64: Lean In
I was around five or six years old, and my family was about to spend a week in the mountains of North Carolina. We had some generous family friends who would let us use their mountain house every now and then, and I always loved going up there as a kid. Before this particular trip, I remember being so excited for all the fun things that were surely in store. A visit to the trout pond, viewing magnificent waterfalls, mining for gems, and my personal favorite - lots of fun hiking trails. Well, more like relatively easy paths through the woods. That’s about all I could handle at that age.
What I did not anticipate was the quick trip to the doctor’s office on our way out of town. Apparently, my sister and I were both due for some routine shots and my parents thought getting them done right before we left might work in their favor. They were wrong, at least about me. My younger sister got multiple shots and didn’t shed a tear (a fact she likes to remind me of to this day!). I however, got one, right in the muscle of my leg, and I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed until every last tear ran dry. Then I fell asleep in the car. And when I woke up, probably somewhere in the middle of Georgia, I was determined I would hold a grudge and never forgive my parents for the unforeseen agony I had endured.
I also noticed when I woke up that my leg was growing increasingly sore. And by the time we got to the house in North Carolina, it hurt so bad I could barely walk. This was not shaping up to be the trip I had in mind. My leg was probably going to fall off.
My dad carried me into the house, sat me down on the couch, and then my parents tried to lovingly explain to me that if I wanted the soreness to subside, I was going to have to try to walk it out. This did not make sense. I tried to remind them that my leg hurt and because of that, I couldn’t walk on it. Did they remember the shot they made me get before we left on our trip? How would using my leg help if it was hurting? I’ll admit, I might have been slightly overdramatic about it all. But they left me there sulking on the couch and in the midst of my solo pity-party, I grew unbelievably bored. And so, I decided it might be time to try to move.
When nobody was watching, I took my parents’ advice and tried to use my leg. I held onto whatever piece of furniture I could reach and slowly began to limp my way around the living room. I ended up only making it to the armchair on the other side of the coffee table, but that counted.
It certainly didn’t happen right away, but my parents were right. While it did hurt a bit, the more I tried to move and use my leg, the less intense the soreness eventually felt. Slowly but surely I was able to walk again without holding onto anything, even if I did have a little limp. And the next day, I was ready to hike the trails.
I didn’t realize it at the time, but that was one of the first lessons I learned about embracing discomfort. About the importance of leaning into it. Not for the sake of wallowing in it, but maybe for the sake of persevering through it. And I’ve found that, throughout the few decades of my life, I’ve needed to revisit that lesson many, many times.
The irony of it all is that in a very real, biological way, we are wired to avoid pain. I’m not going to attempt to explain the science behind it all, but you know what I’m talking about. If we touch a hot burner on the stovetop, we will experience pain. In a split second, our nerves send a message to our brain saying the current situation is not safe, and we quickly remove our hand so as not to get burned. The pain acts as a warning, indicating danger, telling us to stay away. And that is a very good thing.
And then there was the soreness I experienced as a kid after a routine shot. It seemed counterintuitive to use my leg if it was hurting. And yet, that’s exactly what needed to be done.
The problem, I’m finding, seems to be that we’ve forgotten the difference between the two. That we’ve somehow confused staying within our safety zone and stepping outside our comfort zone. And I’m learning to pay attention to the difference between the warning of pain and the invitation of discomfort.
Because it’s true that often the pain we experience in life is warning us to take a step back, urging us to avoid what’s causing it. But it’s also true that sometimes the discomfort we feel is inviting us into a season of growth. The key is learning to discern which is which.
Just last week, I started a free program called, “30 Days of Christian Yoga” via an online platform called The Yoga Abbey. I’ve never practiced yoga consistently, but each time I randomly do, I always leave the mat with a greater sense of peace and presence. So I was excited to give this program a try.
This first week has been very basic, designed to help us learn to pay attention to our bodies before we try to take on more challenging poses. And it’s been really helpful. I tend to carry a ton of tension in my body, and this is helping me notice it, name it, and slowly alleviate it.
Our instructor encourages us to notice that difference between pain and discomfort. She can’t tell us which is which for each of us; it depends on our individual stories and physical histories, but she assures us that the more we pay attention, the more we’ll begin to understand the difference and practice accordingly.
For me, I’m learning that just because a pose is challenging, doesn’t mean it isn’t good. Maybe I need to be challenged. Maybe I need to be stretched. Maybe I need to lean deeper into the discomfort. Doing so just might help me grow.
Of course, all of this is true for our bodies, and also true for our lives.
In Romans 5, we read the following familiar words:
suffering produces endurance, 4 and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, 5 and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.
As we come to know and trust the heart of God more fully, we develop the courage to lean in to the discomfort. And when we do, we stretch. We grow. We learn. We heal. We gain new understanding. We continue to take on the character of God. We continue becoming the people God calls us to be.
What might this look like, practically speaking? Well, I can’t give you a one-size-fits-all formula for the same reason my yoga instructor can’t give me a one-size-fits-all difference between pain and discomfort. But I can offer some examples from my own life, just to name a few:
When I read a scripture passage or hear a sermon that challenges the way I live my life, is my initial reaction defensive? Maybe I could lean in.
Does this person’s lived experience or perspective make me feel uncomfortable because it’s so different than my own? Maybe I could lean in.
Is my past hindering me from fully living into my present and my future? Maybe I could lean in.
Am I worried I might be wrong? Maybe I could lean in.
Am I being invited into something that seems daunting or scary because I feel inadequate? Maybe I could lean in.
Am I holding onto something so tightly that the thought of losing it seems unbearable? Maybe I could lean in.
Am I anxious, tired, angry, or grieving? Maybe instead of masking it or putting on a brave face, I could lean in.
Maybe you can relate? When we choose to lean in, God meets us there. When we choose to confront and walk through the discomfort, we are not alone. The way of Jesus was never promised to be easy or comfortable or even predictable. But we can trust the one who leads the way.
Today, if you’re experiencing discomfort, remember to lean in. May we learn to recognize what our discomfort might be inviting us into, and may we trust the presence of Jesus with us as we do.