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PAIN IN THE OFFERING

Hoping and Coping in a World of Hurt

Terry Michaels

Foreword by Charlotte H. Smith M.D.

Edited by Birdie

Terry Michaels

All scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.

Cover image provided by istockphoto

Terry Michaels

tmichaels@calvaryaustin.com

(512) 757-4628

Table of Contents

Introduction Sudan

Chapter 1 When I Dream

Chapter 2 This is Your Life

Chapter 3 Moving Forward

Chapter 4 Paralyzed

Chapter 5 It’s the Little Things

Chapter 6 Life on the Edge

Chapter 7 I Can’t Stand Sitting

Chapter 8 I Cry

Chapter 9 Freeze

Chapter 10 Jack and Buttons

Chapter 11 Breakthrough

Chapter 12 Survival of the Fittest

Chapter 13 JFK

Chapter 14 They Got My Back

Chapter 15 Ringside

Chapter 16 Relax

Chapter 17 Muscle Madness

Chapter 18 Traumatized

Chapter 19 Riptide

Chapter 20 You’re Being Watched

Chapter 21 ThreePartHarmony

Chapter 22 Am I crazy?

Chapter 23 Rest

Chapter 24 The Point of the Thorn

Chapter 25 Carwash

Chapter 26 High Hopes

Chapter 27 Once Upon a Plane

Chapter 28 God Calling

Chapter 29 Dung Beetles!

Chapter 30 Never Cry Uncle

Epilogue

Foreword

Finding a cure for chronic pain remains one of the most elusive challenges faced in modern medicine.

In over 20 years of practicing medicine as a Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation physician, I’ve seen and cared for patients with a wide variety of conditions causing chronic pain. In treating persons with spinal cord injuries, brain injuries, neurological conditions, musculoskeletal injuries, back injuries, amputations and other diagnoses, it is devastating to see pain resulting in functional compromise. Often times, the pain is a bigger limiting factor than the paralysis, amputation or other impairments caused by the medical condition. It sometimes completely incapacitates patients and adversely impacts their families and loved ones.

Despite advances in diagnostics, interventional procedures, medications and surgical procedures, many patients fail to find relief. Without solutions from healthcare providers, many give up and lose hope. Often times, prescribed treatments such as surgery or pain medications can actually make the problems worse, resulting in addiction, side effects or other medical complications. As a physician, it can be overwhelming to care for such patients when there are no easy answers or solutions for their pain.

Clearly, there are other factors contributing to chronic pain that we cannot measure or fully understand. We are only beginning to appreciate the role that physical, emotional or psychological trauma plays in the perpetuation of pain cycles. A more mysterious aspect of pain is the role that spiritual factors play in the development and resolution of pain. These spiritual aspects are often either ignored completely or exploited in vulnerable patients. Because there is tremendous potential in this arena, this is tragic.

Pastor Terry Michaels is unique in his understanding of the spiritual aspects of chronic pain. As a Bible scholar and highly effective teacher who has experienced chronic pain, he is able to bring clarity to some of the issues related to this condition. His transparent sharing of his journey, reveals many of the truths that I’ve also discovered in my medical practice. There is emerging medical evidence that there is a strong neurophysiological basis to support many of his insights. Understanding the spiritual struggles and having strategies to defeat spiritual warfare may provide a missing link for many seeking a cure.

This book will provide encouragement and hope to those who struggle with chronic pain.

Charlotte H. Smith M.D.

INTRODUCTION

SUDAN

Sudan. I wouldn’t say I’d never go again. Actually, I’d love to. Only next time I won’t go alone. It was a rough trip. A good trip, but rough nonetheless. I was recently invited back. My heart screamed, “Yes!” My body yelled, “No! No more planes or trains or automobiles! No more long trips until you’re better! Nothing outside your zip code!” This is my reality now. It’s a reality I hate because I like to go places. I’m a full-on missionary at heart. As a pastor, missionary trips do wonders for me. They improve my perspective. They inspire. They build character. They hold promise of vision and needed change. I guess what I’m trying to say is that God uses these mission trips as rescue missions in my own life. He rescues me from the trap of the daily rut and the snare of western ignorance. Somehow, when I see how God moves in other parts of the world I discover how I should be moving in my part of the world. He speaks in strange places unlike He does in familiar surroundings. I can’t explain it; He just does.

My trip to the Sudan changed me entirely. I had lost focus and it was in the African bush that I got it back - especially in the area of worship. It was about this time that our growing church relocated. We were a young fellowship and had finally arrived in our own building. Naturally, this was an exciting time for us. Though we gained a facility, we lost our worship team, at least most of them. We had been scaled down to an acoustical trio: one guitar, a jimbei and a vocalist. They were a talented trio, but it just wasn’t what our fellowship had grown accustomed to. Plus our new stage looked as void as a banqueting room set for two. It seemed overkill… and odd. Honestly, this was one of those changes I had not expected with our big move. Nor was I excited about it. I was worried… discouraged… and on my way to Africa.

God found me in the Sudanese village of Nimule. Deep in the bush, in a massive structure of mud, I attended church service. It was a gathering of over 200 people. The room was hot and sticky. There was neither air conditioning, nor electricity to run even a small utility fan. There were no chairs to sink into, just rows of packed dirt that served as pews. There were no lights, stage, sound system, drum set, keyboards or electric guitars. But there was worship! Yes, there was plenty of that! What they lacked in technology they made up for in spirit, and God, true to His Word, inhabited the praises of His people. Their instruments were all handmade. Some shook tin shells filled with pebbles, others rapped their hands against animal skins stretched around circled tree branches. Everyone sang as one, filling the room with a joyful noise unto the Lord.

This style of raw worship may sound primitive to some, but it was not like anything I had ever experienced. It brought me to my knees and reduced me to an emotional wreck. At the risk of sounding like a blubbering baby, I wept. I realize that it’s a mistake to measure the genuineness of anything by our feelings. And, trust me, I have preached many times on how deceptive feelings can be, especially when it comes to discerning spiritual matters. But this worship was as real as my tears! Perhaps that is what moved me. I had entered into something so pure and so authentic. No one was there to entertain or impress. They all sang from their hearts to an audience of one.

I suppose I had to be reminded of the kind of worship God desires. He doesn’t care about technology. He is not impressed with big stages or bright lights or fancy sound equipment. He doesn’t give a rat’s whisker about how cool the band looks or how professional they sound. Worship can take place without any of that. I’m not suggesting God is opposed to these things. They’re just not necessary. And there is an ever-present danger with them. Just as our feelings can carry us away, so can all the bells and whistles that we rely on to conduct church. It’s easy to forget about what is important or what is real. God had to take me half way around the world to remind me of that. He had to free me from my daily rut and remove the veil of western ignorance so that I could see clearly. And in that African bush He assured me that our worship service in small town Texas would not suffer in the least. Stripping our worship team was His way of pruning the dead branches that we might have genuine, vibrant worship – the kind I saw in Sudan.

In a society like America where we are spoiled with technology, toys and an abundance of other frivolous things, we tend to stress and worry a lot. Expectations run high. We also get mad a lot. We may even get mad at God if things don’t go our way. We file car problems and computer viruses in the category of Christian suffering. We throw fits over what we think are entitlements. We call ourselves victims when life doesn’t go as smoothly as Mr. Lucky-pants next door. I mention these things because stress is no friend to physical pain. Oftentimes, it can be the root cause.

We sometimes joke about people in third world countries because they are so laid back and carefree. They say things like “no problem” or “don’t worry, be happy.” I would agree that this mindset can be taken to an unhealthy extreme, but I do appreciate the fact that these folks aren’t bogged down with all the useless worrying we do in the States. Never did I meet anyone in the Sudan who worried about what to wear or what to eat. They don’t stress over things like the light bill or computer crashes. The Sudanese live in a different reality. In this war torn region of the world, people understand what true suffering is. They deal with famine and disease on a daily basis. Or if you’re a border town like Nimule, you live with the constant threat of the Lord’s Resistance Army{*} from Uganda. They come, kill, rape and pillage. They abduct any male child big enough to hold a machinegun.

In Nimule, they don’t air TV shows like ‘What Not to Wear’ or ‘The Best Thing I Ever Ate.’ They have never even seen the Food Network. If they did, a popular program might be ‘The Only Thing I Ever Ate.’ Beans and rice is pretty much it for most. And many Sudanese aren’t so lucky to have that. The expression “three squares” is not something you’d ever hear in places like Nimule. Life is simple. Expectations never venture past the unreasonable. The Sudanese would never dream of the silly demands we often place on God. Yet they see miracles we never see. Daily survival is considered a miracle for those in the African bush. It’s a miracle for us as well. They just happen to realize it. We don’t. We think life is unfair when we don’t have our things. We’ve become prisoners to them.

I did happen to visit some prisoners in the bush. These were real prisoners - prisoners of war! These radical Muslims had been captured after a brutal attack on Nimule. They were the ones who came to kill, maim, rape and pillage. These were the few who didn’t get away. There were about sixteen of these captives in total. I had the opportunity to share the gospel with them. I kept it simple. I explained to them of how they could know God and have the assurance of salvation. The Qur’an teaches otherwise, so I knew this would have great appeal. I read to them from John chapters one and three. When I asked if anyone would like to give their lives to Jesus, twelve raised their hands. We gave them Bibles in their Arabic language. When our team left, they asked if we could come back and share more Scripture about Jesus.

This was a momentous day for me. My heart was filled with rejoicing and my eyes flooded with tears. Souls had been saved! Jesus had set the captives free! Hooray! I was buzzed for hours. But once I came down from my high I got curious. I couldn’t help but wonder what these prisoners had actually been deprived of. How had their lives become any different, or any worse than the average African? The only thing that popped to mind was family. Other than that, what did they have to go back to besides a machinegun? It makes you wonder who the real prisoners in our world are. Far too many are prisoners to things. Stuff keeps us in bondage. We are slaves to our entitlements. At the threat of losing things, we worry, we stress and we get mad. We may even get mad at God, even though He warns us not to let material things rule our lives.

I fell in love with the people of Nimule. Even though they have few things and live in constant threat of danger, they seem very content with the hand that has been dealt to them. They don’t complain. They don’t expect better. They are not angry with God for what they lack. They worship Him. They worship like I’ve never seen people worship. God spoke to me in the Sudan. In a course of two weeks, He changed my heart, adjusted my attitude and opened my eyes. I returned to America a different person. Spiritually speaking, I was changed. I had changed physically as well. Shortly after my trip I was introduced to the reality of pain. Excruciating pain. Why? How? What? Was it a parasite that I had brought back from the bush? Disease? Cancer? All I knew was that something was wrong - painfully wrong. I hurt something fierce. Six years later, I’m still fighting the pain. At least I’m still in the fight. I refuse to be taken prisoner.

Chapter 1

When I Dream

Dreams really do come true. I’ve seen it happen on TV. I’ve watched people become the next iron chef, top model and ultimate fighter. I once witnessed some lucky guy win his very own bachelorette. I even saw a complete unknown become an American Idol right before my eyes. Then there was the biggest loser that became the biggest winner. I’ve also watched scores of blue-collar types become instant millionaires. Bless their hearts; they all said wealth would never change their lifestyle.

Typically, when people talk about pursuing a dream, they have their sights on something obtainable - maybe not easily obtainable - but obtainable nonetheless. Sometimes, dreams do fall into a person’s lap, as we see on TV. But not everyone can rely on luck. Most of us have to pay dues. Living in the land of opportunity does have its advantages. The American dream makes it much easier for those who are hungry for success, whereas third world countries present challenges we don’t face in the states. In many parts of the world, people dream of food on the table. For this reason, many dream of coming to America. They have no ambition of becoming the next rock star, sports star or movie star. All they have on their radar is a more comfortable existence. In this stage of my life, that’s all I’m after.

I am absolutely convinced that my dream will come true. One day soon I will wake up completely pain free. I often wonder what that will be like. I have forgotten what it is to feel “normal.” I’m not sure what that means anymore. My pain is chronic. It is never absent. A day never goes by - not even a moment - when I’m not aware of my discomfort. It’s part of me now; a part of who I am. I prefer not to be thought of this way by others, so I don’t talk about my condition much… unless I really have to. I refuse to be pitied or labeled. I don’t want to be looked upon as that poor, suffering soul. Yet that is how I have come to know myself. I hurt. Sometimes I hurt a lot. I have bad days and sometimes I have even worse days. I couldn’t adequately describe what a good day is for me. I suppose that would be when I don’t have really bad days.

On not-so-bad days, when my pain is tolerable, I function pretty well. I can concentrate, be social, be productive and feel happy. I can act as if everything feels normal. But even my not-so-bad-days tend to end early. Eventually I tap out. Evenings are the most difficult. By then, I feel fatigued and sorer than before. Generally, I have to lie down; I stay that way until I turn in for the night.

Sleep is something I have come to truly cherish. In this tranquil state I become oblivious to pain and snooze like a baby. For this reason, I have grown to appreciate those nights of slumber more than ever before. It’s the only time can enjoy the normal life. If only I could wake up to this kind of normal… even for a moment. But that’s only a dream. That’s okay because I truly do believe in dreams. I know mine will come true. Someday soon I will wake up completely pain free.

I will never stop dreaming this dream. No one can ever take it away from me. I will never stop believing or hoping or praying. These things are what keep me going. They are what keep me strong and encouraged and joyful. That’s how I prefer to be known by others. I wish to be seen in a positive light, as one who keeps his spirits high. So I dream my dreams and pray my prayers. And I look forward to that day when I will feel normal again. I may have forgotten what it is like, but I do remember it as being pretty sweet. Once I return to the sweet life, I will be known as the one who never gave up on his dream.

“Forsake me not, O LORD: O my God, be not far from me.

Make haste to help me, O Lord my salvation.”

(Psalm 38:21-22)

Chapter 2

This is Your Life

I once met a fellow in Nimule named James. He was blind. He wasn’t born that way; he lost his eyesight after an assault. The way James explains it - he couldn’t come up with the dowry he owed for his bride so his in-laws came after him and doused his eyes with acid. After blinding the poor fellow, his bride was forced to return home. Such is life in Sudan.

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