Accept

Last night, I found myself stroking the face of a child who was miserable.

Though outwardly calm and quiet, this child is a deep thinker, an acute observer of human behavior, and a very deep feeler.  She can work herself up into a frenzied state.  Particularly at bedtime.

She was dealing with a tooth that was loose but would not come out.  She kept working on it, but, she reported, it would bleed but not budge.  "It isn't ready yet, then," I said.

This was a torment to her.  She was having trouble with it when she ate, when she talked.  It hurt all the time.  It would "move" and get in her way.

"You won't be doing those things in bed," I reasoned.  She was not consoled.

I gave her the best advice I could.  "Accept," I told her.

Her wet eyelashes flickered in my direction.

"Just accept that you will be miserable for a while.  It's better than being mad about something you can't control."

I learned this lesson a few years ago when I had a colicky baby and a husband who was working nights.  I loved that baby with all my heart, but I was desperate for my husband to come home and just take him from my arms for a few minutes.  My arms and my ears were sorely in need of a break.

But, it wasn't time yet.  The source of misery was there, but it was not yet time for the relief from it.  I had to wait.

"I guess I'll just have to be miserable for a while," I whispered, thinking not only of the moment I was in, but possibly several other evenings to follow.  Saying that actually helped relieve the intensity of my misery.  In the rational part of my brain, I knew that colic is a temporary problem.

Most problems are.

I have learned that even the most emotionally excruciating problems--ones that can go on for years with no end in sight--are often still temporary.  The biggest problem I had ten years ago has all but vanished now.

Another one or two are in its place.  But I believe with all my heart that they will be resolved someday, too.

"This is not a problem that's going to go on for years," I told her, "like mine."

She looked at me.

"It's not even going to go on for months.  Not even weeks.  This problem will end soon."

She closed her eyes again in self-pity.  It was hard for her to accept her pain even for the present moment.  She hasn't had as much practice as I have.

"Sometimes," I told her, "you think something is going to go on way too long, and then, suddenly, it's over.  Something happens that changes everything."

I stroked her soft, beautiful face some more.

She had not been willing to let me near her tooth before, but she asked me then if I could try to help her.  "Which tooth is it?" I asked.  She pointed to a perfect-looking canine.

"This one?" I asked, pushing it up and out of her mouth and handing it to her, as simply as that.

She popped it under her pillow, then leaned back on it, the strain of her ordeal showing on her exhausted face.

"It's over," I said, and she nodded.

I half-smiled, happy for her that her problem had ended, but reflecting on my own troubles.

There is a tranquility that comes with acceptance.  It seems paradoxical that accepting pain can be calming, that one can be in a state of peace while still feeling it.

But it is possible.  Freeing, even.  Instead of fighting against something you are powerless to change, embrace it.

Passing through a time of sorrow, pain, uncertainty, or loss with mindful patience is ennobling.  Enduring pain beautifies our souls.

There is always a good side to trouble, and putting one's faith in a joyful outcome strengthens character.

The examples I have used are somewhat trivial, but I believe in this principle for even the worst kinds of problems.

Illness.  It will end, one way or another.

Wanting someone or something you cannot have.  The lessons to be learned from longing are magnificent.  They can inspire us to prepare for the next opportunity, for the eventual reconciliation or realization of our hopes.  They can stretch us to work harder, be bigger, magnify our capacity, reach our potential.

Grief and want give us empathy for others.

Battling fear can build faith.

We can focus on the up-side--at least we have a job to hate, a loved one to miss, a child to raise, a house to clean.

We can take comfort in having the problem and knowing that we are doing our best with it.  At least we have what we have, at least we can test our courage, at least we can set an example for our children of how to handle disappointment.  There is always an up-side.  We need to embrace it, even though it hurts to do so.

I have learned that, even with tears streaming down my face, it is possible to sing a song that breaks my heart.

I did it for my sons at my mother's funeral.

Feeling pain means we are human.  It means we can feel, can think, can learn, can grow.

It is better to choose to handle our pain than to choose the opposite.

It is better to feel it than to bury it, run away from it, drown it in addictive behavior, deny our love and/or duty to others, act out in selfish ways that bring us even more trouble.  It is better to go through the pain than try to distract ourselves from it like children who will never learn.  It is better to accept and acknowledge our feelings than to try to deaden them with the TV or other idle time-fillers that keep us from actually living our lives, loving our loves, and learning our lessons.

Accept.  Embrace.  Get all you can out of it while it is here.  Soon, something will happen and it will end. Then, you can tuck it under your belt as a mountain conquered, and invest it under your pillow for an earned reward.