I know hospitals. I wish I didn’t, but over the years, I’ve become all too acquainted with their stale corridors and ice-cold operating rooms.
It started back in 1967 when a reckless dive into shallow water snapped my neck, leaving me a quadriplegic. When they rushed me to the hospital on that hot, July afternoon, I had no idea my discharge wouldn’t be until April 1969.
One morning I was lying on a gurney in the hallway outside a urology clinic. After two hours of waiting and counting ceiling tiles, a lab worker came through the doors to announce I’d be “first after lunch break.” I moaned. My shoulders were already hurting from lying flat so long. As the urology staff headed to the cafeteria, my heart sank. I nearly choked in a flood of fear and claustrophobia.
Crying was out. There was no one around to wipe my tears. I decided to comfort my soul with the hymn, Be Still, My Soul. In no more than a whisper, I sang a favorite from church choir:
Be still my soul, the Lord is on thy side;
bear patiently the cross of grief or pain.
Leave to thy God to order and provide;
in every change He faithful will remain!
Be still my soul, thy best, thy heavenly Friend
through thorny ways leads to a joyful end!
I was only 17 years old, or maybe 18, but that moment defined how I would engage life in a hospital. My stay would not be a jail sentence. Come hell or high water, I purposed that this hospital would be a gymnasium for my soul. It would be a proving ground for my faith and a mission field for God.
Sound improbable for a teenager? It is. Looking back, it was. But I was enough of a Christ-follower to know I had to hold on to biblical hope or else I would go crazy. Yes, I was still wrestling against depression, and still struggling with how to actually live without use of my hands or legs—even after I was released from the hospital in 1969—but I would not allow myself to sink into despair. That small resolute act made all the difference, not only then, but setting the high bar years later for my battle against stage III cancer and chronic pain.
May I encourage you to do the same? You don’t have to be in a hospital or be a wheelchair-user like me. There will be times when you feel like you’re going crazy, struggling, and wondering how you’ll ever live through your hardships or heartaches. Take it from a veteran: do not let yourself sink into despair.
Set the high bar in your battle against despondency by holding onto biblical hope. Find an anchor in Scripture, such as a favorite psalm or a snippet of a proverb. Pick a timeless stanza from a rousing, old hymn or memorize a few lines from an inspirational poem. Use that Scripture, hymn, or poem as your stake in the ground, your resolute act of defiance against discouragement. And above all, trust in God.
I repeat, trust in God. Just do it. Your hardships can do genuine good for your soul. You really can leave behind any spirit of complaint and move forward into a livelier, more robust confidence in God's plan.
As John Piper wrote, “Don’t waste your suffering.” Look at your afflictions this fall season, not as a jail sentence, but as a gymnasium for your soul. For the Christian, there is nothing more satisfying than leaving behind your woes and rejoicing in the will of God. It’s the best, perhaps the only, way to engage life!
