Meditations on an Insulin Pump

I got my 3rd insulin pump this week. The first few years I had diabetes, I gave myself 3 to 4 shots a day. Then I got my first pump in either 1999 or 2000. I can’t remember for sure. Other than the tubing that connects the pump to my stomach, it doesn’t look much different than an old school pager.

The insulin pump is a lifesaving invention. If you are a type 1 diabetic who doesn’t have one, I’d encourage you to pursue getting one any way possible. For us, it meant taking out a 2nd mortgage on our house to pay the deductible for my first one, but I’ve never regretted that. Thankfully, we have better insurance now, but pump therapy is still an expensive endeavor.

Despite the wonderful advancement it was for me to get my first pump, I remember well my first night with it. I’m not one known for overly emotional outbursts, but I sobbed to the point of not being able to speak I was so upset to have it. There was an emotional transition for which I wasn’t prepared. When giving myself shots the first 3 or 4 years I had diabetes, I had to think about my diabetes several times during the day. But then I had hours in between meals and shots that I could forget. But my pump changed all that. I had to wear it 24 hours a day and could only remove it for the three S’s–showers, swimming, and sex. And the first day I got it, I felt the weight of the pump against my wasteband second by second, minute by minute, and hour by hour.

I was a diabetic. I couldn’t escape it. I had no relief from dealing with it. And I just wanted to be normal. I had learned up to that point how to deal with the interruptions of checking my blood sugar and giving myself shots. But the pump caused me to deal with my diabetes at a whole new level–I could never get away from it.

In 2 Corinthians 3, Paul speaks of the glory of all we have in Jesus. He goes on and on–the ministry of the Spirit is glorious, there is no comparison to the beauty of the ministry of Jesus to us through the cross, this glory doesn’t fade, we are being transformed into the glorious image of Christ, and we are FREE.

Then in 2 Corinthians 4, Paul says this:

7But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. 8We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; 9persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. 10We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body.

That’s a really big “but”. We have the treasure of this incomparable glory stored away in jars of clay. Clay pots–not golden treasure chests that stand the test of time, but breakable clay pots that eventually return to the dust from which they were created.

We are breakable. In fact, we are all breaking down. My insulin pump has become to me the symbol of that. I have an incurable condition that in all likelihood will one day hasten my death (though I’m free of complications at this point). Verse 10 often comes to mind when I look at my pump. “We carry around in our body the death of Jesus so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body.”

I love the idea that there is something about my body breaking down that lets me point to the life I have in Jesus all the clearer. You’d think it would be the opposite, but it’s not. By God’s good plan, He has given us the incomparable glory of Christ to carry around in our broken clay pots. And the greatness of the treasure isn’t marred by the fragility of the vessel. This is a great paradox on which to meditate.

*Special Note: Our family has lost a loved one after a 2 year battle with cancer, bringing this passage to mind in new ways. I’ll be away from the blog for a few weeks. Thanks to those who read PT for W regularly. I appreciate your prayers for safe travel for us all. And I admit to some anxiety as I prepare to fly with my two young, active (and not always obedient and immediately responsive) boys. I appreciate your prayers for our family these next two weeks.