On the very farthest outreach of my memory, from the time life began rolling itself into events that stuck in my head, I remember episodes of pain enveloping my legs. All encompassing, it pushes everything out of my mind. When it happens, it’s the only thing to feel. Sometimes during the worst episodes, I spend my time clinically thinking about “pain.” What a strange thing. It’s just a feeling like any other, so why is it bad? Perhaps if I think about it as something neutral, it will be neutral. It never works, but I keep trying. Other times, I rub and rub and rub. That doesn’t work either. I can move positions and get temporary relief, but it only lasts seconds. Then I move again… and again… and again.

It was worse when I was a child. I remember one night waking up at the height of an episode. It hurt so bad I just rolled back and forth in bed, confused and weary and hoping it would go away on its own. Eventually, I staggered down the hallway trying to reach my parent’s room, no longer able to cry. I leaned against the wall, staring at their door, willing myself forward. Because I knew behind the door was my mother and a soft brown wicker chair. She would rock me in that chair, rub my legs, and sing a song that will always be the song of my childhood.

It’s okay, it’s alright… Jesus loves you, this very night.

That song still runs through my head when things are not okay, and things are not alright, giving a measure of peace.

My parents always said my legs were just experiencing growing pains. It hurts a body to stretch, and it would pass. But it hasn’t and unless I’m still growing at 34 it is not, in fact, growing pains. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t think I’ll live my life without it. Leg pain will always be a part of who I am. That being said, I can go through each day without fear that I’ll land in the middle of an episode for one reason: Tylenol. I take those beautiful white tablets with me everywhere I go because my legs respond particularly well to them. Only once in my adult memory was I able to see through the pain without taking Tylenol. I have tried repeatedly since that day, but it just won’t work. I need it.

Last month we had to turn in a new budget for our organization. Every year we’re required to do this, and to have it approved by the board. It’s for legal reasons, but it’s also a good way for us to analyze our needs and intentionally think through where we’re spending money and how we can do better. When we go through each itemized line, there are the “needs” and the “wants.” There has always been a pretty easy and clear “needs vs. wants” system in my head, but I was struck last month with the falsity of my delineations. I always, always have Tylenol in the “needs” category. I can’t live my life without it. I’m not dependent on it every day. I’m dependent on it every episode. Without it… I don’t even want to think about life without it. Yes, it’s a need. I need it to function. Everyone should have Tylenol, obviously. Right?

Cecilia, our house help, comes in every Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday morning. She has chronic pain, too, in her knees and her lower abdomen. She struggles through some days, while others are fine. I see it in her. She asks for a couple of Tylenol because they can’t afford to buy it, and it’s not something they need to survive. Whaaaaat??? But, it’s a need. To live a pain-free life, it’s a need. But reality is that not everyone can live a pain-free life, and painful living is still living. It’s horribly uncomfortable and consuming, but it’s still making it through this day to the next.

That realization has significantly altered my “needs vs. wants” system. I will still have Tylenol by my side, but I won’t take it for granted. I won’t see it as akin to food in my belly or a roof over my head. When I want to complain about God staying His hand, and in so doing allowing my life to lack comfort (like every single time the power goes out), I’ve been more aware that He has given me access to Tylenol since the day my pain started. He has given me a “want” so abundantly that I came to believe it was a human right! I’m trying to become a vessel of praise by recognizing each of these gifts in my life, rather than a vessel of griping and discontent seeing all the gifts others have that I lack. I want to challenge you to do the same, especially as we enter the December month of extreme. Remember in this season so muddled by the world, that He saw to our greatest need when He gave a priceless and incomprehensible gift: His Son.