On Choosing Mission Over Misery

By Kimberly Phinney

So, something bad happened. It doesn’t matter what it was, but it will give some context for the story I need to tell you.

As some of you know, I have struggled with clinical depression and anxiety for most of my adult life. Throw in some trauma, a highly sensitive nervous system, chronic health problems, and an engine of a mind that won’t let me rest, and you have yourself the perfect concoction for mental health struggles.

I don’t share these things to be blasé by any means—and rest assured, mental illness is not my identity. My identity is rooted in God. But I want to be honest with you, and I refuse to pretend to be someone I am not.

So, yes, the teacher and counselor needed counseling of her own, and I am proud of myself for getting the help I needed.

So anyway, back to the bad thing. So, it happened. And it was serious. In fact, it grieved me so much I didn’t know what to do with myself—because this bad thing, along with my health issues and other struggles, felt like more than my heart could handle. I am so very tired, friends.

As I cried deep, dark tears into my pillow, I could feel my spirit trying to tap out. Whenever my symptoms make a surprise resurgence, I often feel a black, fuzzy foreboding take over my brain and body. It feels like death looms over me. Then, there’s a crushing sensation on my chest, and I feel like I can’t keep going. That’s the best I can do to describe depression to you. A dark malaise and a paralyzed deer locked in the proverbial headlights is a good description, too.

Maybe you know what I mean?

Now, anxiety is like a caffeine-induced terror that zips down my spine, sending my heart and thoughts speeding at a pace I can’t control. There is a painful heat to it. Then, I go on feeling like I am going to lose my mind—or die. The dread is inescapable until something inside me pops—like an explosion on my insides—and a full-blown anxiety attack is underway.

Maybe you’ve been there?

After years of battling these haunting episodes, I have finally learned to cope and heal through my chronic illness (another post for another time). I had no choice if I was going to survive. But even today—after everything I have overcome—the slightest resurgence can send me into a spiral of worry… about worry. Or depression… about depression. Or anxiety… about anxiety. It’s hard work staying sober.

So, back to the bad thing. Here I was, crying into the late hours of the night, struggling with overwhelming feelings of loss. Loss of fertility. Loss of my health. Loss of precious memories with my husband and daughter. Loss of independence. Loss of opportunites. Loss of friends. Loss of my job. Loss of community.

I cried out to God, and whispered in my heart to him, “Lord, when will this misery end? Don’t you see my pain? When is enough enough? What have I done to deserve this misery?”

It was the word misery that distinctively stood out to me in my prayers. It was a word I never used in my prayers before, but there it was. From the Latin for miser, it is to be “wretched and pitiable.” Today, it means to be “in great sorrow or mental distress.”

Yes, that sounds about right. The pain hurt that much. And to be very honest, I think I was having a Job moment. Do you ever feel like shaving your head and tearing your robe? I’ve been there several times in the past few years, and I think this moment was one of them.

There I was, bearing my soul to the Maker of the Universe, begging for any reprieve, any answer, any light in the darkness—hungry for anything he might give me.

And then God spoke.

Now, of course, I don’t hear God audibly, but I do feel his love and truth minister to my soul through prayer, bible reading, and others. It is always a quiet, clear, holy pulse. Gentle like a breeze and steady like an anchor. And this time he spoke directly to my misery. Not that it wasn’t there. Not that it wasn’t valid. But that my misery had to be overridden and overcome for a divine reason. I had to let the light in.

He nudged, “mission over misery.” It felt so loud and clear, but he never made a sound.

“Yes, my child, you must put my mission over your misery. You must serve my people over yourself. You must choose forgiveness over bitterness. You must put aside your plans and follow mine. Trust the journey I’ve put you on. And let this pain go so you can embrace the pain of others. My mission over your misery. This is how you will heal.”

Of course, the misery persisted. And in many ways, it still does, but I know I’m on a mission that is bigger than me. And who am I to let God down? So, I tucked away that phrase in my back pocket to pray about in the days to come—to see where God wanted to go with it—what he would have me do.

Well, a day later I shared the bad thing with my best friend and asked for her prayers and wisdom. She accepted me with open arms, as she always does. She pointed me to God. She’s a friend who makes me better and has never left my side for nearly twenty years. She sees me—not my illness. She loves me—even at my worst. She celebrates my wins, and she holds me in my loses. I couldn’t ask for a better friend.

So, in our brief chat, I didn’t tell her about my “mission over misery” moment with God that happened the night before. I was still holding it close.   

Then THIS happened the next day:

During her quiet time, my best friend was reading her Bible and sent me a string of texts with prayers and Bible verses she felt God led her to share with me—all centering around Psalm 56. And the devotional on Psalm 56 was about…wait for it… lamenting and MISERY.

Here is some of what it said: (I encourage you to read all of Psalm 56.)

PSALM 56

Be merciful to me, my God…

…When I am afraid, I put my trust in you.

In God, whose word I praise—

in God I trust and am not afraid.

What can mere mortals do to me?

…Record my MISERY;

list my tears on your scroll—

are they not in your record?

…By this I will know that God is for me.

In God, whose word I praise,

in the Lord, whose word I praise—

in God I trust and am not afraid.

What can man do to me?

I am under vows to you, my God;

I will present my thank offerings to you.

For you have delivered me from death

and my feet from stumbling,

that I may walk before God

in the light of life.

And THIS was my exact prayer and experience. I needed God’s mercy. I begged for it. I asked him, “Do you see my misery??” I needed Him to take note of it. To end it. He saw me. He acknowledged me, but all He said was, “I have things for you to do. You are under vows with me—A MISSION. I delivered you from literal death and your enemies, and now you will walk before me in ‘the light of life’ in my namesake.”

MY MISSION OVER YOUR MISERY.

STAY ON MISSION, DEAR GIRL.

ONE DAY YOU WILL WALK AGAIN.

And all I can say is, message received, God. Message received.

Don’t you just love it when God shows up like that?

If you find yourself in a season of misery, or if you feel like you are being crushed by a really bad thing, please take heart. Go to the Psalms. Pour out your tears to God. Lament! Share your misery! But do not stop there…

God allowed these things in your life to grow you, stretch you, and set you apart. And if you can brave this wilderness season… if you do not lose heart… if you keep the faith… God will bring you through it and give you a DIVINE MISSION to fulfill.

You are under his vows. And he does not break his promises. If you walk in and then out of this misery, you will walk before God and others in the “light of life.”

Your mission may be writing, mothering, fathering, teaching. It may be speaking, leading, comforting, or creating. Whatever it is, please allow God to come beside you to hold and then vanquish your misery.

A BIG God and a BIG mission can drown out all of the pain. It will override it. And you will overcome.

I’m in the middle of my misery now, as we just learned my fourth surgery requires a second surgeon. It is complex and risky, and it will not a happen until October or November. And I get weaker with each passing month. No doubt, we are in the midst of the wilderness. But I will not lose the faith. I know God is here with me.

And he’s there with you, too.

So, let’s raise our hands high. Let’s turn our eyes to the hills. And let’s declare, “Mission over misery!”

You belong here,

me

KIMBERLY PHINNEY

Kimberly Phinney is a mom, wife, and child of God. As a professional helper and artist, Kimberly is an English professor, as well as a counselor and photographer. Her writing has been published in Ekstasis, Fathom, Calla Press, Humana Obscura, The Dewdrop, and more. After surviving a severe form of Stage 4 Endometriosis and sepsis in 2021, she is now earning her doctorate in counseling to help the marginalized and suffering. She is the founder and editor of this faith community and literary journal, The Way Back to Ourselves, and was recently featured on ABC News and Good Morning America for her national teaching award and the compelling health story surrounding it. As a mental health and disabilities advocate, Kimberly hopes to use her life, story, and art to help others find their way back to wholeness and faith in a world that has gone loud. She is glad you are here.