Painful.

I totally fell out of my wheelchair tonight.

I was reaching forward, and lost my balance, and landed right on my feet.  Luckily, the impact was on my right foot, and not my left.  I sat there, by the backdoor of my home for a few seconds, slumped in my chair.  I was upset with myself because I did it, and because I swore; it hurt really bad.  I wish I had been able to say something like, "Oh Nuggets!" but I instead panicked and acted foolishly.

My little sister, Nat, was freaked out a little too.  My parents were gone, and she was so helpful.  She kept trying to get the chair off of me, but I just sat there looking out the glass door.  She sat down by me, and my leg started to throb.  I started to wonder if I had re-broken it.  Then I started to cry a little.  In one moment it went from a few tears of pain to a complete meltdown.  I was filled with so much self-pity and shame; I couldn't get up.  I was stuck.  On the cold tile.  I felt so sad, and I just couldn't stop sobbing. 

I mean, I never fall out of my wheelchair.  I have fallen forward before, but I've never fallen out.  Except for the first night I was here.  It was the same sister that watched me do it the first time, poor thing.  But that was the beginning, and I'm in the middle now.  I'm not supposed to be falling out of my chair, I'm supposed to be getting out of it.  It caught me off guard.

I feel pain.  Why am I caught off guard by that?  

After I fell, (and had calmed down) I was able to scoot into our family room, and pull myself up onto our couch.  Nat and I had been watching "The Passion of the Christ", which is kind of weird and maybe a little random.  I saw it when I was, like, in eighth grade, and I haven't seen it since then.  My sister piped up tonight was like, "Wanna watch The Passion with me?"  I was like, "Umm...sure?"  So we, like, did.

If you've never seen it, I totally get it.  Some think it's too religious.  It's really graphic, and some people don't like movies that pull on heartstrings & stir up emotions.  The theology bothers other too, and the director bothers even more, I'm sure.  I get it.  It's a movie, and not everything is the way that things went down.  But I pulled something away from it tonight.

Jesus felt pain.  He felt a lot of pain.

You're thinking, "Duh, Catie.  There's blood everywhere, and gravel penetrating his wounds every time he falls or is pushed over.  Wounds from flogging and scraping."  I know.  But last time I watched the movie it was too painful to watch.  It's what I saw this evening.  I think that a lot of times we can play down Jesus' death.  When we're singing, or when we read about it.  I don't think I always fully grasp how much pain he felt, emotionally and physically in the hours leading up to and of his death.  How gruesome it was, and how messy.  How graphic, and R-rated it was.  It's something that I appreciated about The Passion - they didn't play it down.  Or maybe they did...I guess it's a matter of how far you will let the facts and your imagination take you.  I don't always want to go there.

In the last months, whenever I would see something that looked like it hurt, my legs would tingle.  They were like little pain receptors, so I would just close my eyes.  It hasn't been happening recently, but tonight they tingled a lot.  I always close my eyes at scary parts of movies, but as I was watching this movie tonight, I made an effort to watch even the most gruesome parts.

It struck me that Jesus kept going throughout the whole experience.  At no point can you ever see him think, "Wow.  Maybe I should call down the angels to help me, this really hurts."  They were poised & ready, I'll bet.  Outraged at what was happening.  Tears of pain rolling down their faces.  You never see him call down curses on the people spitting on him, humiliating him.  He was focused, determined to get to the end, knowing it would be his death.  Knowing he was taking on every sin that was ever committed, and would ever be committed.  That is so unfathomable to me, something I totally can't comprehend.  Or maybe it's too painful to think about.

My pain is nothing compared to Jesus' pain, and I'm in no way comparing myself to him.  The pain tonight was short-lived for me.  I've already forgotten what it felt like.  The reason I even share this story is because I am thankful.  I'm thankful that, in a very very very small way, I'm able to relate to Jesus.  I'm thankful that I can look at him and watch how he lived his life, solely focused on pleasing his Father.  With strength and humility, justice and mercy, patience and passion.  Not stuck, but willing.  Not caught off guard, but knowing every gory detail ahead of time.  And doing it anyway.  No self-pity.  No self-focus.  No self-reliance.  Pure, unadulterated love driving him onward.

I'm thankful that he thought of me as it all happened.  As he carried his cross up the hill, tripping and scraping his knees in the rocks.  With each lash, with each evil glare, with each hit of the hammer, he thought of me.  He thought of us.

Then, he takes it even further.  There will be pain, he speaks hope.

The night before he was crucified Jesus said this to his disciples:  "You will grieve, but your grief will turn to joy."  One of those disciples wrote his story down.  Well, several did, but John shares this in the 16th chapter of his book, in the 20th verse. 

There will be pain, but it turns to joy!  Morning will come.  Life is not over.  And the best part of it all?  He is still alive.  Breathing joy into my nostrils amidst the joyful moments, and the painful ones.