The Speed of Pain

In The Princess Bride, farm boy Westley shares a difficult truth to the young woman who would eventually become his true love. "Life is pain, highness," he says. "Anyone who says differently is selling something." Hmmm.

On the Doobie Brothers' most recent album, Walk This Road, Michael McDonald voices a track titled, Speed of Pain. In it, he recalls a lesson his friend Manny taught him that anything truly learned happens at the speed of pain.

That's worth a bit of percolating. On a few occasions, I've experienced the joyless "gift" of kidney stones. Several smart folks over the centuries have said, "This too shall pass." I can't really tie their intent back to kidney stones, but anyone who has gone through that experience knows it changes you. I now have far more empathy for those who live with chronic pain—and a firm resolve to do whatever I can to avoid going through it again.

People like my friends Jerry Pressley and Michael Easley, who each live with chronic back issues, understand this far better than I do. Chronic pain changes you.

Learning the easy way sounds far more appealing—self-help books, wise advice, coffee with friends, maybe even TED Talks. And those can help. But if you look closely at some of those we consider truly wise—grandparents, mentors, and even some online influencers—you'll notice what they all share: their paths in life required travels through pain. And there was no chance they would remain the same person on the other side of that experience. I tend to think that the louder and more sustained the experience, the greater the impact.

In his book, The Problem of Pain, C.S. Lewis says, "God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains."

Centuries earlier, Paul wrote, "We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance. And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation" (Rom. 5:3–4). In other words, pain is often the raw material from which endurance, character, and hope are formed.

But here's the catch: pain alone doesn't guarantee wisdom. Two people can endure the same setback—one emerges wiser and better, while the other becomes bitter and withdrawn. The difference isn't the pain itself but our response to it. Pain is unavoidable; but a part of what we learn from the experience is a choice. Either way we learn something from it, but whether we end up stronger or weaker depends on how we choose to respond.

Thankfully, it's not all about us. When we invite God into our pain, He redeems it. He uses it as a refining fire—shaping us into people who not only endure but who can comfort others with the comfort we've received (2 Cor. 1:4).

Billionaire aviator and film producer Howard Hughes experienced multiple crashes as a test pilot that left him in chronic pain for the rest of his life. His coping strategies were primarily to increasingly rely on painkillers and an obsession for control, which led him down a path of isolation, paranoia, and addiction. His ultimate pursuit was personal escape, which ended in personal misery.

Most of us are also familiar with Corrie Ten Boom's story, where her family helped hide Jews during the Holocaust. Her pain would include the resulting death of her father, imprisonment in Ravensbrück concentration camp, and later, the death of her sister. Instead of allowing hate to consume her, Corrie instead relied on her Christian faith and would even end up forgiving one of her prison guards—something she would later say was only possible because of Christ in her. Unlike Hughes, her coping strategy led her into a life of healing and reconciliation.

In life's "higher education" we will all spend time in the classroom of pain. The degree we ultimately earn, though, depends on whether it leads us to bitterness and withdrawal or to a redeemed life surrendered to God's glory—all by learning at the speed of pain.