More Than An Aspirin: A Review

This post is part of an ongoing series on ministering to people in pain. Click here to see all the posts in this series.

“In a practical sense, this is a book of good news about bad news. The bad news is no surprise: We know that life inevitably brings times of loss and pain, often unfairly, often without warning. We know, at least in part, the good news as well. We understand that it is possible to live through these times of pain and disorientation in ways that result in wisdom, maturity, and prosperity for our souls. What we are less clear about, however, is how to make this happen…” 

Thus begins Gay Hubbard in her book More Than an Aspirin. In the book, Hubbard takes on the task of answering this quandary and explores thought patterns and practical actions that enable us to manage pain well. It’s the best book I know of on the subject of pain management and suffering from a Christian perspective. 

Hubbard calls us to see effective pain management as a part of good stewardship and discipleship. This note is part of what makes it unique - and gives it a pervading undercurrent of hope. We can’t eliminate pain in most cases, but we can choose to live through it in a way that helps us to choose life, hold ourselves open to joy, and nurture strength. 

It is this form of pain management Hubbard lays out in her book. I have found she gracefully walks the line between being a comforter and a challenger, the line between a hug and a good kick-in-the-pants. She will not offer platitudes or empty promises, and she acknowledges walking through pain in this way is challenging. But she holds to the bed-rock surety that God can bring good from our pain. So she encourages us to “commit to managing our pain in ways that helps to bring this about.”

I will exercise great self-restraint and outline only one helpful snippet of Hubbard’s wisdom for you today. I encourage you to get a copy of the book because there’s a lot more where this came from.

MEDDSS Model for Self-Care

Hubbard uses the acronym MEDDSS for her model for self-care. This model, she says, allows us  “to choose life one step at a time as an act of discipleship.” Self-care in this sense is essential to redemptively managing our pain in the way Hubbard describes. 

M: Mastery
Take the next right step and do what you can, no matter how small

Mastery is refusing to surrender to our painful circumstances by accepting the role of victim. It says we always have the power to act and choose, even if it’s something as simple as getting out of bed in the morning. But mastery also remembers the true source of our strength to act: God’s enabling power. Mastery asks, “What can I do?” and then does it, even if it’s in the smallest of things.

E: Exercise
Allow your body to strengthen your soul

Exercise doesn’t have to be complex. It can be as simple as a 10 minute walk. Studies have found exercise to be as effective as medication for some forms of depression. Exercise values our bodies as God’s creation. And it acknowledges the complex connection between our bodies and souls. 

D: Diet
Not too much, not too little, but just the right amount of healthful foods

The Diet/Food part of MEDDSS encourages good nutrition. It also frees us to choose food as a part of our pain management (like traditional comfort food or a good cup of tea). The key is for the food to be a thoughtful choice, not an unconscious, uncontrolled means to handle our pain. The Goldilocks principle is key here: not too much, not too little, but just the right amount.

D: Drugs
Take the drugs prescribed to me in a way that enables me to function more effectively

Medication (or things like vitamins) can be a tool that enables us to function more effectively and strengthens our discipleship. But we must pay attention not just to what we take, but why and how we take it. We must not misplace our hope and expect a pill alone to solve our problems, but rather see it as a part of the whole.

S: Sleep
Not too much, not too little, but the right amount for effective functioning

Sleep is a practice of restraining ourselves to rest. Most adults require 7-8 hours of sleep each night. Sleep is often linked to our emotional stability, and the choice to sleep may enable us to better receive God’s grace: “behaviors demonstrating love, kindness, patience, and self-control are not the fruit of sleep deprivation.” We must make sleep a priority, not something that’s optional. We may have to implement behaviors, routines, and practices to encourage good sleep habits.

S: Spirituality
Invest time and energy in your spiritual growth

We acknowledge that all of our life—including struggles and failures—plays a significant role in our relationship with God, and we look for how the choices we make in each area of life can deepen that relationship. We embrace forms of worship, communities, books, music, and other materials that feed and challenge our spiritual growth in this particular place and time in our journey. 

What Do I Do With This?

1. Get a copy of More Than an Aspirin on your shelf. It’s an excellent resource both for your own reference and to be able to lend to others when they might be struggling.
   

2. Encourage others to take their MEDDSS as you're supporting them through a season of pain. Begin with Mastery, emphasizing their ability to choose and act. Encourage them in healthy self-care using this model. Remember it’s based on small steps in the right direction and small choices made each day.
   

3. Model healthy discipleship-oriented self-care in your own life. The model for self-care as described here isn’t about self-indulgence—it’s about putting yourself in a place to live as a more effective disciple of Jesus, and it will position you to minister more effectively to others.

The Healing Power of Storytelling - Are You Listening?

This post is part of an ongoing series on ministering to people in pain. Click here to see all the posts in this series.

I remember the moments when they told me their stories. Eyes diverted, pooled with quiet tears, hands gripping the mug of coffee. Words typed and left for me to find on my laptop, so it needn’t be told in person. Voice cool and measured, relating the facts with detached precision. Face unseen, insulating darkness giving courage to speech. 

In every case, I was entrusted with something precious: a story. It was a story of pain, which spoke of shattered dreams, insecurities, rejection, abuse, betrayal. I was entrusted with the broken pieces of life’s heartache and shame and permitted into the inner sanctum of pain still unresolved, questions still unanswered. I was allowed into the story still in process.

As their voices trailed off, vulnerability’s comfortable discomfort hung between us. We sat in that nearly sacred space in which our stories have been heard. That simple strange miracle of being known, of pulling our nightmares out into the light of day—and finding someone who doesn’t shrink away in fear. In that place, we become a little less afraid, a little less lonely. In that place, a small part of our hearts is healed.

“What happens to us is not finished until the story is told.” - Gay Hubbard

Story-telling doesn’t instantly eliminate our pain. It doesn’t shortcut the journey pain requires of us. But it does ease the burden. It does help us to make sense of where we’ve been, to see more clearly where we are. 

We need our stories to be heard. We need people to listen.

As we minister to people in pain, one of our most crucial jobs is the role of listener. As we listen, we offer a place for stories to be shared. 

Guidelines for Good Active Listening

While eventually a response might be appropriate (more on that below), we must make sure that first we actually listen to what’s being said and hear the story correctly. This requires good active listening. Being an active listener may require practice, as it can be a challenge.

• Resist the distraction of trying to figure out what to say next. Listen fully to what’s being said. It’s okay if there’s a bit of silence. In fact, I have found if you wait a bit, the story often continues. 
   

• Listen carefully to their story and perspective. Don’t rush to giving your own opinion.
   

• Remember you are a care-giver, not a cure-giver. Don’t rush to a solution.
   

• Reflect back what they’re saying and check-in to make sure you’re understanding, instead of trying to be a mind reader. For example: “Can you explain that?” “What do you mean?” “What I’m hearing you say is . . . , is that correct?”
   

• Resist judgments and rebuttals as you hear their story for what it is. Avoid statements that begin with “Yes, but…”
   

• Be aware of your own filters, which make you hear something not actually said. This can be combated by reflecting, as I described earlier. It is also helpful to know who you are, what triggers you, and what filters you might bring to a situation. 
   

• Have patience in the telling and realize that some stories are too traumatic or difficult to tell at once. I think of my friends who have experienced abuse—their stories didn’t come all at once, but in piecemeal, slow pieces of vulnerable self-revelation. 

After the Story Has Been Told

What do we do after a friend has shared her story? 

Sometimes the best thing to do is simply to say, “Thank you so much for sharing this with me. I’m sorry you’re hurting.” This is infinitely better than dismissing the story, giving an “at least…” statement, or offering a painful Christian platitude. 

We can affirm the validity of our friend’s pain (fear, anger, etc.) and agree with him the pain he’s experienced isn’t “okay.” It is important, particularly in situations of trauma, for the story to be heard and believed.

We can also hold up a mirror to the story and point out what they might not see. We can point out bravery and resilience in the face of difficult circumstances. We can point to a will to survive and carry on as a victorious feat of strength. We can affirm the steps they have (and are) taking to manage pain well and seek healing. As appropriate, we can graciously point to the glimmers we see of God’s faithfulness in their story and to how he may be miraculously redeeming pain and working it for good. 

Those stories I was entrusted with? Saying they are stories of great pain is only half the truth. They are also stories of great beauty, courage, and strength. In spite of the pain, through the pain, they are some of the loudest testaments I know of God’s faithfulness, sustaining grace, and raw surprising joy. I only know because I heard the story.

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You can also find this post linked up on Holley Gerth's Coffee For Your Heart Link-Up Party.

An Answer to "Why" Isn't a Pain-Reliever

This post is part of an ongoing series on ministering to people in pain. Click here to see all the posts in this series.

the·od·i·cy   
noun   A defense of God's goodness and omnipotence in view of the existence of evil.

Why does an all-loving, all-powerful God allow suffering? It's an age-old question. Your answer to it is your "theodicy."

Our theodicy addresses the hallmark question of pain: Why? Why is this happening to me? Why isn’t God answering my prayers? Why hasn’t He healed me? Why did He allow my child to die? Why didn’t He break through to my loved one before they committed suicide? The echoes of these questions reverberate through the deepest levels of heartache and brokenness. Why doesn’t God intervene? Why doesn’t He answer? 

When we are in the role of comforter, we must exercise extreme caution with these questions. Too many of us try to answer them. Much of our cold comfort (please refer to Things Not to Say to People in Pain), is an attempt to explain away pain. They say, "I don't understand why this is happening," and we use their vulnerability as an opportunity to give them a theology lesson. 

I think we do this because we think right beliefs (a good theodicy) will make everything better. We feel a driving impulse to correct what we feel is theologically questionable. We have an irresistible urge to explain what is largely mysterious. So, when they most need calm and patient compassion, as they struggle under the weight of pain and these aching questions, we pour a dump truck of "good theology" on their front lawn.  

This was the grievous error of Job's friends - they tried to give theological answers to his troubles. At the end of the story, we know God is extremely displeased with them. But when God finally speaks, it isn't to give the correct theological justification for why He has allowed Job's pain. He doesn't explain "why" at all. I'll let Frederick Buechner take it from here...

"Maybe the reason God doesn't explain to Job why terrible things happen is that he knows what Job needs isn't an explanation. Suppose that God did explain. Suppose that God were to say to Job that the reason the cattle were stolen, the crops ruined, and the children killed was thus and so, spelling everything out right down to and including the case of boils. Job would have his explanation.

And then what?

Understanding in terms of the divine economy why his children had to die, Job would still have to face their empty chairs at breakfast every morning. Carrying in his pocket straight from the horse's mouth a complete theological justification of his boils, he would still have to scratch and burn.

God doesn't reveal his grand design. He reveals himself. He doesn't show why things are as they are. He shows his face. And Job says, "I had heard of thee by the hearing of the ear, but now my eyes see thee" (Job 42:5). Even covered with sores and ashes, he looks oddly like a man who has asked for a crust and been given the whole loaf."

What do we do with this?

1. Recognize answering the "why" questions won't make the pain go away.
    

2. Remember that what people need more than answers is the presence of our all-loving, all-powerful God. Point them to who He is - the one familiar with suffering, the one who is close to the brokenhearted, the one who is able to redeem pain. And, as His child, remember you have the calling to manifest who He is by your love for other people.
    

3. Listen for people's theodicy as you minister to them. A bad theodicy mixed with pain will make pain worse and can be a threat to faith. (For example: God has so much to take care of, why would He concern Himself with my problems; God is probably punishing me; If I just had enough faith, this would all go away.) The answer to this is not to beat a different explanation into them. This is not a time for theology class. However, these statements are opportunities to gently point them back to the truth of who God is.
    

4. If you're an explainer, reflect on why you do this. Are you trying to defend your view of God? Are you trying to avoid your discomfort with pain through explanations?
    

5. Develop your own theodicy. How do you reconcile God's goodness and sovereignty with the evil we see in our world? For an example, pick up a copy of C.S. Lewis’ book The Problem of Pain.  Just because a theodicy is not best hammered into someone while they're in the midst of crisis-level pain does not mean it isn't worthwhile. It's better thought through before pain hits.

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This post is part of an ongoing series on ministering to people in pain. If you've missed the first posts, start here. 

How to Comfort Someone in Pain

This post is part of an ongoing series on ministering to people in pain. Click here to see all the posts in this series.

Last week, we talked about what not to say to someone in pain. Admittedly, I left you hanging. Some of you have been wondering what you are allowed to say ever since reading that long do-not-say list. 

Admittedly, that was part of the point. If you hesitated before speaking, then I did my job. We too frequently talk at people’s pain, when we need to be more comfortable with listening and silence. We chase pain away with our words when it makes us afraid, uncomfortable, or disoriented. We try to sanitize someone’s pain, to keep it from getting us messy, or to give it a quick fix, to get it over with already. 

Ministering to someone who is suffering requires us to be patient, to sit comfortably in the uncomfortable space of pain, unafraid. Pain is a process. Do not rush it. Remember that your role is to emphasize managing pain, and minister love in the midst of it; your role is not eliminating pain.

Always opt for listening over fixing, and asking over assuming. Remember that saying “I don’t know what to say. I’m just so sorry you’re going through this.” is a fine response. And above all, pray to the God of comfort, for His wisdom and grace to love well.

Show up and be there (Ministry of Presence)

Ministry of presence is always an excellent response to pain. When we’re suffering, we need people who will just be with us, without an agenda, without expecting us to talk, without expecting us to have a perfect theology. We need people who will show up—and keep showing up—with compassion. We need people who will weep with us, who will listen to us rant, who will sit with us in silence when our tears and words have run dry. 

It is not a bad idea to adopt this as your guiding principle: “Unless you truly know what you’re talking about, just keep your mouth shut and sit there.”

Be a good listener

There is healing power in the simple yet profound act of telling our story and having it heard and believed. There is something in that space of storytelling and listening that, even for a moment, lessens our pain—because we’ve been seen and heard. 

When someone entrusts you with their story, there is probably little more to say than, “Thank you so much for trusting me with this.” 

Practice empathy

Our speech should come from a place of true empathy. Empathy says, “I see you here in this pain, and I’ll sit with you here in it.” It says, “I’m sorry you’re hurting—that must be very difficult.” Empathy draws on our own experiences with pain, teaching us how to enter into someone else’s. 

Brene Brown has probably the best video around on empathy. It’s really worth a watch…

Stay in touch

Don’t expect your suffering friend to be the one to keep reaching out to you. Instead of telling them they can call, tell them you will call (or stop by, etc), and then carry through on that promise. Phone calls, texts, and good old-fashioned notes can be meaningful. Let them know you’re praying for them, you love them, you care about them, etc. Do not disappear.

Make offers to help

Ask your friend what you can do to help and support them. Be aware that they may not be able to articulate what their needs are. In this case, make specific offers of help (”Can I bring you a meal on Tuesday?”, “I’m going to the store, what can I pick up for you?”, “Can I help with laundry?”, etc.). Don’t push it if they turn down your help.

Encourage their strength and resilience

When you’re in pain, you need people to validate it—but you don’t need people who are going to enable you to wallow in it. Humans are incredibly resilient, even in the worst of circumstances. Pay attention to areas of strength, bravery, resilience, and growth, and point them out. Hold up a mirror for others to see their own strength.

* * *

I know some of you might prefer a list of go-to responses to people’s pain, but I’m afraid I can’t offer you that (as much as I might want one myself!). It’s simply not that easy. In many ways, the remaining posts in this series will be the answer to this question of how to help someone in pain. For now, I will leave you with this:

Today we talked.
I said, "I'm confused." You asked about my devotions.
I said, "I get angry." You quoted a verse.
I said, "I hurt." You said "Believe."
I said, "I'm depressed." You said, "Rejoice."

You said I could call. I said I would try.
You said you would pray. I suppressed my doubts.
You said things would get better. I wondered, When?
As we parted, you waved with a smile.

Today we talked. Neither of us listened.
And though we talked, there was silence.
Nobody said, "I care."

Today we talked.
I said, "I'm confused." You asked, "About what?"
I said, "I get angry." You asked, "When?"
I said, "I hurt." You asked, "Why?"
I said, "I'm depressed." You said, "I care."

You said you would call. I said, "Please do!"
You said you would pray. I knew you would.
You said things will get better. I tried to believe.
You said there is hope, and you wrapped it in a hug.

Today we talked. You listened for both of us.
And as we talked, there was a third voice.
He said, "I care" with your lips. 

- “Today We Talked,” Ted Heatherington (1991)