My friend Michael has Degenerative Disc Disease. He’s been through several surgeries and spent many sleepless nights on his bedroom floor. He keeps prescription meds in his pocket for when things get unbearable during the day. I’ve heard that back pain is the worst kind. I think Michael would agree.

Last week he told me that his C-spine (the discs in the neck that support the head and protect the spinal cord) have eroded and shifted dangerously close to puncturing his spinal cord, causing permanent damage to his central nervous system. At this point control of bowel and bladder function would be compromised, followed by a decrease in mobility and eventually paralysis because the nerves telling muscles to move would be severed.

His doctors are recommending another surgery, this one involving fusing metal rods through his neck to ensure no further damage to the spinal cord. After the surgery, Michael will never again be able to nod his head up or down or tilt it side to side. He will have to turn his whole body to look to the right or left. Michael spends much of his time teaching and speaking; it’s where he comes alive. This surgery will surely make that life look a little different. To add insult to injury, doctors say this surgery will probably not relieve any of his pain.

The metal rods that will become Michael’s new neck will limit him in ways that he can’t yet understand, but they will also keep him “alive”. I can’t think of a better analogy for God’s sometimes-painful work in our lives. Sometimes he sets us free to roam the planet; other times it feels like we’re in a birdcage.

In the Bible, the Psalmist refers to God as his “keeper”. I did some checking and it turns out that “TO KEEP” in Hebrew means, “to hedge about (as with thorns).” In my mind I picture a thorny row of bushes that keeps predators out but also keeps me in. Maybe it’s more like barbed wire that protects me from harm that I cannot see, and prevents me from straying too far away and harming myself or others. Either way, the very thing that causes me pain also saves me.

It’s interesting that Paul called his ailment his “thorn.” Paul admitted to praying on multiple occasions for the Lord to remove it. He didn’t, and finally Paul concedes that to suffer the thorn must be God’s best for him and that the weakness makes him stronger.

As most of you know, in 2007, halfway through Jennifer’s pregnancy with Sadie-Claire, I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. I’d been having symptoms for a year and a half and knew that MS was a possibility, so I wasn’t shocked. It was still very hard to process.

At my diagnosis my doctor informed us that my disease had progressed to a point where, without effective treatment, I’d be using a cane to walk in seven years and a wheelchair in 15. For days I pictured myself being pushed in a wheelchair to Hutch’s graduation. Jennifer’s mind went to having to “go it alone.”

My treatment options consisted of a few injectable drugs that had proven to be effective, or a clinical trial for a promising, experimental MS therapy involving chemotherapy. I opted for the latter and waited eight months for approval to receive the drug on a trial basis.

During that season of waiting and uncertainty and ever since, this disease has caused me to rethink many decisions and say “no” to a lot of options I may have otherwise have accepted. It has taken my family down a path that we didn’t expect to walk and has changed the course of our family journey. It has at times hemmed me in and rendered me powerless to move forward. It has been hard and unpredictable and defeating, but also, at times, freeing. Since my diagnosis I’ve experienced new life. There’s new life in our marriage, in our family, and in my work. The Lord has taught us about rest and Sabbath and simplicity. He has shown us the love and generosity of the Body through our vulnerability, and He’s given us friendships that only could be possible with a lot of time at home. It’s come at a price, but it’s all been worth it.

It’s human to resist our own undoing. But sometimes there’s nothing we can do to prevent it. Sometimes it’s an act of God, and to think we can “beat it,” “get past it” or “fix it” is just foolishness. Admitting that we are helpless is a tough pill to swallow, but it’s part of life just the same. It’s what leads us to Jesus in the first place and is what keeps us close to Him as we continue to make our home in His Kingdom.

In “Undone,” Mia Fields and I wrote the words “Surrender is Stronger.” In this world’s system that statement doesn’t make a lot of sense, but in Jesus’ Kingdom--one not of this world--it is the way to peace. Jesus demonstrated the most profound surrender to the Father on the cross. He asks the same of us as we follow in His footsteps.