Back injury as spiritual direction

Spiritual direction, as I understand it, means simply listening to one’s life and finding where God is at work. The outside set of eyes of a spiritual director can be helpful – to help see beyond the trees to the forest, to the meaning in the muddle. Often we slog along, wondering what God is saying to us, without noticing the direction that’s been left for us in the little arrows, the paths of stones, the love letters.

Or, in my case: in the flashing billboard.

Last summer, my husband started a new job and I reined in my work to be more of a wife and mother. Two months in, I went to my doctor about slight but persistent hip pain.

A month after starting physiotherapy, I couldn’t bend over. Sacroiliac joint dysfunction, they called it. It is not uncommon, as I found out when I spent the better part of a weekend on the Internet reading horror stories about surgery and girdles and the like.

I was angry. I had gone into physiotherapy to avoid a serious condition, and this was the result?

I was discouraged. All I wanted was to be able to sweep the floors and pick up the toys. “You make us do everything Mommy!” my three-year-old whined.

I questioned my physiotherapist. Had he made things worse? Would I ever feel better? Was there a more serious underlying condition?

I constantly monitored my posture. I pouted. I asked for prayer.

It was after the Internet marathon that I called a halt to my frantic search for a solution. (Okay, my husband co-called the halt!) What I needed to do, in the title of Eugene Peterson’s classic book, was to practice “a long obedience in the same direction.”

I needed to trust my physiotherapist, put my well-being into his hands. I needed to do the exercises whether I felt better instantly or not. The big lesson was one of faith – to trust that if I did what was right, my back would gradually heal.

Faith spread out in other ways. I began to see that while my injury was likely not punishment from God, it might be a consequence He had graciously allowed. While it was a good decision to be wife and mother, it was foolish to try to be superhuman. Superhumans may not need regular exercise, time off to play, adequate sleep and support, but humans do. This one does anyway. Twice in the fall before my back went bad, I found myself saying bitterly, “Of course I don’t matter, do I?”

I grew to understand my back injury as a protest against these false beliefs. I hadn’t had a fall or lifted something heavy, but, as my massage therapist said, a bucket under a slow drip eventually fills beyond capacity. I had overflowed into back pain.

I stopped praying impatient, desperate prayers for relief, and began praying that I would not be healed until I had learned the lessons God wanted to teach me. That sounds like a “Eat your Brussels sprouts, they’re good for you!” approach, but what God actually taught was a surprise.

He showed me the sisters Mary and Martha, and that my frantic pace had been slowed so I would not miss out on what was better. He taught me, “Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble of heart, and you will find rest for your souls” (Matthew 11:29).

In response to this gentle disciplining love, I arranged for a pedicure, asked for help from family and friends, let go of the need to do, and thought of other drips in my life that had not yet overflowed, but which needed repairs in advance of floods.

Perhaps deeper miracles can be wrought through discipline and self care than through instant healing. Perhaps what we see as drips or worse are actually God’s sweetest gifts of love.

And one day it happened. I could bend over again. And I chose to bend in thanks to God and also in humility for reminding me that people are fragile and strong at the same time and that we matter very much to Him.

Susan Fish is a writer, editor and mother, and attends Kitchener (Ont.) MB Church.