Fear as a Component of Pain

I’m convinced that a significant part of the negative impact of pain is fear; fear of unknown effects or consequences, or whatever. How often does a child scream out in seemingly unhindered pain despite having only endured the slightest scratch? Compare this to the aged construction worker who is likely to end his work day with dozens of scratches and not even know about them. Fear of the impending pain is sometimes worse than the pain itself.

But when we have courage that the pain can be endured and that, no matter the process the outcome will be to our benefit, the fear may reduced significantly. Many of us can recall that the Lord often says “Fear not” throughout the Bible.  But how many of us recall the promise the Lord gives us immediately following that command?

In each scenario I could find, God calms the nerves of his people, and builds their courage with a simple promise: “I am with you”. How comforting that is. Look at some examples:

• Genesis 15:1 “Fear not, Abram, I am your shield;”
• Genesis 26:24 [To Isaac:] “Fear not, for I am with you.”
• Isaiah 41:10 [To Israel:] “fear not, for I am with you…”
• Luke 2:10 [To the shepherds:] “And the angel said to them, ‘Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.'”

I’ve learned that the pain of this process of grieving over the loss of Jacob hasn’t subsided much, and perhaps a significant reason is the fear of what comes next. I witness that parents who have lost children decades ago still weep. Is this my fate? And if so, what part of that future fate makes it so frightening as to increase the present pain? I must confess that I struggle with the promise that God gave Deb and I, and still gives us to this day: that He is with us. Sometimes the comfort is overwhelming and peaceful. Other times, the words seem hollow or transparent. I suppose there’s a reason that fellows like Abraham are biblical heroes; they heard the promise, felt the courage, and had the faith to continue. That’s just not normal behavior. And so, perhaps we must seek to be “abnormal” in this respect, and accept the gift of courage given to us by God’s promise of companionship through the pain.

As a sort of an aside, I want to let you in on some behind-the-scenes material. I initiated a draft of this post because the connection (between fear and the pain I was experiencing throughout this grieving process) hit me all of a sudden, like a light shone suddenly on a cockroach. Sure, it was likely there all along but I didn’t notice it until the moment the connection was made. I was having trouble putting the thoughts into words to describe the connection, however. So, there the draft sat. For days.

With no connection to this post, I happened to converse with my brother about some of the feelings I was having – but never mentioned to him the words pain or fear, or this post. He immediately sent me two books written by C.S. Lewis, “A Grief Observed” and “The Problem of Pain”. I immediately dove into “A Grief Observed”. Allow me to share with you an excerpt from the very first paragraph:

No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep swallowing.

Professor Lewis felt the same feelings, years ago, when he lost his wife to cancer and took the time to jot down his thoughts in his journal. He goes on to more amply describe the connection between fear and the pain (and so many more aspects) of grief than I ever could. I was stunned, and then pleased to read his work just as I was working through the exact same feelings in this journal. And, to my brother, I will be forever grateful for the insight.