. Or we rot and root around in ruin and regret.
Sometimes we need someone else to (help) make the decision for us. To get chiseled in the face I mean. They say you learn to swim in the deep end, and I guess it's true for every kid that doesn't drown. I hope I don't drown. It helps to know God's keeping watch from His lifeguard throne. He won't let me die. And if He does, I'll be going back to Him anyways. So in the end, it all works out. I either learn to float and swim, or I die the good death and return to my Lord.
Thank you for another gorgeous and insightful essay, Lindsey! And for the introduction to Andy Crouch. I felt everything in this essay so very deeply, and appreciate the distinction between trauma and pain that whispers “all is well.”
I had my own chisel to the face recently, which I wrote about here…. https://chestnutreview.com/jennifer-robinson-sonata-for-pain/
Lindsey, you're a great writer. The idea of pain or difficulty shaping us rather than thwarting us is important to me, too. I write comedic essays about personal foibles, and this one entitled "She's DEAD!!!" deals with the refining crucible of caring for the elderly in our lives. Please enjoy! https://katesusong.substack.com/p/shes-dead