I often pray “God, let me take his pain!” (A dear friend struggles with chronic, unmedicatable pain and getting around more than I do.)

God Said: “Are you truly willing to shoulder his pain… no matter what it looks like?”

And I said this:

“YES, LORD, You KNOW I’m in earnest!”
And He Like “Ok, but don’t forget what we just said!”

And I went back to my friend, thinking I’d lay hands on him after popping some Tylenols and pray over him and feel a wage of increased pain and move on with my day and that would be that.

Even if it HURT, that’s not the end of the world, you know? I go through quite a bit of pain every day and frankly it doesn’t respond to medicine either but maybe the pain I take for him WILL respond to it, so… you know?

SO.
I pray over him. He doesn’t feel better. He feels worse, apparently. And starts grousing at me.

I bite my lip and my tongue at the same time (somehow) and make him some ginger turmeric tea. (It’s tuR-MUR-ek, btw. There be an R there! It’s NOT “ToooooOOOOo-mur-IK.” Hmph.)

The tea didn’t help a bit, and now he’s gone from grousing to griping to grimacing to the garage. (Ok maybe not.)

The longer it goes on, the more insulted I feel.

Time out!

“My LORD, I thought I was taking on PAIN, not verbal abuse!!”

“Hmm. That’s not what I remember….”

“Huh?”

“You said you’d take on his pain… no matter what it looked like.”

“I still mean it! Bring it on, God!! I just wanna HELP him!”

“But what if you are?”

“What”

“What if being his verbal punching bag is making him feel his pain less?”

“But are You Gonna Let him get away with being an ungrateful scout schlepper and insult me like that??”

“Hm. Well, I Suppose you have a point. You DID sign on for physical pain.”

“Wait, that sounds weird.”

“I MEAN, you signed up for something you were expecting, something you could deal with coz you go through it already. In other words, it would have been adding 50 extra lbs to a load you already carry. Like ‘owie,’ but ‘ugh…ok!’ Aka you could handle it. It was on your terms.”

“Yeah?”

“This ain’t?”

“No! I prayed that and asked that coz I thought I could handle it! Yeah! What You just said!”

“But because you don’t like how it looks or coz it offends your pride… because it means you’ve laid down your right to be right…you don’t want to help anymore.”

“No! I mean, yes!! I mean… I do love him. I do want to help.”

“Would it KILL you to deal wjth frowning and grumbling for a few hours?”

“I guess not. Not if it doesn’t set a precedent for brattiness!”

“Fair enough.”

POOF!

As I gazed at my best human friend, I realised that I really WOULD do anything to help him out.

Even if it hurt my pride more than my back or my feet or my headacheness-organ.

(This is fictionalised but applies to my two best friends, whose insults I really would swallow.)