Sparks.

One of my favorite things to do on the 4th of July as a kid was to light sparklers and twirl them outside, writing my name into the dusk and watching the sparks fly off the tip into the air. There was a thrill as the sparks flew and the sparkler grew darker as the light quickly faded toward my fingertips.

Sparks. The best word I can use to describe the feeling of nerve pain. It is like tiny sparks, almost like mini fireworks, shooting off throughout your body. I broke my foot in the spring of 2018, of course doing something as simple as going up the stairs of my house. It was Hannah’s bedtime, and I knew as soon as I slipped and landed on the outside edge of my foot that something was definitely not right.

Sure enough, I had broken a bone on the outside of my foot. Eight weeks in a boot. Four glorious weeks riding a scooter around my office. And by glorious it wasn’t but I’m sure I gave a lot of people something to smile at. 🙂

As my foot started to heal I noticed a tingling sensation in my foot creeping up my leg. I assumed it would get better after I got out of my boot, but it only got worse, with the pain radiating into my hip, lower back and up my spine. The tingling even went into my head. Neurologically, everything checked out fine. My foot was fine. And yet I wasn’t feeling fine. Everyone I talked to, from a chiropractor to two neurologists to a physical therapist, was stumped by my symptoms. On a whim I tried acupuncture a little over a year ago, and he had an idea as to what could be causing my problem. While it wasn’t a cure all, he was the first person who was able to provide some semblance of answers and mild relief.

Nerve pain reminds me a lot of grief. An invisible pain carried around inside the body. A sharp pain that comes and goes in its unpredictability. A wrong stretch about a week ago has set me back in my nerve pain, but I have to trust in my body and in myself to heal. And I have to be patient with the process and not feel bad about the pain, but just let it be what it is. And give myself grace to rest.

Pain in all of its forms – grief and otherwise – is carried around in our bodies. It is easy to convince ourselves that we are alone in our suffering, perhaps because we don’t want to burden others with it. And because others can’t see our pain, we think that no one else could possibly understand what we are going through. It feels easier somehow to carry our unique pain alone, to hide it within ourselves, rather than to be vulnerable and let others in.

This sense of martyrdom isn’t earning us any sainthood points, and it certainly isn’t making our lives any easier. The only thing we are gaining is an increased loneliness. If there’s one thing I have learned from the past several months since losing David and living in the time of a global pandemic, it is that I absolutely cannot carry my burdens alone. No matter how much the sparks of pain fly within me, I am in need of community now more than ever.

One of the highs of my week is a virtual small group of ladies who meets to share life, speak truth, read the Good Word and pray for and encourage one another. It is my lifeline in this dark season. These ladies are there for me when the sparks of pain come, whether manifesting themselves in grief, anxiety or otherwise. I am so grateful for the faith, hope, joy and laughter we bring into each others’ lives.

In spite of the hard, the messy, the sparks that fly and burn my skin, I see the light that the sparkler gives off. I find myself reaching for joy and hope in the midst of the pain. The little girl within me still believes in good and beautiful things, and she reaches for another sparkler to dance with to light up the sky.