BEAUTY BORN OUT OF PAIN
Written by Meliga Frederick, as told by Zenaydah Adega Damson.
A few summers ago three of my closest friends — Amarai, Hanatu, and Jemila— got together for a “hen party” weekend of gabbing, eating, walking, praying and resting. Hanatu’s husband graciously moved out to a friend for the weekend so we could take over their home.
On day one, each of the girls checked in, plopped down their duffels, and then gathered in the kitchen for pancakes and soda. It was so good to eat together and catch up on life stories. We laughed, lingered, and enjoyed each other.
After lunch Jemila went out for a walk, Hanatu took a nap, and Adzeyah and I continued a ping pong style tete-a-tete in the living room.
That evening we went to a favourite eatery close to a beautiful lake in the city for dinner. I wanted to truly savour this rare moment of group camaraderie. But starting with that car ride to the lake and continuing through the evening, I was riddled with familiar, searing, burning back pain.
Mid lumber, it opened like a rose: crimson, layered, complex. I tried to ignore it as we ate Alfresco, watching geese and ducks scout effortlessly across the river. The pain would not relent. All evening I see-sawed between the pleasure of the moment and my physical agony. Several times I wanted to cry. I chopped down my tears, not wanting to destroy this special time with friends.
As we sat and ate and joked and laughed I thought about how I must appear to passersby. No one would imagine the suffering pounding inside me. In the same way, I was probably oblivious to the hidden emotional, physical, and relational pain of the strangers sitting beside us on the patio under tranquil umbrellaed tables.
During devotion the next morning, Hanatu led us in a spontaneous hymn and worship songs. My girlfriends belted harmonies with great brio that soon inspired a time of prayer.
After the song though it felt a little strange, even crazy, I suggested we write one-word prayers for one another. I took out a sticky notepad and handed 3 leaflets each to everyone. Jemila assuaged my fears when she liked the idea. Then she added her own creative spin to our time of prayer.
What do you guys think about doing a “Rain Of Grace” and then end it with Zen’s paper prayers?”
What is a “Rain of Grace?” Adzeyah and Hanatu asked in stereo.
Then Jemila adeptly explained that it was an exercise she used to do with the women from her college prayer group. First, a woman shares three words that describe the struggles or pain she is experiencing. She then closes her eyes, and while assuming a stilled position, her friends gather around and repeatedly whisper-even banter-the words as they poke, prod, and pinch their fingers on her body. (I know this sounds a little weird, but the exercise provides a physical exhibition of how dynamic my friends could be, and how words indeed affect us.)
Next, the friends speak new words of help, hope, and healing. As they speak, they feather their fingers gently down the person’s arms, legs, back, head, and neck. So we all agreed and I was made to go first.
My jagged words were “Pain, exhaustion suffocating”. As my trio of friends gathered and chanted those oppressive words, I crumpled into a ball on the rug and started to cry. They gave me space and time to cry while they wrote words of blessing on each of their notes. Then sensitively, they encircled me again whispering “Freedom, Peace, Breath, Freedom, Peace, Breathe, Freedom, Peace, Breathe”. Their words echoed and reverberated in my ears as they trickled “Rains of Grace” all over me. It felt refreshing and light.
Adzeyah handed the note inscribed PEACE; Hanatu, FREEDOM; and Jemila, BREATH FREE.
Each girl received a “Rain of Grace” and 3 notes that morning. I do not think any of us were expecting the reservoir of tears and sharing and grace we experienced. But as the day went on, it was obvious God specially was with us in Hanatu’s home.
Seeing our friendships, our faith, and our personal pains. He vibrated in the timbre of our voices and showed up in our words, written on notes for one another.
My notes are now framed and adorning my desk as reminders of that weekend and the prayers of my friend.
GOD’S WORD — Notes of Hope.
Every word of God is pure: he is a shield unto them that put their trust in him.
Proverbs 30:5 KJV
Our friends can be so much like the Bible: active, wordy, creative, life-espousing!
Their words have a way of blessing, healing, giving hope, and invigorating us. Because they love us and want what is best for us, they reverberate with the words of blessing God has written on the Notes that is His Word.
Each time we crack open the Bible God gives us a promise or plan, hope or help for our lives. We can hold on to these words as inscribed in Sticky Notes, written by Someone who cares for us. Let’s take a quick look at the words given to me by Hannatu, Adzeyah, and Jemila. As we do, consider these words as God’s gifts for all of us.
“………. for I have put my hope in your word.”
– Psalm 119:74 NLT
Freedom
The Greek word for freedom is eleutheria, meaning liberty. It has a “momentary and comprehensive character “And in Galatians 5:13, which says, “You, my brothers and sisters were called to be free,” it refers to manumission from slavery.
I’m thankful that Hanatu wished freedom for me. I needed to be reminded that though my physical pain persists, I need not dwell in or on it. It’s not the fullness of who I am. Instead, I’m liberated. released from the domination of pain. It may be part of my life, but it’s not stronger than God. And it’s not my ultimate end. I can find rest in the knowledge of the freedom that will come in a restored, posthumous body.
Clearly, there are days when pain is so overwhelming that Advil, a hot bath, a heating pad, and rest are my only options. But on most days I can choose to be free, focusing on what I have the freedom to do take a restorative walk, read a book, call a friend for more prayer, slowly and carefully cook a meal, set a table, arrange some flowers.
In 2 Corinthians 3:17. Paul uses Eleuthera when he writes, “Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.” Here eleutheria “denotes freedom of access to the presence of God.” Isn’t it comforting to know we have the freedom to be near God-our Home, our Help, our ultimate Hope?
We all have places in our lives where we long for more latitude: freedom of health, freedom in spirit, relational freedom, vocational freedom, and financial freedom. Let us rest in daily measures of liberty that allow us to draw close to God.
PEACE
I’m overwhelmed as I study the connotations of Adzeyah’s “peace” offering. When the Greek eirēnē occurs in Jesus’ words, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you” (John 14:27), it means “the sense of rest and contentment.” Wow! Sometimes, even though I wish my physical ailment would magically disappear. I realize that it slows me down, calling me from a frenetic pace into rest. It’s counterintuitive to imagine peace coming from something as annoying and inconvenient as chronic back pain, but God’s peace comes amid any circumstance.
How apropos, then, that the title “The God of Peace” is used over and over in the New Testament (i.e., Romans 15:33: Philippians 4:9; 1 Thessalonians 5:23; Hebrews 13:20; 2 Corinthians 13:11). Vine’s dictionary also notes that the corresponding Hebrew word “shalom primarily signifies wholeness,” being “unhewn… full…finished…made perfect.”
If we look up hewn in our good ole Webster’s, we find it means “cut with blows of a heavy cutting instrument.” So unhewn (and thus “peace”) means untouched by a violent, destructive blow. Given this fresh understanding of peace, I wish all of my family, friends, and the women whose paths I cross “Shalom! Peace to you!”
BREATH FREE
Some of my favourite stories in the New Testament occur after Jesus dies. In His resurrected realness, Christ makes beachside picnics, takes walks, asks questions, and gives promises. According to John in one of Jesus’ first unexpected appearances. He “came and stood among [the disciples] and said, ‘Peace be with you!”…And with that, he breathed on them and said, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit (John 20:19,22).
When Jemila handed me the word Breath Free written in her tidy. familiar print, I wondered if she had this story in mind. Was she thinking about the Greek word emphusao, which means “to breathe upon”?” And the “symbolic act of the Lord Jesus in breathing upon His Apostles the communication of the Holy Spirit”?7
As someone who avidly studies and writes about the Bible, I’m sure Jemila knew these facts. But I have a hunch she was wishing me air and wind and life during a stagnant, stilted season. I’ll bet she wanted me to inhale and exhale with the fervour and passion of a woman at peace, a woman set free.
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