For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison...
2 Corinthians 4:17 (ESV)
It's been nearly a year since I was officially diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (read my blog on it here) and while so much has changed, many things (painfully) have remained the same. I have a better handle on my medication now which allows me to live free from the constant grip of suicidal depression, but I still struggle each day with compulsions and obsessions and fear. I have been able to do things other than clean during Owen's nap times, although I still clean so much that often I hurt my back and end up being, lovingly, forced to bed early by a caring and deeply saddened husband. There have been nights when I have been able to leave dishes unwashed and laundry scattered across the kitchen, though these nights are few and generally littered with anxiety that causes me to repeat "what do I do? what do I do? what do I do?" to Andrew while I tremble and shake to sleep.
And yet...
It is clear in the passage from 2 Corinthians: my battle with OCD is a light momentary affliction.
Really?
Light momentary affliction...
It can't be. There is no way that OCD or cancer or death or shattered marriages or pain is merely a light momentary affliction. How can I worship a God who thinks the heart wrenching pain of this life is merely light momentary affliction? But what if it is my perception of suffering that is incorrect and not God's? What if this passage is not using the words light and momentary to describe our afflictions in a "oh you're being a baby, it's not that bad" tone, but rather to point to the second half of the verse? You know, the "preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison" part?
And my mind shifts and my heart softens and I let myself collapse into the arms of my Savior.
In no way is God telling me that I need to feel like my afflictions, my anxiety and OCD and fear, are of no importance to him. That I am just being a baby for thinking they are, indeed, painful afflictions. No, I believe the same God who bore the weight of the sin and pain and corruption of the world while nailed to a tree knows fully that the heart can be weighed down in this life.
Ann Voskamp beautifully describes it in her book One Thousand Gifts -
"...the Word has nail-scarred hands that cup our face close, wipe away the tears running down, has eyes to look deep into our brimming ache, and whisper, 'I know. I know.' The passion on the page is a Person, and the lens I wear of the Word is not abstract idea but the eyes of the God-Man who came and knows the pain."
Perhaps 2 Corinthians 4:17 actually doesn't negate the pain of afflictions at all. Instead, God shows us tenderly that no matter the weight of the pain we are walking through now, the weight of his glory is beyond all comparison. An image of an old fashioned scale comes to my mind, in which even a incredibly heavy object is made light when an even heavier object is placed on the other scale. The first object has not lost weight with the addition of the second, it is still incredibly heavy. Our afflictions are still painful and weighty. It is just that the eternal weight of glory is oh, so much more. So much more in fact, that the afflictions are deemed light in comparison.
God isn't calling me to buck up, fake it until I make it, and call my OCD "not a big deal". God is lovingly lifting my gaze to himself and reminding me that as difficult as my afflictions are, they are preparing me for more glory than my fallen heart can imagine. An eternal weight of glory that is beyond all comparison in fact.
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