There’s been a lot of body talk going on in our household this past week. No…not the resolutions kind of body talk. I would guess that we talk about bodies, on average, more than most families anyway, but the subject has been even more present in our recent conversations. Bodies, bodies, bodies. Bodies growing and changing. As of New Year’s Eve we officially have two teenagers in the house. Lord have mercy. Bodies, bodies, bodies. Bodies hurting and healing. Bailey, our second oldest who just turned 13, has been suffering from Post Concussion Syndrome since last August and just recently began experiencing relief from near-constant headaches. Faith, sprained her ankle in soccer (yet again!) this past week and Krisalyn even tweaked her foot when we visited the giant trampoline during winter break to combat the cabin fever that started to settle in. Bodies, bodies, bodies.
“Mommy? Why does there have to be pain?” Krisalyn asks me every time she gets hurt. That poor girl was made with the lowest pain tolerance in this family of accident prone, perpetual toe-stubbers. But her questioning eyes long for an answer that will help sustain her as she copes with the pain.
“I don’t know baby girl.” I respond. “But I do know that pain reminds us of our limitations. It reminds us of our humanness. It brings our attention to our bodies.” These reflections are never enough for her 10 year old mind. I don’t think they’re enough even for my 35 year old mind.
We celebrated Briella’s 2nd birthday on January 3rd. I wonder if there will ever come a day where her birthday can stand alone as the beginning of her story or if it will always feel interconnected to the second act of my own. Will I forever associate her 10:47am exit of the womb with the nearly-fatal pouring out of my lifeblood? Her entrance meant my near, yet spared departure. It was also the beginning of a five month struggle with pain, vulnerability, brokenness and dependence like I had never known prior.
Bodies, bodies, bodies. January 3rd. We were celebrating Briella’s birthday with family, all the while praying for comfort and peace as a friend was in his final hours of life on this earth after a year-long vicious fight with cancer. Images constructed by the descriptions of his body, beaten and abused by the disease continued to invade my mind.
Why must there be pain? I went to bed that night with a heart of desperation. Sleep was well beyond reach, so I drifted as I often do on nights like these, to wherever the thoughts desired to travel. Bodies, bodies, bodies. Images of pain collided with images of pleasure. Memories of days where I would take three different baths because it was the only place I could find relief from the pain would be overtaken by memories of tender moments like when my sister spent a night in the hospital massaging my swollen legs and feet. The imagined picture of our friend lying in a hospital bed fading away while his wife held him and offered words of comfort were broken up with the recollection of the photos I received earlier in the day of him affectionately pinching her behind as they hiked trails in the breathtaking beauty of Beaver Creek. Unwanted memories of abuse were replaced with reflections of the most intimate experiences of love and connection.
Bodies. Bodies. Bodies. These awe-inspiring soul-capsules, being-carriers, life-vehicles allow each of us these full-spectrum EMBODIED experiences. Would it even be possible to experience one side of the spectrum without the possiblity or experience of the other? I don’t know. That’s a question for a far more skilled philosopher than my wanna-be self. The power and beauty of pleasure may not cancel out the horror of pain. But maybe it redeems it. Or maybe it can sustain us. Bodies. Bodies. Bodies.