Pain Revealed

Pain Revealed

Each time [God] said, “My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.” 2 Corinthians 12:9

One evening, as I poured boiling water into a pitcher I’d used hundreds of times, the tempered glass shattered, pouring scalding water onto my thighs. Even though I received proper medical attention, the burned flesh still formed painful blisters.

The doctor suggested I take time off, but I didn’t want to subject a substitute to my unruly student, Kenneth—woe to anyone who called him “Ken.”

The next morning as I briefly explained what had happened, I thought I saw compassion in Kenneth’s eyes. But I dismissed the unbelievable thought and began the lesson. When the bell rang, I drew a deep breath, relieved class had gone well. As I gathered my books to walk to my next class, I realized Kenneth was standing by my desk.

“I’ll carry your stuff,” he said. “I have study hall next.”

Surely Kenneth was teasing. But as he waited, I handed him my briefcase.

Kenneth walked with me the rest of the week. On Friday, we arrived at my next class before anyone else. Kenneth placed my briefcase on the desk and stood, head lowered. Finally, he looked up.

“What degree are your burns?” he asked quietly.

“Only second degree, Kenneth. Why?” I responded.

“I just wondered,” he mumbled. “Mine were third.”

So my burns are the reason for his change of attitude, I thought. Aloud I said, “What happened?”

His words tumbled out about the model airplanes he’d loved working on as a seven-year-old, the almost-empty tube of glue he’d held over the candle to soften that last drop for the wing, the flash of flames, the long weeks in the hospital, the numerous cosmetic operations.

To emphasize his final point, Kenneth lifted his chin. “See? They can’t get this spot right, even with skin grafts. I still have this scar. Everybody stares at it.”

“Kenneth, that is a bad scar,” I said. “But I never noticed it until now.”

He stared at me. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Your beautiful eyes are what people notice first.”

As Kenneth turned to go, he was grinning.

“Kenneth,” I called, “thank you for sharing this with me.”

“That’s okay.” He paused. “Mrs. A., you can call me Ken if you want.”

I smiled. “I’d like that very much, Ken!”

Healing for both of us was well under way. —SANDRA

Lord, help me not to spill my pain onto others. And help me to understand and be sensitive to the pain others carry.

Pain is inevitable for all of us, but misery is optional.

—BARBARA JOHNSON (1927–2007), AUTHOR AND INSPIRATIONAL SPEAKER