I once read the memoir of a person born without the ability to feel pain. It was a fascinating story but mostly sounded horrific. Her parents had an enormous challenge protecting her as a baby, especially from herself. She would chew her own tongue (because babies chew on everything). Her pain receptors weren’t there to tell her to stop. She definitely didn’t cry when she had a wet diaper, or was hungry, or had her arm stuck in her crib. Often the only sign that anything was amiss would be a finger that was bent the wrong way or blood. They had to check her over constantly.

Somehow this woman survived into adulthood. She had learned to be careful and to check her body often, the way her parents had for her. One time, she noticed she had a strange new gait as she walked. Concerned, she made an appointment to see a doctor. An x-ray revealed she had fractured her hip and had been walking on it that way for days.

Despite all her dangers and medical mishaps, this pain-free woman was described by everyone who had met her as the happiest, most cheerful person they knew. She never cried as a baby. She was never nauseous, never had a headache, never felt the sting of a bee. She loved life, and it showed.

It turns out, while pain is important, it also tends to really bum us out. Babies quickly learn that this life is not fun a lot of the time. There is much to explore, but also much to fear and avoid. This rewires our brains, right off the bat. As we grow, mature, and age, pain comes in some form or another almost every day.

When I visit the doctor, the intake nurse always asks, “Are you in any pain today?” It’s a standard question. In my head, I always answer “yes” but out loud I usually say “no” because the pain I feel in that moment is not relevant, important, or unusual.

“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more;  grief, crying, and pain will be no more, because the previous things have passed away.” (Revelation‬ ‭21‬:‭4‬, ‭CSB‬‬)

Pain is a fact of this life. But I’m thrilled to know that it will not exist in the next. And not because I will lack the ability to sense injury. Pain, in all its forms, will cease to exist. Hallelujah!

Dear God, thank you for the promise of a new day when all pain will be no more. I can’t wait! Until then, teach me patience and compassion as I deal with other people who are probably in as much or more pain than I am today.