After a head-on collision with a transport truck in December 2004, having just finished my last bit of touring for the year, I was left with debilitating back pain and an uncertain future. I had survived a traumatic accident, but further trauma ensued. Mornings were agony, my body in spasms that made me wish I were dead. There was no way I could tour, let alone carry an instrument.
I still don’t remember much about the accident except in bits and pieces. Memories and, even today, some panic materializes when a sense is triggered: the intake of air after a snowstorm – cold and crisp; the crunch of ice and snow under already snow-packed tires; skidding, sliding, slick roads; the sight of any semi-truck when I’m driving; the strains of the Jars of Clay song “Who We Are Instead”, which was playing at the time of impact.
In the weeks and months that came afterward, as people discovered what had happened to me, a question came up more than a few times: What did I learn? What was the epiphany…the “Life Lesson”? Apparently there was some sort of insight that I was supposed to be given from the experience, and from the anticipation I could see on the faces of those asking, I was meant to share this insight for mutual inspiration as well.
It’s fair to say that expecting me to share from the heart is reasonable; it’s what I’ve tried to offer others through the songs I write and the stories I relay. But something about this question sent me reeling. It felt intrusive, presumptive, and overwhelming. In the least, it was unhelpful, however well-intentioned the person asking. At the time, it made me angry and depressed – I had no answer. No epiphany. And, without, at a minimum, a solid “Life Lesson” gained from the trauma I experienced, what was the point of it all?
We crave happy endings. In fact, they have a drug-like effect. Jeremy Adam Smith of the University of California Berkeley writes of the fascinating connection between stories and neurochemistry in The Science of the Story. Cortisol, oxytocin and dopamine are all at work as we experience the telling of a tale, and the “hit” of dopamine when there’s a positive resolution is very real. But does this effectuate heart-change? Or, can someone else’s “aha” moment actually cause our own? Maybe. Maybe not. The issue, for me, is that we may be missing something profound and important if we only seek the “fix”.
I wonder if we have become more impatient, or if it’s just our human nature. We so often skim the difficult text and skip to the “good part” – a quotable quip, a consumable nugget that gives us that shot of inner awe or “awwwww”. Readily available in two-minute clips are stories of triumph through tragedy – daytime talk shows rely on them, complete with big cheques at the end. I admit to following many a rabbit trail of these online, watching, listening and tearing up. And don’t our ears perk up the more radical the testimony shared in church? The tougher the circumstance, the greater the emotional “pay off” when the story has a happy ending. Maybe we think an inspirational life lesson makes any hardship worthwhile, or perhaps it in some way satisfies our sense of justice.
This is understandable, but what if there is no apparent resolution – the kind we deem fair and acceptable? When we’re dealing with aftershocks, when sorrow is overwhelming, or when healing is slow to come and pain is an ever-present companion? What about when the only life lesson seems to be loss and suffering?
James 1:2-4 (NIV) offers this:
“Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.”
James suggests that there is joy to be found even when we haven’t yet arrived at “the good part” in our stories. Or, maybe “the good part” is that we can consider our current difficulties, no matter what they are, as “pure joy”. Maybe “the good part” is more than the happy ending, the epiphany, the ultimate “Life Lesson sound-byte”. Maybe it’s also the powerful process of refinement – perseverance in our faith, leading to maturity and “completion”.
Jaylene Johnson. Photo by Pamela Penner.
When I was lower than I ever imagined I could be, it was not a time for contemplating any big question except for how to survive the day. I certainly don’t think I had much to offer in the thick of my pain, and it would take a long time before I could look back with any kind of insight.
If I learned anything from this and other difficult experiences, it’s that we can’t rush the “happy ending”, as right as we are to hope for one. So, when we enter each other’s stories, as witnesses or participants, let’s do so reverently. How can we lovingly participate in God’s healing and redemptive work in one another’s lives?
We can be present. We can pray. We can be patient.
We can be the friend who cleans a house when someone can’t even bend to tie her own shoes. We can be the parent who listens and prays on the other end of the phone during cries of excruciating pain. We can be the chiropractor who lets his patient lie on the treatment table, turning out the lights and leaving her to decompress – no time limit, and no extra charge.
We can be people who help one another to endure through the worst of times – to persevere and not lose faith. This, I’m discovering, is one of the best parts of the story.
“We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose.” Romans 8:28 (NRSV)
“For I am sure of this very thing, that the one who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus.” Philippians 1:6 (NET)
Title track from Jaylene Johnson’s album Potter & Clay:
