Sometimes It Has to Get Worse

before it gets better

My kitchen has been in various stages of disarray over the last few weeks. Before I make supper, I wipe drywall debris and spackle dust from the countertop. We stack dishes into cardboard boxes when we unload the dishwasher. There are no delectable smells of fresh cinnamon rolls or homemade bread; instead, the air is permeated with paint fumes.

Yes, I signed up for this. I knew there would be mess; I knew there would be stress. But with the hope of improving my kitchen, I embrace the bedlam. Each day I'm challenged to keep a semblance of normalcy and to feed my family from the middle of the chaos. But while I methodically rub sandpaper over dry spackle and roll paint on to walls, I enjoy the time to think and to try make sense of life.

Last fall, I decided to take a more aggressive approach to my mysterious digestive issues. I requested additional tests from the doctor. I tweaked my diet once again. And I began to pray specifically for healing. I eagerly awaited the answers and health the New Year would surely bring me.

Instead, the New Year brought me a nasty respiratory virus which settled in for a couple weeks. While it lingered, I dragged my tired, aching self around the house trying to fulfill my normal duties. Back pain assaulted me as well. I assumed it was a companion to the virus, but it loitered long after the virus left me. The doctor gave me no answers. The chiropractor offered little help. The ibuprofen only mocked me. I limped around doing the bare minimal of my daily tasks before I'd succumb to the lure of a soft couch and a heat pack.

A few weeks later, we started our kitchen remodel project, and I was thankful my back had improved enough for me to help. We made it through an exciting week of change: tearing out a wall, removing the old sink, redesigning some cabinets, and installing a new countertop.

After Vaughn and his help finished the big stuff, I pulled out the paint and roller to begin my portion of the job. I was in the middle of painting the ceiling when a GI bug took up residence in our home. One by one, it struck us until five out of seven had been hit with it.

As soon as Vaughn was through the worst of the virus, he packed up his bags and left for a two-day sales seminar. That night I lay in bed with severe abdominal pain, and the small boy beside me retched into a bucket. The furnace wouldn't stay on, and the house grew colder as the freezing temperature outside encroached inside. I dragged myself out of bed and downstairs to the furnace. I pounded on the little box as Vaughn had instructed and begged the furnace to cooperate. Back in bed, I wondered what would go wrong next.

We made it through the night, and most of us returned to our normal duties. By afternoon, I was again rolling paint on the kitchen ceiling. My young son reposed in an easy chair around the corner. When he woke up from a virus-induced nap, he joined me in the kitchen. All was calm and bright, until he let out a wail. One glance told me the story. He'd removed the bulb from the lamp and stuck his finger in the socket.

I was already jumpy from watching my daughter faint repeatedly while throwing up, and I'd been on red alert with buckets stations all around the house waiting for the next victim to go down. I quickly read about shocks, electrical burns, and electrocution until I was confident that my son was fine, and I need not rush him to the emergency room.

I watched him warily for the rest of the day and anxiously eyed the two children who had thus far escaped the virus. That night as I lay in bed with an unexplained heart-racing episode, I wondered if it was possible for the week to get worse.

But then, morning came. The school children went to school. My preschooler looked at books, played with toys, and asked for snacks. I gathered the paint brush, roller, and paint. As I listened to the satisfying sound of sticky paint being rolled onto the wall, I resumed my contemplation about life.

Is there a solution for my health issues in all this sickness? It seems the prescription I've been given is for a new perspective. I must admit that in comparison to the viruses and back pain, I feel amazing even on the days I don't feel great. It's a lot easier to be grateful for the health I do enjoy when I look back and remember how much worse I felt when I was sick.

Hard things often precede the birth of good things. Getting in shape will probably include some muscle burn. Mastering a new skill often involves repeated failure before getting it right. A pregnancy becomes more difficult as the weeks go by, but an expectant woman must go through the agony of birth before she's delivered. Our closest relationships are often shaped by shared sorrows, mutual pain, and personal sacrifice. The hard work of resolving misunderstandings can create the most meaningful friendships.

Sometimes it takes a clear plan and hard work to move from the worse and into the better. Before we started out kitchen renovation, we dreamed of a kitchen that was more compatible with our family. I longed for more light and wished for a place which invited my children and friends to sit and talk with me while I cooked. We were confident the kitchen could be made better, and with that hope, we first made it worse.

Unfortunately, life isn't so straightforward. Sometimes there's no tidy timeline and no promised panacea. We are handed things we'd never sign up for—broken relationships, chronic illness, death of a loved one, financial ruin, and such like. These things can break our hearts, distort our vision, and scar us for life.

I watch the paint turn the dark brown cabinet to white and wonder why we don't always get to see the hard things made better. I think about the wounds that haven't healed, the questions that haven't been answered, and the redemption that hasn't come.

As I contemplate the hard things in my past, I see they've been the impetus for positive change in me. The painful process of healing has given experience, taught sympathy, and offered hope. I marvel at how beauty is born through agony.

I bask in the glow of the fresh white paint and of the bright new lights. I'm excited for the laughter and the conversations that will happen in this kitchen. I'm eager for the resolutions and redemption I'll get to witness yet. My heart is filled with hope that someday things will be made better.

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. And this hope will not lead to disappointment. For we know how dearly God loves us, because he has given us the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts with his love. Romans 5:3-5 NLT