Sweet Sandpaper Dreams: Dealing with Chronic Pain

by Sally Matheny

Small, green squares of sandpaper were taped in various places around our house. Three days passed before my husband finally said, “Okay, what's up with all the sandpaper squares?”

Reluctantly, I shared how the squares were little reminders for me of a dream I had a few nights earlier. 

Due to chronic neck pain, I ususally don’t sleep well enough to dream at all. However, one night I dreamed I was riding an old, school activity bus. Laughter and chatter ping-ponged through the bus. We were an excited bunch.

Eventually, the bus bumped onto an unpaved route through an open field. The rough terrain jostled us about and I remember mentioning several times about it causing pain to my neck.

After bounding down through the field awhile, we finally arrived at a vast, old barn. The bus pulled alongside it and parked. Festive music swirled through the open windows.

Through the barn's large open door, I could see a lively party taking place. Smiles, laughter, and music filled the room. Excitement bubbled from the bus passengers as they prepared to exit.

The bus driver asked if I would please stay seated until everyone disembarked. I wondered why he would ask such a thing but I obliged, thinking perhaps he had a question or something.

After everyone left, the bus driver handed me a piece of brown sandpaper. Fingering its roughness, I said, “I don’t understand. What’s this for?”

He kindly explained that I would have to stay on the bus and watch from the window.

 “Why?”

“Because every time you say something about your pain, it is slightly abrasive, like this sandpaper.”

I did not ask for further explanation. I knew exactly what he meant. 

In reality, I diligently try not to whine about my chronic neck pain. When I update, I try to simply state the facts. However, no matter how one says it, if one says it too often, it becomes irritatingly abrasive.

Point taken.

In my dream, I held the sandpaper in my lap. I remember feeling sad and left out. There was no anger, just remorse, as I watched the people inside having fun. 

Then I woke up.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I pondered it all for a moment. Immediately, I began a search for sandpaper. All I could find was the green kind. 

That was okay; perhaps it would hark a little louder. I wanted reminders everywhere!

  

The pain is more noticeable at night, so one square went beside my bed and another near the bathroom sink. Now, As I brush my teeth, I rub my finger across its scratchy surface.

My family knows nights are worse. I don’t have to tell them that. They see me retrieve ice packs, Tylenol, and such. They are kind and understanding. Continual updates are not necessary.

The refrigerator was next. After a long day, the neck may be sore but a meal needs to be prepared. 

I give a stroke or two over the green sandpaper while I cook. Soon, I have the food ready and we’re giving God thanks.

Another sandpaper square is inside my purse. Often, when I reach for my cell phone or keys, my knuckle scrapes across it. Mentally, I say, “ouch.” Exactly, I think and smile.

After telling my sweet husband about my dream, he tried to assure me that I was being too hard on myself. He said I did not complain too much—that it was all my own subconscious worries about complaining.

Nonetheless, the sandpaper dream made an impact and my life has changed.

Don’t get me wrong. Our days aren't floating by on cotton candy clouds. Some days are great. Others are not-so-much. Life is real at our house. Problems and pain come and go.

However, I have witnessed the effects of ceasing my repetitive pain updates. 

I feel better!

Life is a little sweeter. 

And next time...I'm getting off the bus!

Blessings in the Slow Lane

by Sally Matheny

    

In Search of the Quickest Route?

Are you a lane-hopper—zigzagging around others in search of the quickest route to your destination? Whether it’s on the highway or in the cashier aisles at Wal-Mart, you’re the man with a plan or a woman on a mission.

     Punctual and focus-minded are admirable traits but don’t miss the blessings in the slow lane. As nice as it is, this is not a post about stopping and smelling the roses.
 

     However, many of us are like the Mad-Hatter from Alice in Wonderland,  scurrying about from one objective to the next. We’re either dangerously overloaded with commitments or we’re borderline OCD with our color-coded organizational charts (which, by the way, have budgeted ample time for travel into the daily schedule).

     Life is merrily racing along until—BAM!

     An injury, illness, job loss—whatever it is, has suddenly shoved you

all the way

Slow Lane Got You Down?

into

the

s-l-o-w

lane.

    

     No one likes to be sidelined. There’s too much to do and too many places to go. We aggressively seek solutions to get back on the fast track. We try to learn how to adapt and overcome. However, as life decelerates, there’s no choice but to scoot along at a reduced speed.

     Prior to attending a recent writers’ conference, my concerns were not over agents and editors, but rather mobility issues. Diagnosed with Complex Regional Pain Syndrome (CRPS), I wondered if I’d be able to walk the hilly campus.

     After arriving, I met many others gradually and painfully making their way to classes—people in far worse condition than me. Broken bones, rheumatoid arthritis, tumors, diseases, cancer.

 

    At last year’s conference, I remember maybe two or three people struggling physically. Why were there so many hurting people there this year?

     One morning on my way to class, I did my usual side step down the stairs and made my way across campus. The fast ones already planted themselves in the best seats. Even my new, slow-moving friends weren’t on my usual path. Nonetheless, sharing the warm sunshine with the chirping birds made the stroll pleasant.

     Then, I saw the roses. Beautiful reddish pink roses—the shade that looks great on toenails but not on lips kind of red. Why had I not seen them before? I had walked this path at least four times already and had not spotted them stretching over a fence. Most were in full bloom, facing the path, beckoning me to notice what they had to offer.

     Bear with me, I told you this was not a “stop and smell the roses” story and it isn’t. In that moment, I realized the roses had always been there, just like the injured people I had met. They were there last year, I just didn’t notice them in my rush to get to class (you know, to learn how to become a better writer for God) or in my hurry to do good things.

     My Mary-Martha moment of revelation, by the roses, didn’t bring me to a total halt. Yet, along with my calculated gait, my journey that week grew more focused.

     Purposeful conversations took place. Radiant beauty burst forth instantly in some and in others it gently unfolded. Promises of prayer and encouraging words were exchanged like birthday gifts. Blessings overflowed.
 

     God is working in all the lanes of life, my friend. Occasionally, when we’re sputtering along, we find encouragement among our fellow slow lane travelers.

     And, just like CRPS, not all injuries are visible. Quite likely, the one cutting in front of you, or that irritating tail-gater, is possibly the one enslaved with the most pain.      

     It’s not so much about stopping to smell the roses for our own benefit. But rather regarding their beautiful presence with the same attention and care as our Creator.

     Whatever we think is impeding our progress, God can miraculously transform into delightful delays.

    
     What about you? What blessings have you discovered in the slow lane?