Feeling the Hurt

“Get in line with the things you know

Feel the pain, feel the sorrow

Touch the hurt and don't let go

Don't let go, don't let go

Get in line with the things you know

Learn to cry, like a baby

Then the hurting won't come back

Won't come back, won't come back”

                        - “The Hurting,” Tears for Fears, 1983

I’ve been listening to this song since the mid-1980’s.  As a teenager, I was in love with Roland Orzabal, Curt Smith and everything Tears for Fears.  An ultimate groupie, I had every published album I could get my hands on.  After I became a Christian, I haven't listened to TFF as often, but have found I gravitate back to their music off and on.  I listen more intently now, noticing the words and discerning their meaning.  They were just words and music to me before.  Yet, the songs always brought me a sense of comfort, perhaps reminding me of a different time and place, yet still timeless.

As I played “The Hurting,” a song from the album of the same name, I heard the lyrics differently.  I heard them as if the Holy Spirit was telling me something new.  I am uncovering some deep pain and hurt from the loss of my dad 24 years ago.  He was diagnosed 31 years ago.  This past week I have been more out of sorts than usual. “Yesterday was plain awful,” in the words of Annie as she sings with Daddy Warbucks.  Between the physical manifestation of my hurts to the emotional void I find myself in, I am dealing with some big stuff. 

As my counselor was praying over me, I had an image, not too surprisingly, of the vessel that represents the metaphor in my book.  The clay pot, faded and cracked, was full to the brim.  The water had begun to leak, however, not in small trickles down the side, but forcibly through the cracks, like a dam about to break.  This metaphor is quite appropriate and accurate.  The vessel is me.  All that is inside me is about to break loose and I have been trying to patch the holes.  I have been successful up until recently.  Anger, hurt, and depression seep through into my everyday life.  I have used temporary fillers and called them “grace” and “forgiveness.”  In an effort to be a “good” Christian model to my family and those in my sphere of influence, I have stuffed my emotions so deep that I could no longer name what they were.  I’ve carried my boulders of pain and sorrow and have yet to exchange them for the lighter yoke that Jesus so freely offers me.

So, what of this cracked and bursting vessel?  It won’t be long now before the structure gives way.  It’s coming, just like the storm that has been rising in my heart.  I have made a conscious choice to keep the rolling thunder and crashing waves at bay. However, as I get deeper into my weary soul, my strength fails me.  The walls are definitely about to rupture.  As much as I try to prepare myself, I don’t know that I can.  Jesus is in the middle of it, I can see Him there, on the water, calmly waiting for me to come to Him.  But, fear holds me captive on the beach.  Do I have the faith to walk towards Him?  Towards the One Who can give me the one thing I need so desperately?   I don’t want to feel the pain.  I’ve kept it at bay for so long now.  What happens when I let go?

I hear the lyrics in my head, ““Get in line with the things you know, Feel the pain, feel the sorrow. Touch the hurt and don't let go, don’t let go, don’t let go.”  What does that look like?  Why is it so scary to touch the hurt? “Get in line with the things you know. Learn to cry, like a baby. Then the hurting won't come back, won't come back, won't come back.”  I know our tears bring catharsis.  I have cried, but have I cried out?  Is there a difference?  Stoicism is not always admirable.  Who am I being stoic for?  What kind of hero do I think I am?  Is that even why I am keeping it all in?

So many lyrics run through my head, more from Tears for Fears.  Even the very name of the band speaks volumes.  The name comes from Arthur Janov’s “The Primal Scream Theory.”  Exchanging our fears for tears is one of the concepts derived from Janov’s work and the origin of the band’s name.  It reminds me of the Scripture:

“And provide for those who grieve in Zion – to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor.” – Isaiah 61:3

I never realized how much I needed to see those words until just now.  “And provide for those who grieve. . .”  For too long I have not allowed myself to grieve.  I did not grieve the loss of my father, my first marriage, my childhood, my teenage dreams, my ideals about relationship with my mother and more.  In holding on to the past hurts, refusing to acknowledge them, they have occupied my heart in such a way that joy and peace have been edged out.  All I have known is the pain of loss, even without always knowing the cause.  And, now, as the proverbial lava comes bubbling to the surface, I am still trying to keep it at bay.  I’m still afraid of feeling those emotions.  It’s one thing to name them, but another thing entirely to feel them, to give them space to exist out in the open.

The Scripture says in Proverbs 4:23, “Guard your heart above all else, for it determines the course of your life.”  I have been guarding my heart in the wrong ways, avoiding confrontation with the very emotions that kept me in bondage.  The Scripture is true – even when you are guarding your heart the wrong way, it will determine the course of your life.  For me, it has been fraught with depression, anxiety, fear and co-dependency.  Jesus has so much more for me.  I know that in my head.  I’m just waiting for it to get to my heart.