A good audio book distracts me from my frequent body pain. I put in my headphones and began to work around the house. As I work, I feel a deep ache throughout my entire body. For weeks, every morning is the same routine. I awake with the type of pain, muscle fatigue, and mental fog common with the Flu. My wife brings a cup of strong black coffee. I barely move until I’ve finished the cup. The symptoms slowly decrease as I begin moving around.
Of my three auto-immune disorders, Fibromyalgia is my greatest enemy. Often, physical movement is an act willpower. Hence, an audio book to distract me from the pain and fatigue. Last summer I started a summer ministry intern program. This summer’s interns will read 22 books in addition to their hard work in our summer day camp. I’m currently re-reading (or, in my case, listening to) all the books I’ve assigned.
I’m listening to The Pastor’s Wife by Sabina Wurmbrand, wife of Romanian pastor Richard Wurmbrand. The couple founded Voice of the Martyrs, an organization that spotlights Christian persecution throughout the world. In his famous book Tortured For Christ, Richard recounted cruel punishments in communist prisons for 14 years. He became famous in the U.S. when he spoke before Congress in 1966 and removed his shirt to show scars from those tortuous years.
But Richard’s wife, Sabina, also suffered in cruel communist prisons. Her words act as a salve to my stressed soul. Her writing style reminds me of Corrie Ten Boom, or some wise rabbi from the Jewish Talmud.
Cleaning
In February 2017 we closed our church in Southwest Fort Worth where I served since summer 2013. A small group stuck with me to help start a new church, Renovation Community, which launches October 14, 2018. Our leadership team now regularly meets with a coach who helps us plan our new church. My wife and I are busy cleaning. Another round of weekend coaching meetings begin at our place in a few hours.
I’ve listened for about 15 minutes Friday afternoon when focus on the Amazon boxes by the door. I move the diaper box to our youngest son’s room. My hands ache as I begin opening the toilet paper box; they always ache lately. I often first notice the pain in my hands when I awake each morning.
I take the toilet paper to the guest bathroom. We should win an award for the amount of toilet paper we use. With weekly prayer meetings, leadership team meetings, and pastoral counseling meetings, our guest bathroom sees plenty…guests.
My wife has expertly adjusted our toilet paper subscription on Amazon to fit with our high usage. Every once in a while, however, we run low before the next shipment arrives. But the nearby Wal-Mart makes up for our shortage.
Husbands,
Do not question decisions about your toilet paper’s brand, the toilet paper’s softness, the amount of toilet paper, etc.
This is dangerous.
Just do what you’re told and put away the toilet paper.
I practice what I preach and begin removing the toilet paper from its plastic wrap. I open the cabinet door.
Oh my goodness.
Have you ever played Tetris?
I’ve been given one task. I must not fail.
The store-bought toilet paper is a different size than the Amazon-ordered toilet paper. How do I even figure out how many rolls fit? I begin stacking, then rearrange, then stack again.
Victory.
I close the door on our toilet paper treasury. Should a siege come, we are ready.
No Bucket
Sometimes, God’s providential timing feels mysterious. Other times…not so much. At the moment I painfully stand up from the low cabinet, I hear Sabina Wurmbrand recount another prison memory:
“Days later I was moved into solitary confinement. My cell contained only an iron cot.
No bucket [to relieve yourself]…the first thing a prisoner looks for.
How I mourned the missing bucket. It meant more than food, or warmth, or light.
Stomach upsets caused by food or by interrogation fright on hearing your name called meant nothing to the guards. You were let out at 5:00 am, 3:00 pm, and 10:00 pm.”
I read biographies of great Christian men and women to hear reminders like that.
Do I pray to God about my Fibromyalgia?
Sometimes.
Do I thank God that my country’s government does not imprison pastors for their faith?
Rarely.
Do I thank God for plenty of toilet paper, clean toilets, and indoor plumbing?
Never.
I remember how the New Living Translation words Psalm 103:2, “may I never forget the good things He does for me.”
But I especially love Eugene Peterson’s earthy paraphrase of the same verse: “don’t forget a single blessing!”
Thankfulness
New praises fill my heart as I leave the bathroom.
Sure, I can focus on my pain and stresses in life, or I can remember every single blessing God provides, no matter how small.
I thank him for religious freedom, for indoor plumbing, and clean toilets.
I thank him for His many blessings, including our tightly packed toilet paper treasury.
Now thank we all our God
with heart and hands and voices,
who wondrous things has done,
in whom his world rejoices;
who from our mothers’ arms
has blessed us on our way
with countless gifts of love,
and still is ours today.
O may this bounteous God
through all our life be near us,
with ever joyful hearts
and blessed peace to cheer us,
to keep us in his grace,
and guide us when perplexed,
and free us from all ills
of this world in the next.
All praise and thanks to God
the Father now be given,
the Son and Spirit blest,
who reign in highest heaven
the one eternal God,
whom heaven and earth adore;
for thus it was, is now,
and shall be evermore.
–Martin Rinkhart, “Now Thank We All Our God” 1636