Further Regarding the Stones of Kidneys

So the week before last, I was back in the hospital (I got out March 29), again with kidney stones. Two surgeries in three weeks, with the Tulsa Workshop in between. It’s been a challenging three weeks.

I’ve described the first surgery already. Here’s what happened next —

* In the first surgery, they installed a stint, which is a tube inserted within the ureter between the kidney and bladder, designed to help the ureter heal and to allow stones and clots to pass unimpeded during the healing process.

Stints are uncomfortable — “uncomfortable” being defined as “hurts like having a knife stuck in your kidney when you pee.” I was glad to get it out!

But getting it out is an experience all in itself — as the doctor has to stick a long tube into (how do I say this?) the only available orifice leading into one’s bladder, grab one end of the stint, and pull it all the way out.

And, yes, I was very, very conscious during this procedure. And, yes, there was a nurse present.

Still, as anti-natural as that experience was, I was thrilled to have the accursed stint out of my body — notwithstanding the utter surrender of all dignity, privacy, and personal space.

* That was Tuesday. On Wednesday, I felt much, much better, and Denise and I flew to Tulsa, checking into the very nice hotel they provide to speakers. I felt the best I’d felt in weeks.

Until that night, when I tried to pass a kidney stone. Again. I spent that night through Friday morning with sporadic bouts of kidney pain as I failed to pass the stone.

Of course, the previous surgery had been designed to make passing the stone relatively easy (not painless, just really painful for less time). So it was more than a little frustrating to not be able to pass the stone.

* Fortunately, God smiled on me Friday afternoon, as I was able to teach my three classes. I was pretty much out of pain, but not exactly at my best.

The sporadic movements of the stone meant I missed several events at Tulsa, but I enjoyed the ones I went to. After all, even if you’re in pain, it’s far better to be listening to Josh Graves than watching daytime TV. But I didn’t get to meet nearly all the people I had hoped to.

* Saturday, Denise and I flew back, and I was feeling better. I thought I might have passed the stone.

* But Sunday morning, the stone returned with a vengeance. I missed church, but again, I thought I’d passed it that afternoon.

* By Monday morning, the stone returned, and I was back in the hospital, mainlining Dilautid (very welcome stuff, that was).

* The doctors gave me a couple of days to pass the stone, and Tuesday was hell. Really. I’ve looked at the Medieval woodcuts of what hell is going to be like — what with demons eating you alive and all. Tuesday was worse. I’d rather have been in the woodcuts.

* Wednesday was my second surgery, and they pulled the stone out and cleaned up the pathways for the several remaining stones still rattling around in my kidney. I came out of it not nearly as messed up as after the first one (I’ll spare you the gory details).

* They let me go home Thursday afternoon, and I slept most of Thursday and Friday. I managed to do some writing on Saturday. In fact, I wrote most of the Tulsa Lectures series that day (of course, I’d written the guts of the series 6 months earlier).

* I made church Sunday and taught my class. I’m not sure I was coherent, but I made it there.

* I’m now feeling much better, and getting much closer to manufacturer’s specs.

So I’m a little behind on my writing, and I hope no one has his feelings hurt that I didn’t respond to his comment. I’ve been just a little distracted.

Reflecting on the pain

After all the misery, it’s the nature of mankind to look for some justification for the pain. Did I learn a valuable life lesson? Did it bring me closer to God? Does it all serve a greater purpose?

Well, I got close enough to God to talk to him more than usual. But I’m not willing to conclude that God did this to me, much less that he did it to me to improve my prayer life. I don’t really think that’s God’s style.

I did indeed gain some insights on supporting people during their hospital stays. At least for me, the visits and calls from good friends were very deeply appreciated. And they came in about the right dose. I really needed to spend most of my time asleep or coping with the pain. But the occasional call or visit was very welcome.

I don’t buy the greater-purpose argument. Yes, the nature of the gospel is that even the misery of kidney stones can produce good in my life, making me more sympathetic to those suffering the same way (and it has!) and to suffering in general. The gospel does that.

But I don’t think God causes suffering just so we can be better people from it. Rather, I think God uses whatever tools he has at hand to help us grow, and suffering is one of those tools. After all, if he makes me suffer so I can relieve suffering, how do I know the next suffering person I meet isn’t suffering at God’s hands just to learn a lesson? Is it really comforting to know that God puts us through hell to make us better people? I don’t find that philosophy very attractive, myself.

Rather, God takes the suffering that is inevitable and redeems it — but he doesn’t cause the suffering. I think he hates the suffering — just as I do.

Nor do I think that suffering in this life is punishment from God from some horrible sin. We all sin, but we don’t all suffer in proportion to our sin. That comes later — and only for the lost, not the saved.

That’s not to say that God doesn’t sometimes do that. I believe that sin does often result in suffering. God can and does discipline us at times. But not all suffering is discipline. Sometimes, suffering is just suffering.

Our bodies are imperfect and broken, just like our moral characters and will power. Sin means we’re broken eikons  (images of God) — and we’re all broken in different ways. And one way that I’m broken is that my kidneys make stones.

Others suffer broken marriages. Some have broken families. I have a broken body. We all suffer and hurt from the brokenness than sin brought to this world.

I don’t deserve my wife or my children. I don’t deserve my job. There are people who wish they were married or had children or have a job. They aren’t less deserving than me. But there are also people with good health. I’m not less deserving than they.

Rather, none of us deserve a single blessing that we have. None of us is entitled to a perfect marriage, perfect family, or perfect health. An immersion and a confession did not guaranty me heaven on earth. That comes later.

In the afterlife, God will fix my kidneys. He might even fix them in this life. But if not, his grace is sufficient. I have no call on God to insist that he do a miracle on my account. I’m not worthy of more than I’ve received already — and I’m not worthy of that either.

I’m looking forward to my resurrection body. And I’m hoping I get my hair back, too. Who knows, maybe God will even knock off a few pounds. (I did lose about 6 or 7 pounds during all this.)

But suffering in this life really does make the afterlife more attractive. It makes it easier to be less in love with today and look hopefully toward God’s tomorrow. This can be a good thing. Far too often, we’re so in love with this world that heaven seems unimportant. We’re already there! Well, I’m not.

Nonetheless, I don’t think God wants me sitting in some prayer garden longing to flee this place. I think he wants me busy about his mission — to help him cure this world of sin. To help him transform people so that his will is done on earth as it is in heaven.

Will that fix my kidneys? Not necessarily in this life. But God will fix my kidneys. I just need to have enough faith that it will surely happen, and enough patience to hang around to do God’s bidding in gratitude for that promise.

Does that make me a Stoic? Am I pretending that pain in this life doesn’t matter? Not at all. It hurts. A lot. And if a little kidney stone hurts me that much, and if brokenness comes from sin, imagine how much our sin hurts God! Imagine what Jesus suffered on the cross if it was the price of millions of sins, each far worse than the hell I’ve been through.

Do I want to flee this world? Do I want to escape the pain? How could I dare think in those terms when Jesus has paid such a high price to bring me into his Kingdom and his family — to make me a king and priest — all so that I can serve God here?

So I look forward to a new, pain-free body. But I wait patiently, knowing that God’s timing is more important than anything else. If he loves me as I know he does, I hang tough, try to make good decisions, and serve him the best I can as long as he gives me breath.

But I don’t fear death. To die is gain. But that is not God’s plan for me today. Today, I need to be busy in the Kingdom.