“What’s a ‘wakingpain?’ ”
I get that a lot. To answer, I have written this page.
“Wakingpain” is a term I invented to summarize what is often called “my testimony.” I’m not too fond of that overused phrase, in part because this isn’t so much a testimony as it is just how my life was for so long; this is a part of who I am. Secondly, I’ve come to discover that it isn’t just “my” story. Everywhere I go, with each person I have to explain the term to, there is a following recognition in their eyes. It isn’t a state we all live in, but we are all familar with it.
So what is it?
For a large portion of my adolescent life, I was depressed. I felt outcast in my own home, seperated from my family, disconnected from this God/Jesus that my dad preached from the pulpit every week, and friends were few and far between, if they could even accurately be called that. As you might could guess and can probably relate to, crying myself to sleep wasn’t just frequent; it was the norm. The nights I hated, but I learned to deal with it. I could cope with a wet pillow. What I never adjusted to were the mornings. The nights were a daydream compared to waking up to the thought, today I have no hope. Deprive a man his happiness and he will press on with the desire to renew it; take away his hope, and you take away his will to live. Insomuch, those hopeless thoughts each morning gave birth to the term “wakingpain.”
I did try my hand at suicide, though, thankfully, that hand refused to move (good thing, too, since I was little too naive to go for the wrists; I was trying for the throat). I still can’t physically explain why I didn’t kill myself that day. I know full well that my neurons were firing, and my arm should have been doing what I told it to. Still it would not, and, for the first time, I actually had a ‘heart-to-heart’ of sorts with that God/Jesus fellow that I kept hearing my dad talk about. Know what I found out? He’s a cool guy, and He talks back when you ask questions. I found out that I didn’t have to wake up to a lack of hope in this world; I now had hope in another one. Every morning I got up, and do still get up, and asked God to get me through the day. Every morning, He did just that. The more time I spent with Him, the better the days got. It’s been a long time since I went to bed hopeless, and even longer since I woke up that way. Know what? That’s the way I’m going keep it.
So why hang onto the term for what I hate most about my past? Because other people seem to relate to it so well, and also it is a part of who I am today. I’m not living for the past or the memories, but I have a healthy respect for them. What – Who – I live for now is the way out of my past, the truth about my hope, and the life that has been returned to me.
In the simplest terms, I live for, through, in, and by Jesus Christ alone.