Wake Up!

I've been attending an afternoon Bible Study for a few months now. It's become one of the highlights of my week -  never have I been surrounded by such an authentic, seeking, open, questioning, grace-filled group of people. It's a loosely-structured discussion of the selected readings for each week of the church calendar. We share about what words, images and ideas attract or repel us; we ask what Jesus might be saying to each of us; and we try to discern to what action God might be calling us. We talk a lot about historical and cultural context and intended audience and what might lie beneath the most obvious, literal interpretation.

It's really delightful. Under the (often) gentle, (usually) tactful, broad-minded and knowledgeable guidance of our leader, I'm gradually being unfettered from some legalistic shackles that have weighed me down since childhood regarding biblical study and interpretation. Looking at the Scriptures with fresh eyes has been...well...refreshing!

Sometimes I come away from having met with our study group filled with joy, sometimes in tears, sometimes with even more questions. But today, disappointment was the overwhelming emotion that accompanied me as I walked out the door.

Since Easter is this coming Sunday, one of the readings was, of course, the resurrection account - this year from the book of Luke. (You know, the one about the women discovering the angel in the empty tomb early in the morning on the third day,  and then running to tell the disciples.)

We spent a lot of time looking at the details, comparing each Gospel's similarities and differences, imagining the deep grief and fear the disciples must have been experiencing. There was thoughtful, thought-provoking conversation.

But no one - not even me - expressed even a speck of  the wonder, the amazement, the marvel, the joy of the actual event itself. Maybe we were saving it for Easter? Maybe we'd heard it so often it had lost it's meaning?

I can't speak for anyone else, but I know my own heart. It was definitely NOT bubbling over with gratitude, bursting with joyful song, reveling in the reality of forgiveness and grace and new life and deep love that wouldn't be possible without Jesus' death and resurrection...

This hit me hard in the middle of our discussion, and I wrote this in my Bible, below the passage: "I miss the wonder I used to feel at this wonderful, wondrous story. On Easter morning I used to almost jump out of my skin with excitement, delight, joy that Jesus had risen and was alive. What happened?!?"

And while I had gleaned some new and interesting thoughts that helped me appreciate parts of the story in a deeper way, I walked out of the room deeply disappointed...in myself.

But now, I'm thankful. It feels like a wake-up call of sorts, like a kind of murky film has been peeled off my soul. I think I'll journey through the rest of this most Holy week with eyes and heart wide open, better prepared to grieve and mourn and repent and marvel and rejoice and celebrate.

Some beautiful words to ponder as we follow the path of the Passion:

WHEN I SURVEY THE WONDROUS CROSS

When I survey the wondrous cross
on which the Prince of Glory died;
my richest gain I count but loss,
and pour contempt on all my pride.

Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
save in the death of Christ, my God;
all the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to his blood.

See, from his head, his hands, his feet,
sorrow and love flow mingled down.
Did e'er such love and sorrow meet,
or thorns compose so rich a crown.

Were the whole realm of nature mine,
that were an offering far too small;
love so amazing, so divine,
demands my soul, my life, my all.

The Elephant in the Room Part Two

Let me begin by expressing my heart-felt gratitude to you good people.Your kindness and concern and especially your sensitivity have been beautiful to behold. Thank you.

The dense fog of this depression lifted on Sunday afternoon. My overwhelming desire is to dissect the experience and name a cause, but I simply can't. All I know is that in the middle of making lunch on Sunday afternoon, I stood in the middle of my kitchen and realized that whatever had been pressing down on me and confusing my heart and mind had gone. I was thinking clearly again, seeing clearly, feeling clearly.

I think the fog started to lift Sunday morning. I attended two worship services that morning, at two different churches, and each seemed as though it was tailor-made just for me, right where I was. The tenderness and intimacy and graciousness of this gesture on the part of my Father touched my heart. It was the first time I had really felt in about four weeks.

Today has been really good. It felt so good to smile and mean it. There was such a freedom, a lightness, in not having to force myself to go through the motions of living. It was the first morning in ages that I wasn't wading through a thick, mucky swamp of exhaustion, completely overwhelmed by a simple task like deciding what to serve for breakfast. My husband said to me, "It's so good to have you back."

Now I'm faced with the temptation to live in fear of when the shadow might fall on me again - because it very likely will. I resolve here and now not to ruin these good days, however few or plentiful they happen to be.

I came across an incredibly insightful quote on Facebook last night. It addresses depression with the distinct clarity of one who has been there. Stephen Fry said this:

If you know someone who's depressed, please resolve never to ask them why. 

Depression isn't a straightforward response to a bad situation; depression just is, 

like the weather. It's hard to be a friend to someone who's depressed, but it is 

one of the kindest, noblest, and best things you will ever do.

Thank you, Friends, for journeying with me. You bless me in ways you can't even imagine.

The Elephant in the Room

I'm not at all sure I should be writing in the middle of whatever it is I'm in - I usually wait until I can at least see the light at the end of the tunnel before attempting to put it all into words.

But I feel the need to write. Whether or not I'll hit "publish" remains to be seen. (If you're reading this, I guess I did...)

I feel like I'm at the bottom of a deep, dark hole that keeps getting deeper and darker with every passing day, too exhausted to even consider clawing my way back up. But it's a dim, faded feeling - I hardly feel capable of feeling at all. It's like I've been split into two parts - one acutely suffering, suffocating at the bottom of this bottomless pit, and one that's separate, apart, observing the first part with only the vaguest interest.

I'm going through the motions of living - I get up every morning, see my family off to school and work, and then I just sit - sometimes for hours at a time - staring at my screensaver, or out the window, or at a candle flame, or at the ceiling...Sometime I'll get a burst of energy and do some dishes or laundry, or go for a walk or look at Facebook. Sometimes I'll escape the agony by medicating myself with a good book and a snack.

In the evenings, I cook supper, interact with my family, put the kids to bed and surrender to the lure of sleep. But even there, I find no respite - my dreams are deeply troubled and disorienting. I often wake in the night with a gasp and a wide-eyed "was that real?" whisper on my lips before turning over and delving back into that tumultuous land of dreams.

I feel stuck, trapped, like someone pushed the "pause" button on my remote - I can't seem to look to the future at all, to make any plans or pursue any goals. And yet I can hardly bring myself to care.

On the bright side, I'm not remotely suicidal. I want to live; there seems to be, buried deep within, a weak hope that things will change someday, that my life will resume, that someone will push "play" again.

Some moments are even beautiful - sweet snuggles with my kids, shared laughs with my husband, sun and sky and wild winds... but even the beautiful can't seem to penetrate for long this fog that is my current reality.

I've been avoiding close contact with people who care about me. One of my dearest friends was in town for a week, and I only saw her for about twenty minutes on the day she arrived. Granted, I have actually been quite sick with a violent cough and various other cold/flu symptoms that have passed through the family this winter, so I did have a valid reason to cancel our plans. But even though part of me was incredibly sad about missing out on spending time with her, that other part of me was beyond relieved to not have to be cared about and questioned.

On the other hand, I recently spent a fairly enjoyable day working at an event that had drawn a large crowd. My main job ended up being emptying garbage cans and restocking washrooms. There was lots of interaction throughout the day, but it was very much of the small-talk variety. It was easy, even pleasant, to pretend to be joyful and helpful and humble with the kindly strangers who stopped and thanked me for my efforts.

It struck me as rather strange, at first, that I had so enjoyed the day. In general, being with people these days has been excruciating. But it was the stranger aspect of the crowd that was my sword and shield - I could be anyone I wanted to be with these people; it was just a different form of escapism. And there was a vague pleasure in serving, in doing something useful with my time.

In contrast to the pleasant anonymity of being in the midst of a crowd, the thought of a one-on-one, beyond the surface, me-focused conversation...I can't even go there in my mind right now. It's too heavy, too immense, too much like being thrown into the middle of the ocean with no land in sight, armed only with little arm floaties and not knowing how to swim...

Interestingly, God has been remarkably present throughout this ordeal. My prayers have changed drastically, however; much more simple and direct, less grand and wordy. I think this is a good thing.

I guess I wanted to write in the middle of all this to preserve a record of what depression looks like, feels like...I've experienced valleys of depression in the past, but never have I been so aware of it, and at the same time so powerless to move beyond it.

Dear friends, I have not written this to cause you to worry, or to fish for affirmations, or to get advice or sympathy or a quick fix. (Please don't give me advice or solutions - I just can't handle it right now.) But if someone out there is in a similar place, know that you're not alone. And if you're a friend of someone who suffers from depression (and you probably are, it's sadly common), may this help you understand a bit of what they might be going through. Depression is ugly, but it needs to be acknowledged and accepted.

(If you see me sometime after reading this, please just act normally. I may want to talk, I may not - and you'll know :)  Just know that I value your friendship and your presence. Thanks.)