Takes Taking Medication Really Make Me a Substandard Christian?

To pop a pill or to not pop a pill, that is the question…

 

Having battled with physical pain for much of my life, I’m no stranger to taking medication.  Taking prescribed drugs each day is as much part of my routine as having breakfast and brushing my teeth.  I’ve happened to notice in recent years, however, that there are a couple of schools of thought within Christian circles regarding said taking of pills.  For example, on the few occasions I have mentioned to other believers that I take medication to assist myself in getting to sleep, the response – “REALLY?  You take sleeping pills?” – boasts of their dismay that I could even contemplate doing such a thing.  Perhaps the taboo in this instance lies not intrinsically in the taking of pills in itself, but because sleep disturbance can often be lumped together with mental illness.  As it happens, a fair few followers of Christ have a tendency to shun anti-depressants and the like without even a second thought about what might be best for the individual.  It is this sort of reaction to drugs that births in me a desire to avoid mentioning what I swallow back in the privacy of my own home; it’s almost as if my practice of pill swallowing is on par with dabbling in the occult in the eyes of some…

 

Nonetheless, there does exist a group of Christians who would think very carefully before heading to the medicine cabinet.  Ultimately, it is a decision each of us has to make for ourselves.  I am not debating this topic though simply for the sake of it, rather, a few conversations have stirred in me a desire to respond with my own view point.  In one such conversation, I distinctly remember walking from the church car park one Sunday evening up to the auditorium with a fellow worshipper pacing alongside of me.  She confided in me that she had a headache, but that she didn’t like the idea of taking pills to relieve the discomfort.  The Lord, she told me, is her healer, with the underlying insinuation being that a visit to the drug store was not a sound dual action.  Thus, she was praying and pushing through the pain; that was her choice.

 

Of course, perhaps the reluctance to help one’s self by taking drugs is tied up with the idea that God can deliver us from all ailments.  I get the impression that to take the wheel into one’s own hands and take something by way of medication seems to be associated with shifting away from God’s healing hand and relying instead on things of this world.  More and more I’ve found myself withholding from those in Christian circles just what I’ve suffered from and jointly how I manage it, mostly for fear of being judged.  And so I have, in a backwards glance, begun wonder:  does taking medication really make me a substandard Christian?

 

A little background…

I’ve thought about writing a blog on my own battle with physical conditions on and off for some time now.   I think the real reason behind putting it off is that I do consider myself very much to be a private person, this also attributes partly to my unwillingness to share my ailments with other believers.  I haven’t shared my health issues with more than a small portion of my friends, and whilst nothing about my body is particularly out of the ordinary I still feel it is not the sort of thing that needs to be publicised.  This proclamation may seem ironic given that I am now blogging about it, but if I am to write this blog and actually have it make any sense in terms of my own conviction then I should probably discuss a few things in relation to me personally.  You will soon learn why the topic of Christians taking medication concerns me…

 

When I was nine years old I was operated on for appendicitis.  I’d been having abdominal pain for some months and, following a scan, it was eventually discovered that my appendix was in need of removal.  I looked forward to being free from the pain that had become a part of everyday life for what seemed like a long time in my child eyes.  I was soon to be disappointed, however.  The pain persisted long after my appendix was removed; in fact, it worsened as the years went on. 

 

In addition to this on-going issue, I was also a sufferer of unbearable cramps every month.  Like many faced with this predicament, I couldn’t feign fine when the pain came gushing through my abdomen.  To manage, I’d knock back whatever medication I had going at the time and wait over an hour (and often up to two hours) for any sign of relief to begin to take hold of my innards.  The pills would barely start working before they began fading out again and the pain would recommence escalating all over again.  It would start from a murmur of discomfort to full-blown, thrashing-around-on-the-bed agony in the span of twenty minutes.  This was what I dealt with from the age of 12 and a half.

To paint this picture accurately, in conjunction to the pain pills, it is necessary to mention that I would always cry out for God to deliver me from the intolerable pain (whether it was of the female variety or from the aftermath of having appendicitis).   Moreover, with only one exception, God did not reach down and free me from my struggle. 

 

Regardless of this absence of intervention, though, I need to make a vital point here:  whenever the pills did kick in, no matter how far down the track it took for my pain to ease, I would always, ALWAYS thank God that I had access to this medication.  I truly believed I was blessed to be living in a nation with accessible pain relievers and other medical provisions.  I also believed I was blessed to be living in this era:  had I been alive 100 years ago (or even 50 years ago), such drugs would not have been available to me (and, if you really want to get down to the nitty-gritty of it, 100 years ago I would have died as a 9 year old from appendicitis).  I would not then and cannot now be convinced that God doesn’t have a part in modern-day medicine.  It was an answer to my prayer to be freed from pain, even if it wasn’t by the hand of God in the space of five seconds.

 

“I could not then and cannot now be convinced that God

doesn’t have a part in modern-day medicine”

 

In 2001 at the age of twenty I underwent laparoscopic surgery and was finally diagnosed with endometriosis.  It was rather extensive by that stage, and a doctor who had witnessed the operation commented to me afterwards that I “must have been in a lot of pain”.  It wasn’t until I had my second laparoscopy at the age of 22 that relief finally visited me, nevertheless.  Following my diagnosis, I was also prescribed much more powerful drugs to combat any future pain, medication that might have proven invaluable had I had the luxury of taking it during my teen years (if you’re a sufferer of endo you will know the story – it is very difficult to get anyone to take you seriously when you describe the severity of the pain).  I wonder how many hours sleep I lost during my high school years simply because the pills were inadequate for combating what was a much bigger problem than anyone ever realised.  I had surgery again at age 27, and following this I started taking the pill in an effort to keep me on a good run of freedom from pain for as long as possible.  I’ve met people over the years that are hard set against the pill, they cite that it can cause fertility issues later on.  As I see it though, if I were to marry and God wanted to bless me with children, no prior use of synthetic hormones could stand in the way.  Certainly it is not in God’s character to take us through something only to then abandon us on the other side.

 

What seems unfathomable to me is that some would consider it out of the question to take medication that those sufferers of the past could have so greatly benefited from.  Perhaps we should consider that the prayers of sufferers from generations previous are in part responsible for the bringing about of more advanced medicine today.

 

Finally, in relation to my other abdominal issue post-appendectomy, I spent many years and accumulatively thousands of dollars seeing GPs, specialists, natural-paths and anyone else who might possibly be able to help me.  I must have had ever test under the sun done at some point.  In 2010 I paid a visit to the Food and Allergy show at the Greenlane show grounds; there, dietician Anna Richards gave a presentation on food intolerances.  I decided to make an appointment to go and see her, not because I believed in my heart of hearts that she could help me, but because ticking another box was an art I’d brought to perfection.  Much to my dismay though, Anna introduced me to the FODMAP diet; this diet was the first thing to ever make a significant and long term difference to my daily abdominal pain.   

 

To summarise further events intertwined with this particular pain, two years ago I was given medication to help me sleep as, for reasons unbeknown to me to this day, I’d gone from being a notoriously good sleeper (bar the instances of pain), to being someone who couldn’t rake in more than two hours sleep a night to save herself.  The medication prescribed to me is not intended for insomnia per se, but is often used for its drowsy effects to treat long term sleep deprivation.  This drug, in conjunction with eliminating restless nights of lying awake, has also alleviated 95% of my abdominal pain and as such I’m no longer in need of being quite so rigid with the FODMAP diet.

 

 I was considering inserting a phrase like ‘due to share luck’ or ‘by chance’ in relation to the pain reduction from the sleeping medication, but I feel this is an unfair accreditation on closer deliberation.  While I can’t say exactly why I believe this, I am certain that this prescription drug was God’s way of helping me deal with my on-going war against pain.  If God had said to me “Will you accept a few months of sleepless nights in exchange for the long-awaited relief of your daily abdominal pain?” I would have readily said yes.  I guess God didn’t need to ask me that question; He already knew my answer. 

 

“If God had asked me “Will you accept a few months of sleepless nights in exchange for the long-awaited relief of your daily abdominal pain?” I would have readily said yes.  I guess God didn’t need to ask me that question; He already knew my answer”

 

During the years prior to any sign of relief, it is fair to say that I’d wondered on many occasions why God seemed reluctant (in my opinion) to divinely intervene.  I don’t think we can really examine God’s reasoning in this regard without referring to the well-known book of Job.  In Dr Larry Richards’ works Every Good and Evil Angel in the Bible, Richards’ points out that what is significant about God allowing Satan to torment Job is that God had an entirely unique “purpose in mind” for this allowance (Richards, 118).  The chapter ends with the conclusion that whilst God was “ultimately responsible for Job’s suffering”, from the very onset of it, God “intended Job’s pain to result in good”, and this good is realised when we see how Job drew nearer to God (118). 

 

I don’t pretend that my situation was vaguely similar to that of Job’s, I haven’t lost loved ones in the wake of my testing, but I do feel that this experience has drawn me nearer to our creator.  For one thing, if the pain was restricted to one year, rather than many years, it is entirely conceivable that my prayer life would have been altered to reflect this.  Without the pain, I would not have been nearly as eager to have God hear my cries.  Also, if it wasn’t for my own experience, I would not have had the empathy that I have today for others suffering through illnesses, nor would I be so dedicated to praying for their healing.  In this sense, my story is not entirely dissimilar to Job’s; good has also come about by my prolonged suffering.

 

As a further branch on the subject of suffering, there was one significant episode where God did reach down and intervene.  I was 18 at the time, and I awoke one night to intense pain in my abdomen.  This in itself was not a new experience; although in the space of a few minutes I quickly came to realise it was heading in a formerly un-ventured direction.  As I climbed out of bed with the intent of finding something to take, the pain climbed rapidly and in the space of a few seconds and I was in more pain than I’d ever been in my whole life.  Novel symptoms occurred as I stood there: sweat began seeping out of me like never before and the room would not stand still.  Now feeling scared, I wanted to call out for help, but I had no strength in me to carry my voice any further than the four walls of my room.  I wailed “God help me” and in my frightened state I totally believed I was going to die. 

 

What happened next was one of the most remarkable experiences of my life.  I woke up on the floor and even though I’d not yet taken any medication, I was completely free from pain.  It was a miracle in the most literal sense.  I can still recall my profound relief upon realising that not only had I not died, the pain had gone.

 

Again, this is not something I commonly share with others, I can probably count the number of people I’ve mentioned it to on one hand.  Even as I contemplate it now, I’m not entirely sure why I’ve rendered it inappropriate to retrieve this incident when citing the work of God’s healing hand.  Perhaps it is because the battle didn’t end there, although I feel ever grateful now as I did back then for God’s decision to swoop-in and save me on that particular occasion.  In my mind, however, this episode might be affronted by others when I am forced to acknowledge that the typical daily pain still revisited me in much the same fashion for a long time after this (that is, until I started taking the sleeping pills).  What then can I say about this on-going suffering and my reliance on God…

 

 “We do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, about the hardships we suffered in the province of Asia.  We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired even of life.  Indeed, in our hearts we felt the sentence of death.  But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God, who raises the dead” 2 Corinthians 1:8-9

 

Perhaps that night was God’s way of showing me that He is more than capable of helping me in my time of greatest need.  Although my intent had been to swallow back something for the pain, God chose that event to reveal that He does hear my cries and that I cannot be entirely self-sufficient.   To go back to the point I am making, my taking of pills doesn’t mean I am not reliant on God.  God didn’t hear me thinking “I’d better get up and take something for this pain” on that fateful night and in turn decide “Oh look, she doesn’t need me after all – the pills will suffice”.  If the instance described here proves anything, it is that pressing into God does pay off, and that God doesn’t withhold deliverance because we’ve tried to help ourselves.  Rather, it seems to me that God can work in conjunction with modern day medicine.

 

Is it over for me in terms of healing?

No, it isn’t.  As a wise Christian friend once pointed out, when the bible describes Jesus administering healing to people, He doesn’t lay hands on them and leave them markedly better off than they were before, yet still marginally sick.  I think what I am getting at here though is that, in my experience, God is a God of more than just that one moment of complete deliverance; He is also the God of helping you every day in the lead up to that release.

 

“I think what I am getting at here though is that, in my experience, God is a God of more than just that one moment of complete deliverance; He is also the God of helping you every day in the lead up to that release”

 

Perhaps it is my long standing relationship with medication that has made me want to defend its cause in the face of Christian critics.  I still believe God can deliver us from intolerances and sensitivities as through His stripes we are healed.  I’ve been to many healing meetings in my time, and have had church prayer ministers lay hands on me as well.  For as long as I am with these ailments, I will continue to pray for my deliverance from them in additional to receiving prayer from others whenever it is offered.  However, I think to assume that this is God’s only means of intervention is to limit how God works.  After all, the Lord works in mysterious ways, and why can’t that be via medication?  To reiterate once again, I don’t think it was share luck that saw me land on sleeping pills that near-eliminated a much more loathsome battle within my flesh.

 

To be perfectly blunt about the topic at hand, if I were to eradicate medication of any description from my life, it would be like handing myself over to a prison sentence for a crime that I didn’t commit (or perhaps one that I’d long since repented of).  To this affect, I don’t believe God wishes for His children to live their lives as though they were doing time and suffer unnecessarily.  Medication, when administered correctly and for the right reasons, is a blessing and should not be treated as though it is an abomination, or a substitute, to the Lord.

 

-Wendie

 

References:
Richards, Larry. Every Good and Evil Angel in the Bible. Nashville, Tennessee: Thomas Nelson Publishers, 1998. Print.

A King Fisher & The Father

Recently, a couple of events have struck me as having deeper, metaphorical and spiritual meaning.  It was as though I was chosen to undergo these experiences so that I might learn something more of the Father’s character.  Here I will describe one of those events, this one in relation to a King Fisher….

Returning from my weekly (albeit loathly) trip to the grocery store in my car, I spotted a bird perched in the middle of the road.  Being an animal lover (or perhaps just a half-decent person), I slowed down to allow him time to fly off to the bush area to the left of the road.  I assumed he had his home somewhere in the greenery of the cemetery that sprawled across some acres on the opposite side of the road to my flat.   Having climbed further up the deep incline of the road now, I glanced in my rear view mirror to confirm his get-away was successful: it wasn’t, he hadn’t moved at all.

I quickly pulled into my usual parking spot on the bank in front of the flat, and then ran back down before any other vehicles approached.  As I walked up to him, it struck me odd that no one had come along or even that I was lucky enough to find him now, still intact seemingly; what if I’d bought one more item at the store?  I could have been too late.

As I meet him in the middle of the road, I could tell that at the very least he’d been stunned by a vehicle, hence his lack of trying to get away.  I gave him a little nudge in the rear with the edge of my jandal, still he made no attempt to flee.  That is when I noticed the blood.  Still no vehicles entered the scene; the bird and I were very much alone, and his only hope of getting through this was by my intervention (call me Bird-Rescue Lady if you will, my closest friends can testify this was not my first rescue for a feathered friend).

It struck me some hours later that God is like this for us, in our times of need.  He sees our accidents, our falls, our being struck down from time to time in the journey that is life and he seeks to be there right by our side during these difficult times.  For me, there have been times in my life when I’ve felt like I was unable to cope with the problem at hand, and no matter how many people I confide in and share with, the heaviness of the situation still encompasses me.  During a wave of overwhelming emotion, I’d fess all to God in a rather blunt and ineloquent manner.  God, being of His define character, doesn’t stomp up to us post-confession, grab us by the arm and declare “Excuse my interruption, but you’re coming with me”.  Nor does he deliver us immediately from all our troubles, disavowing the time-consuming healing process.  No, like my prompting of the small bird on the road, He gently nudges us in the right direction, and then waits.

I wonder too if God looks down on us, like I did with the bird, and admires His creation.  The adornment of this simple creature was remarkable, with a chest of white against a bright bluey-green colouring on his back and wings, like the many shades visible on the ocean surface, and completed with a pointedly sharp black beak.  He is King Fisher, alike to his own kin, as we are to each of our races.  The number of different species of birds in this world is extensive, each with their own common colours, sizes, markings and tendencies.  God, in spite of His own greatness and bigness, must have spent considerable energy designing each of these unique bird species, as small and as infrequently appreciated as they are.  It is overwhelming just to consider that this is but one type of animal on this earth.  How much work too must God have spent working on man, made in his own image, some similar in colour, features and size to others, but each unique in soul and spirit?  Perhaps from time to time He looks down on us, from a great height, and recalls his reasons and hopes for making each of us.

 

You’ve got my good side, so admit it – I am quite something.

 

 

*Illustration may not necessarily reflect one of God’s personal designs

 

 

As I headed inside, injured bird wrapped in cloth in one hand, I reached for an empty cardboard box stashed in my room and gently placed him in it. All the time, I felt a sense of urgency, like I was on a personal mission to help the bird, to save him from the injuries of his accident, that he might be restored to his former glory. Truth be told, even though I had no former connection with this creature, I cared for his outcome. I had stood over him and glared down on him but once, my mind flickering to thoughts of his beauty as mentioned earlier, and in half a second imagined what he was missing: his home, perhaps with others of his kind, in a lush tree and surrounding nature, all providing him with needs met to live a good life. Comparatively, God is more than this to us. He knitted us together in the womb, He watches us grow, both physically, relationally and spiritually in Him. He knows when we are awake, he knows when we sleep, and He knows where we belong - be it temporarily- in this world. My caring for the bird has nothing of God’s caring for us.

 

Alright, the connection isn’t impossible, but only in 3D-animation is it likely..

 

Again returning to my earlier suspicion that I had been chosen to help this bird, I knew exactly what the protocol was to get him the help he needed beyond what my hands could provide.  Reaching for my mobile phone, I scrolled through my list of contacts looking for a contact I’d labelled ‘Bird Rehabilitation Centre’.  A few months earlier, when my phone was temporarily playing up, I’d scrolled through each of the individually entered contacts deleting those who I no longer required.  I vividly remembered contemplating for a moment whether or not to keep the Bird Rehabilitation Centre’s number on my phone; it wouldn’t have been hard to retrieve off the internet after all.  Now I was glad I’d kept the number on there – again, it was although it was more than coincidence.

This too draws parallels to us in our times of need.  God can place specific people with specific resources, knowledge or words around us in our times of trial.  Sometimes those people are merely stepping stones, as they seek to join us with others who can do more to help in our particular circumstances.  Yet each person is necessary and relevant in this chain of connections that helps us during our time of need.

God will give us resources and means to help others, if we are willing.

 

 

Phoning the Bird Lady was a bit like phoning for an ambulance.  I had wondered what I would do if she wasn’t home, or if no one answered.  But she picked up within a couple of rings and quickly dispensed the information I needed for getting to her house.  It was a fair drive, half an hour at least, half of which was along deserted country roads to where she resided out in what I term “the sticks”, as beautiful as it is (look, some of those areas are not yet broad-band enabled, I rest my case).  Part of me thought the bird wouldn’t make it.  As I lay him down in the box, he’d rolled on to his back, with his legs in the air and I’d thought for a moment that he was gone.  On closer inspection, his chest was still rising and falling, so I continued  closing up the box, leaving a small enough space for air to get in, but not enough to assist in any possible escape tactics.

By the time I pulled in to the country property, he’d begun to perk up a little.  He sat in a normal perch-like position in the box now, and seemed notably content, as though he gaged my intervention as no threat at all and fully trusted me to take care of him.  I was rescuer, utilising my accelerator and driving skills, checking the road map periodically; his role was simply to sit and wait to arrive at the required destination.  Perhaps we could learn something from this little bird in terms of trust; let go and let God is all very well in theory, but to actually sit there serenely and know for sure all will be taken care of is a different matter.

Like anyone who has journeyed through the healing process, time was required in order for the King Fisher to be fully restored.  With one wing slightly torn away, he was limited in what he would be able to do for a while.  With each day, those who are scathed, physically or emotionally, begin to regain strength and skills needed to survive in this world we live in.  Like the King Fisher though, we often need the assistance of others around us, that we might utilise their intervention to better equip us on our journey.  The Lord can place others in our paths to help with a specific struggle, or a particular season, because, like even the humble King Fisher, each of us needs help from time to time.  No one is destined to be an island; no one is destined to always go it alone.

-Wendie

Matthew 10:29; NIV

“Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father. And even the very hairs on your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows”.

Flavours of Entanglement

Introspection: noun: observation or examination of one's own mental and emotional state, mental processes, etc.; the act of looking within oneself (Dictionary.com).

Out on my run today, I once again found myself conscious of my thinking pattern.  Whether it’s the fresh air, or a change of pace, I often find my mind flicking to a different angel where insights are more meaningful and ideas are more amplified.  I came to think about my faith during this run; it is no news to me that my faith isn’t straight up, black and white, formed from a cookie-cutter of all other God-fearing men.  And perhaps that is how it should be, we are, after all, unique not just in makeup but in our own experiences in life and journey with God. 

My mind, as I see it, is made up of many different facets, each inter-linking and overlapping, each, in my opinion, responsible for making me who I fundamentally am.   But it’s not that simple.  Not all aspects are complimentary, derived from similar foundations or beliefs.  In short, some things are more healthy and fruitful than others, yet each serves a purpose in shaping me. 

As a person, I am not fully captured by one single school of thought in my cognitions.  I came to thinking on my run that my thinking is mixed and eclectic, a piece of something from one influence, and something else from another.  Much like my range of friends, my changing hair colour over the years, my flavours in music and career paths past and present, I take a number of things on-board and as they fuse together they shape me.  Like all complex creatures, I resonate with many feelings and convictions.  The overlapping, however, does not stand as united in the world’s eyes (I took up my cross), nor does it stand as a mirrored reflection of Godliness (I took up music that does not glorify Him).

Let me explain…

My taste in music is broken into three categories: Firstly, I have my infinite love of old music, products of the 50’s, 60’s and 70’s.  I’ve defended this taste by proclaiming the lyrics to be more wholesome, yet reflective of everyday life.  It doesn’t destroy one’s inner peace with highly sexualised connotations common to modern day numbers.  The beat is different, the feel is different, and the verses stand as a testament to idealisms and social practices in an era gone by, and, at times, I often wish I’d been part of that era (particularly in light of the popular artists and dancing).  The lyrics portray vivid emotions (I learnt the Truth at 17, Janice Ian), and convey simple (and seemingly idyllic) stories (Bus Stop, The Hollies).  Compare the latter track with Umbrella by Rihanna and you’ll see how what could have been a simple, contented melody takes on a whole other persona…

Second in my music categories, in an entirely different tangent, I feel an attraction towards another type of music; this much closer to present day.  Some artists were born lyrically into my world during my teens, years crucial to bridging the gap between adulthood and childhood.  I didn’t just dance to the beat, or follow the crowd, I listened and interpreted and remembered words.  Some artists I left well behind, others I’ve brought albums from which I carry with me to this day.  And since those days of young, I’ve found a good deal of truth in the opinions that were expressed.  The church, with its doctrine of prosperity, isn’t always life in reality.  In fact, for me personally, it isn’t often life in reality.  Praying through the years has seen me bathed in massive disappointments in a number of areas when the prayers did not work in my favour.  The well-intentioned church leader would propose that God knows what is best for us, that his thinking is not bound to human limitations.  This may well be, but that doesn’t always mean God’s will for situations and circumstances is what comes to pass each and every time.  Particularly when it involves other people.  It eludes me sometimes that things ever flow smoothly from God’s perfect plan, the world is so fallen.

So it is that I came to feel an emotional association with certain secular artists and their reflections offered through lyrics.  I didn’t jump on board with this flavour as a slight toward God for either unfulfilled dreams or lack of emotional protection toward me as a person.  It was more like a natural compulsion to let my inner turmoil’s be recognised by someone who seemed to know exactly what I was feeling.  It’s a connection, in a sense, that stands outside of that with the maker.  The word idolatry comes to mind, and while I can’t deny there isn’t a framing of the sort the interest ends at the end of the track.  I have no inclination to follow these singers on twitter, or read of their private lives online.  My connection could be said to be more tied with their choice of words than the person who delivers them.

At times, in an effort to aid my spiritual growth, I’ve decided to banish such music.  I’ve been out and brought God-focused music, the likes of Ann-Maree Keefe and Third Day, for example.  This substitution has alleviated a little of the need for the world-focused, person-dependant alternative, but it hasn’t replaced it entirely.  The depictions are not quite apt enough (though Keefe’s Wednesday’s Child comes close), the rawness of soul and the frank, brutality that is cited in the song’s climactic point has been replaced with phrases like “yet I will praise the Lord from this deep, dark hole”.  This could well be why in times of struggle I turn to Ecclesiastes, rather than Psalms of David that declare His greatness as a means to soothe the inner turmoil.  Ecclesiastes holds much in the way of realism, and if I am more melancholic than jovial it’s little wonder that “There is a time for everything…  A time to dance, and a time to mourn, a time to embrace and a time to refrain” excreta rings true to me.

But back to the banishing.  My intentions were good, but I never went with both feet in.  I emptied my car glove box of all music that was not made with the intent of drawing man closer to God and left a collection of Chriss-o alternatives in its wake.  I didn’t, I must mention, go so far as to throw away my compact discs.  Like the memories of the songs in the background of my mind, they simply remained further out of hand, but were never completely gone given their continued stay in my possession.  Inevitably though something would happen, something usually being in the form of a disappointment that reset my mood to low and my mind would no longer take the happy-side up compositions that make up so many of the Christian artists albums.  I needed real and raw and I needed it now.

It is easy to say that I set myself up for a repeat of more of the same each time I turn to the works of the world-bound artist.  I make my own scars a little bit deeper by bathing them in something not centred on God.  This is where realism intersects with my, albeit flawed, faith.  We all need comfort, we all crave for pain to be eased.  I have and always will cry out to God in my pain, not by reciting words contrary to my emotions but by declaring my despair in my own verses reflective of my frame of mind (kind of like Job).  To me, this is what having a ‘real’ relationship with God is about.  I am sure most Christians know too that God doesn’t often deliver us from our suffering then and there as we’d like Him to.  In this sense, my less than godly music isn’t a substitute for God’s intervention.  Rather, it fulfils my need to feel that someone can so vividly relate, through and through.  There is no sweet, delicate lacing common in Christian sounds, the careful-not-to-offend variety.  There is the frankness that I described earlier, and I feel a wordsmith gifted in this way, on my same wave length, helps me get through those times, until this season too does pass.

Nowadays driving in my car is admittedly a less common experience.  As a mature student reasonably new to the college experience, I have filled my trustee mp3 player (the student’s alternative to an ipod?  Perhaps not, I’ve yet to see anyone else on the bus with the same) with songs of my choosing.  Like my thoughts and moods, the music is again divergent; the need to find audio expression that could identify with any given feeling is only a click away.  I can honestly say I would not look forward to my time on the bus if I was to fill that 8GB of acoustic memory with only hymns and songs of praise.  Yet the inter-tangling of God, as is within my mind, is also represented there, and so becomes the third component of my musical tastes.  And I note pointedly that God, though my music player lives permanently on shuffle, will always bring certain God-themed numbers at just the right time.  Dark Horses begins as if a product of the grunge and rock genres, the music itself seems to be tainted with darkness.  But it isn’t as it seems:  it is Switchfoot’s technique of attracting the young, human mind to consider wider themes, the artists are obviously aware of how lost we can sometimes feel in a world that is we have to exist in.  It’s set to identify with the alien feeling that abounds within us as Christians in a lost and fallen world. It doesn’t attempt to submerge us in happy-clappy, un-able-to-relate composites either.  In short, Switchfoot seems to be all about keeping it real. 

Caught up in Yourself  by Third Day is another that seems to visit at the most opportune times.  When I get to thinking that nothing will ever change in certain areas, that the fog will never clear and that life has become about living with the fog rather than achieving clarity, kind of like Paul with his thorn, this number emerges.  And it is about being caught up in what hurts the most, it is about staring disappointment back in the face rather than fooling one’s self into a believe that everything is 100% ok.  If it is all fine and dandy, why are we here trapped on earth, separated from our maker?  In this world, where sin is the bar of separation that keeps us from instant-Godly intervention, we do get caught up in ourselves, and this is “[calling] it like it is”.

I’m sure some readers will believe this prose to be a reflection of not striving for higher things, but rather like holding on to things of this world and then wondering why God didn’t come through.  I think if we are honest though, none of us have internal dialogues that are completely in line with God.  We all have cracks in our faith, we all have clutches that we turn to in hard times, whether it’s turning to comfort food, slandering, escapism or retaliation.  As my need to turn to songs that so aptly resonate with how I internally identify at troubled times rises, so too does the Spirit living in me rise up.  It doesn’t demand to be chosen, it doesn’t demand to take over.  In my trying times, it simply reminds me that it is there listening to me, an effect that music can’t offer.  God must know that in times when break through isn’t instant, it is better to simply be quietly present. 

In the words of Third Day, like the readings from the bible, life is more than just waiting to be in heaven to have any sense of fulfilment. “Life is more than dying, and there’s burning in your soul…”.  The song identifies the human tendency to try for greater purposes, yet such efforts are still an ocean away from perfection (“when you’re so good, but you’ll never be good enough”).  In the end, though not often consciously, I fuse the need for recognition of my feelings that comes with certain (worldly) songs with my dialogue to a higher power, and though this method too is flawed, all anybody can really do is take Third Day’s/the bible’s advice and “thank God for His grace”.

-Wendie