Joy... and pain.

There's a universal pain scale used widely in doctor's offices and hospitals nationwide showing ten numbered faces depicting varying levels of pain, 1 being the lowest, 10 being the highest. A couple of years ago, I was sitting in a doctor's office with my 1 week old staring blankly at such a scale. On the top of this particular scale, it read, "No one should have to live with pain." I had just endured an unmedicated labor, my newborn was not successfully nursing, and through the course of trying to eat, had rendered her feeding mechanism cracked and bloody. Add to that the fact that I was healing from a tear in my nether regions, caring for three other children by day while surviving on about 3-4 hours of sleep a night. I was no stranger to pain at that moment, both physical and emotional.

I recall disagreeing with the motto that provided the heading for the pain scale. Even in the midst of my own suffering, I recognized the value in it (pain, that is) and wondered how we, as a people, could so easily succumb to the idea that pain relief is the ultimate goal. Now, I don't want to sound ungrateful, because I have never had to deal with chronic pain, and I am truly ecstatic that the Excedrin I popped an hour ago is easing the sting of my middle-of-the-night migraine. Believe me, I believe in pain relief. I'm just trying to make a statement on the role that pain plays in our lives. In fact, at times I agree with the memorable line in The Princess Bride, "Life is pain."

Right now, I am watching a scenario play out among loved ones that is causing heart-wrenching agony. I've spent the last few days playing it over in my head, wishing it were all a bad dream. And, though the situation could have been avoided, and the pain it has caused is the result of some very, very poor decisions, I am reminded that pain is part of the human experience. I believe that we signed up for it before coming to the earth. I'm pretty confident we had little concept of the magnitude of the sorrow that many of us would have to endure. But, I do know that we chose pain, knowing that doing so would guarantee us greater joy, a measure of that in this life, and an even greater portion of it in the next.

I know I sound like a real downer. It's hard not to when people you love are in the throes of their pain, when the bright spots are nonexistent. But I cling to the truth that, while pain is a necessary component of life, our Father's plan is a plan of happiness, and that happiness is magnified because of pain and suffering. Think Alma the Younger: "Yea, I say unto you, that there could be nothing so exquisite and so bitter as were my pains... that on the other hand, there can be nothing so exquisite and sweet as was my joy."

I found the following quote:
"Our culture has become as skillful in the art of neutralizing emotional and spiritual pain as in sedating physical pain. Medicine is, in a sense, symbolic of our age. Unquestionably, medicine is often a blessing; but as all must know by now, the drugs of our time, both the literal and the figurative kinds, also offer escape—not only from pain, but also from responsibility and reality. And thus some people have developed an instinctive inclination to chart their course, both short and long range, by choosing those alternatives that will minimize their exposure to the uncomfortable consequences of taking life as it comes. Avoiding or escaping discomfort becomes almost a guiding purpose of life, as if getting around such pitfalls were the essence of a happy life."

I repeat: I believe in pain relief, at some level. But I also believe in pain... because through every pain, we qualify to experience an equal and opposite measure of joy. The Savior himself suffered unimaginably. He also triumphed over sin and death. In my own life, I have felt both ends of the spectrum, though to a much smaller degree. And for that I'm grateful.