Nashville

Confession: I love the TV show Nashville.

I’ll sit here patiently while you judge me.

Love is, perhaps, a strong word for my feelings toward the show, but I watch it regularly even though it is horribly cheesy at times – particularly when Rayna takes the stage in her seriously overrated voice and her awkward dance moves.

Just don’t get me started on…

Scarlett’s whining which makes me want to put a gag in her mouth…
and Juliette’s self-loathing that makes me want to make bad decisions…
and Avery’s martyrdom which makes me want to shout, “Get off the cross! We need the wood!”

It has some good music {typically not performed by Rayna James}. And it has Deacon who 1) has such a cool name I gave it to my dog and 2) is not unfortunate to look at.  And so I watch it almost every week.

I was watching it recently when Deacon [sigh] said to bemoaning Scarlett:

“You’re fighting because you’re in pain.”

That sentence hit me softly in a familiar place where hurt had landed. I let it roll around in my head.

“You’re fighting because you’re in pain.”

It might be Nashville, but it was truth.

In our inability to constructively communicate hurt in our hearts, it comes boiling to the surface in anger.

We hurt those we love because we are hurting.

We stab them with words we don’t mean.
We injure them with our hate.
We slice them with huffs and puffs and sighs.

It doesn’t matter if the pain is physical, mental, or spiritual: There is friction in our hearts and bodies and minds.

It burns and throbs and aches and screams.
It bites and pounds and smarts and stings.

Relentlessly, it beats down our facades.  We lash out only to then be surprised when the person we just injured retaliates from their own set of pain.

So…how do we handle our pain before it hurts others?

I don’t know the answer, but I’m almost positive it is not easy whatever it is, because, let’s face it, easy is not God’s priority: Refining us is.

Durn it.

And it is in the pain where we are refined.

That makes me want to cuss.

And yet in some weird way, it makes me want to worship because I understand, as does the US Marine Corp who coined it:

Pain in weakness leaving the body.

And when the weakness leaves, strength takes its place.

So, don’t fight the pain.

Feel it.
Scream it.
Shout it.

But direct it to the One who allowed it and to the One who loves you perfectly and completely.

Your words won’t offend Him.
Your sobs won’t surprise Him.
Your grief won’t repulse Him.
He will not think you irreverent.

Let the Healer heal your pain.
Let His word be a balm to Your soul.
Let His character be Your comfort.
Let His Justice be Your confidence.

Maybe by suppressing the pain, we are prolonging it by not giving our wounds space to heal.  The wound remains raw and bleeding. Maybe if we experience the pain, letting it rise and fall, we’ll find the brokenness mended and that strength, indeed, has taken its place.