My recently carved-up knee hurts like the dickens, so I’m in a mood to uncharacteristically get straight to the point of this column, which is this: what we feel and what is true are not always the same. We constantly have to choose which to believe, which isn’t always as easy as it sounds.
Take a moment to mull that over before you move on to “Dear Abby” or the sports page … or stick with me as I expound because I do have about 540 more words to go before my allotted space is filled up.
How do we measure improvement, whether we’re recovering from surgery or illness, trying to reach goals we’ve set for ourselves, or assessing our relationships, circumstances, other people, or even our nation? Do our feelings about the state of things line up with what is actually true about those things? And if they don’t, which will we believe?
This is a very real and relevant issue for me at the moment. My recovery from knee surgery has been more difficult than I expected. My doctor says everything looks the way it’s supposed to look (the truth), but my pain-averse brain almost never stops screaming that something is most definitely not okay (my feelings).
In fact, one of the most common cultural niceties—being asked how I’m doing by polite and concerned friends and acquaintances—makes my brain spasm right now because I sincerely don’t know how to answer. My truth-o-meter demands honesty, but I’m very aware that few folks really want more than a short and superficial reply.
I don’t feel “fine” or “good,” the easy and acceptable responses, but the truth is, my painful situation is temporary (or so I’m promised) and my body, medically speaking, is healing. Further complicating the issue is my constant awareness that my worst days are, overall, far easier than the best days of so many who constantly experience pain and other kinds of misery.
So, you see, “How are you doing?” isn’t an easy question.
I know folks who always give a standard answer, like “I’m blessed” or “better than I deserve,” or “it’s complicated”—the trendy non-answer answer. Maybe I should just pick one of those and use it as I ride out this season of pain. Instead, I usually respond with: “Well, it depends. Do you want to know how I feel I’m doing, or do you want the truth?”
On most days right now, those two answers are very different, which illustrates my point: we all have to regularly choose whether to believe the truth or our feelings because they are often at odds and engaged in a loud shouting match inside our heads.
Our feelings say, “My needs aren’t being met,” while the truth says God promises to meet all our needs (Philippians 4:19). Our feelings say, “This will never change,” while the truth says God has plans to prosper us, not to harm us, and He wants to give us hope and a future (Jeremiah 29:11). Our feelings say, “Things are out of control,” while the truth says God is sovereign over all (1 Chronicles 29:11-12). Our feelings say, “I better grab all I can in this life,” while the truth says our focus should be on eternity (Colossians 3:1-2).
My feelings and the truth are like two trains that may sometimes run on the same track for a while, but inevitably tend to split and head in different directions, forcing me to choose which one I’m going to ride. My “feeling train” often ends up in a bad place, while the “truth train” always brings me closer to God and to the freedom and hope found in Him.
Hmmm, if you’ll excuse me now, I think I need to change trains. How about you?