I learned the phrase “no pain, no gain” early in life. I was an athlete who aspired to be the best in the world in water-skiing. I experienced countless falls, rejections, crashes, and disappointments during my 35-year career.
Learning to navigate and quickly overcome disappointment and pain was a must. My schedule was jam-packed, so there was little time to recoup or cry over whatever had happened. There wasn’t much time to celebrate the wins either.
As a young girl, I learned many behaviors and coping skills to navigate my fast-paced, high-pressure life. For example, I learned to keep my emotions intact when facing disappointment or unjust results. I would not allow the fans, officials, or other athletes to see me upset. Instead, I smiled, signed autographs, and spoke kindly no matter how badly my heart was breaking. Only when I was alone—usually in a Porta Potty somewhere on site—would I let out a tear. And you can believe I didn’t stay in there for long!
I pushed through physical pain. Ignore and override was my way of life. I rarely listened to the wisdom of my body or other people, including doctors, who advised me to take a break. I remember being as young as seven, asking my parents to carry me to the dock so I could train. I sometimes couldn’t walk because my little feet were dry and cracked from the constant exposure to brackish (partly salty) water. I loved skiing that much, even as a child.
However, it wasn’t necessarily my love for the sport that kept me pushing down the pain and pressing on. Mostly, I couldn’t imagine not skiing; it was my identity. Once, I begged my husband, Tim, to sneak me out of the hospital and get me to the dock so I could compete at the US Open Championships.
Did I mention I was connected to a morphine pump at the time, 13 weeks pregnant, and experiencing a bowel obstruction? Minutes after I made that absurd request, the doctor informed us that, without intervention, I was just hours from death. Thank goodness Tim doesn’t always listen to me!
Around 2013, a friend told me, “Kristi, your greatest strength is your ability to press on and push through pain and obstacles. It made you a world champion, but those traits are also your greatest weakness. You don’t know when to stop.” It took me over a decade to understand his wisdom.
I spent years going from event to event, deadline to deadline, giving myself little space and zero grace. “Suck it up, Buttercup” has been my internal pep talk for years. “You can do this. Keep going. People are counting on you.” I even felt pride in my ability to keep going when others threw in the towel.
Recently, a pastor friend named Roger asked me how I was doing. Not buying into my generic “I’m fine” answer, he asked a follow-up question. “Tell me, Kristi, what’s the first thing that pops into your head when you wake up?”
Did I dare let Roger into that chaos? He seemed to care, so I told him about the tormenting voices and anxious thoughts that greeted me every morning and how they reminded me that I was behind, wrong, not enough, and needed to do more. I also shared my fear of disappointing God, of leading the Victorious Living ministry down the wrong path.
“What do you do with all this?” Roger asked.
“Well,” I began. “I used to kneel and wallow in those emotions for hours and beg God to take them away. But now, I fight them. I crank up praise music, sermons, and scriptures, filling my mind with God’s good things. I also speak aloud to the noise until I can’t hear it anymore. Then, I start my day.”
He asked how that was working out.
“Good,” I told him. “I always muster the strength to accomplish the task at hand and move on to the next one.” Wasn’t that all that mattered? Suddenly, I realized how crazy I sounded.
Roger offered a solution. “Tomorrow when you wake up, instead of trying to drown out the noise and ease the emotions, sit in them with your heavenly Father. Tell Him your struggle and how you feel so He can help you.” Okay. What did I have to lose?
So the next day, when I awoke to those familiar voices, I resisted the urge to fight noise with noise and quietly walked outside and headed for the community boat launch. Once there, I talked to my heavenly Father and invited Him into the mental and emotional chaos, as uncomfortable as it was. And I started to cry.
I’m not much of a crier unless I’m watching television, and when I do shed tears, it’s not for long. I usually tell myself to pull it together, just like I did on the shoreline of those ski tournaments, giving myself little space to feel pain or grieve loss.
But on that day, my spirit groaned aloud. Not having control over my emotions or putting forth a persona of having it all together felt strange. At the same time, though, allowing myself space and grace to be authentic was freeing.
In the middle of my messy cry, God made His presence known. The sky was dark and cloudy that morning, but suddenly, the clouds parted in the shape of a circle, and the brightest and warmest sunrays enveloped me.
It felt like God was wrapping His arms around me, saying, “I see and hear you, My daughter. I know everything you feel, and I’ve got you. You’re okay; you’re not alone. Keep giving Me your emotions, voices, and questions. You don’t have to bear them alone. Put them on My shoulders, and I’ll give you rest.”
For the first time, I encountered what I now call the comfort of sonship—it’s a supernatural peace that comes from knowing I am a child of the Most High God. Oh, how I long to live constantly in that revelation of knowledge and the peace it brings.
I wish I could say the negative thoughts and emotions didn’t return, but they did. Louder than ever. This time, however, I didn’t try to override them with external noise or activities. Instead, I took them to God, and He helped me sort through them and find relief.
As this becomes my habit, the tormentors are less noticeable. I see now why my way of fighting my mental and emotional battle wasn’t working. I was trying to resist Satan’s onslaught with the right tools—God’s Word and prayer—but the focus and intention of my heart was not on the Lord; it was on the noise and my feelings. I wasn’t trusting God and relying on His strength. I was fighting in my own power.
I was pushing down, covering up, and pressing through the noise and discomfort instead of dealing with the underlying source.
In Matthew 11:28, Jesus invites all who are weary and burdened to come to Him and find rest. In the Greek, the word come has a sense of urgency. It is like Jesus is saying, “Come, right now! Bring Me all your mistakes, cares, and pain, plus those voices and the noise. Don’t push them down or run from them or try to cover them up. Give them to Me, and I will give you rest.” In the original Greek, rest means a sense of refreshing where you experience quiet calm.
Lasting rest is found only when you place your burdens in the loving care of Jesus. No pill, drink, religion, person, or activity can heal your pain. The best they can do is quiet them temporarily.
It takes courage to be vulnerable before God and others. It also requires self-control. It’s natural to want to remove the pain rather than move with it. But I am confident that if you dare to enter into this process with God, He will help you uncover the source of the noise and discomfort so you can be free, once and for all.
The process won’t be quick or painless, but it will be worth it. God’s peace, quiet, and comfort are available to all His children, and they are worth seeking.
KRISTI OVERTON JOHNSON encourages and equips people for victory through her writings, speaking engagements, and prison ministry. To learn more, go to kojministries.org.
