My Journey Into Darkness: Finding Hope When It's Gone Missing

My body is on fire. My legs, arms and lower back are burning up. I didn't realize that taking a little more than a week off from exercise would feel this way. But blame and shame are two words that I'm trying to extract from my mental repertoire of go-to personal phrases. I was sick off-and-on for two weeks, and I even worked out half that time. Then, we had the week of Thanksgiving officially off at boot camp. And now, here I am, back in the saddle. I probably pushed myself too hard. 

The way I feel right now physically parallels my mental and spiritual fatigue these past two months. Since my post recalling our theft situation, our apartment storage locker has been broken into twice. The culprit broke the door latch and lock off both times, surprisingly leaving everything inside. We had to pay for replacement locks and door latches and are still paying for the piece of mind that the burglar took and continues to dangle over our heads. Then, a few weeks ago, I found out that a dear family friend committed suicide. A week later, their spouse committed suicide. With my Stephen Ministry training, I have been trying my best to deal with the emotional earthquake that rattled my family and friends with this information. It's hard. I don't know how to describe it better than that. I am still hurting. That's how I respond when people ask me how I'm doing. It's so confusing. I say that phrase when people give me their best "advice" about how to deal with something as traumatic as suicide. Beyond these situations (and a few others that I will spare you), we recently found out that a major scholarship Ken had won is now forfeit because of his current military benefits. That blow came last week and I'm dealing with the aftershock. Early this summer, we structured our entire monthly budget around those funds and have been living off them, in a state of expectation. Mind you, Ken and I are committed to living frugally and within our means, and well, those means were promised to us. Shock, anger, confusion--yes, we felt all of those, together and separately, in questioning how we will make ends meet these coming months. Our new budget, which I started mapping out this morning, is now 1/3 of our previous monthly budget. That means that we either need to cut back on 2/3 of our expenses to balance out or draw from savings to meet the need. No matter how I crunch numbers, it's frustrating and discouraging. Without going into further detail, something needs to change. I'm realizing that. But it's so hard. 

As Christmas approaches, I'm starting to understand better how the holidays are a struggle for many families. There's so much pressure to buy and receive lots of gifts. But what if you can't afford that? Is that what Christmas is about? Also, what happens when you're really tired of giving and just want to receive--something, anything? Especially from those who seem to require the most. According to the popular "5 Love Languages" book, I give love and receive love by giving gifts. That explains why I love picking out the perfect gift for a friend. It makes my day. Likewise, when someone gives me a gift that is well thought out and meaningful, I feel loved. The reverse is true when I'm not remembered or given something trite. I'd rather not receive anything, if that's the case.

I guess I mention these things because today I'm grappling with them. There's lots of tension in my mind between easy and hard times, giving and receiving, living faithfully or fearfully. My life is a combination of all these things and I'm struggling to find hope, when I keep being met with disappointment. Deep down, there's a spark of faith that God will meet us in this hard place but I have to keep praying that the ongoing darkness with not snuff it out. And maybe, just maybe, there's a brighter Light somewhere in this place that will be worth the journey into the darkness...

The Unexpected Gift

The Uses of Sorrow 

by Mary Oliver

(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)

Someone I loved once gave me

a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand

that this, too, was a gift.

It's a bit past 7 a.m. this Friday morning and here I am, staring blankly at my brightly lit computer screen, hoping that the fluorescent panel will satiate my need for actual sunlight. Humidity trapped in my bedroom causes water droplets to arrange themselves playfully in a thin layer across my glass window. It's raining from the inside today. That must mean it's time to cue my dehumidifier--the large and fairly awkward, box-like contraption that draws water from the air. This apartment is my first experience in needing a dehumidifier. I guess some places are better at circulating the moisture, while this apartment likes to trap it and keep it inside.

As Thanksgiving approaches, I've been questioning what it is that I'm thankful for. The holiday itself elicits mixed emotions for me. I recall learning the "history" of how the Native Americans helped the Pilgrims by supplying them with corn and other food crops during the winter, when the Pilgrims had first arrived in America. The story gets fuzzy after that...perhaps the Native Americans invited the Pilgrims over to their place and had a really big turkey dinner, complete with mashed potatoes, candied yams, hot rolls and pumpkin pie. Or, was it just a simple meal of corn and vegetables with little meat involved? To take it even further, maybe the Native Americans weren't really given a choice in having to share their food with the Pilgrims. I digress. As I get older, the details are harder to grasp and understand in context. But the idea of Thanksgiving remains. And instead of focusing on what this "holiday" might mean to the average American, I'd like to instead contemplate words I've read somewhere about 'being a person of thanks' and 'sacrificing thank offerings'. Those words and ideas make sense--at least when things are going well.

I was given this poem by Mary Oliver from a friend Tuesday evening. She read it aloud to my group in our meeting, tears grazing her face. Her words struck a cord deep within me. It resonated with all the women in attendance. Each of the ladies had been transparent that night in sharing our struggles, or in carrying the burdens of others. As Oliver writes, "Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift." The timing of this poem was perfect. It coincides with my list of what I'm thankful for.

I'm thankful for the countless ways that God shows me that He's real. I'm thankful for my incredible husband, my family, my friends, my community group, my work in a field that I love, my quirky spirit, my love for all things creative, my baker's hands. I'm also thankful for my past, for the experiences that have allowed me to seek God from a place of desperation. I'm thankful for the gift of sorrow. I'm thankful because it reminds me that I am not crafted for a world where there is darkness and despair. I have hope for something Greater, which perhaps in feeling sorrow, I can better understand and cling to--because my heart is not rooted in this world. My story doesn't end in pain. 

It's ironic that during the holiday season, I feel a greater awareness of the desperation of others. Frenetic shopping, decadent meals, gifts that won't really satisfy. It's an odd reality, the world we live in. But as I re-read Mary Oliver's poem, I'm encouraged. Her words are paradoxical, because who would want to receive the gift of darkness? And who would think it fair to share that gift with someone else? How can pain be a blessing? I don't have the answer to that question for anyone else but me. It is a gift that I received long ago and sometimes find myself re-opening. It's a painful process, but one that becomes more hopeful as I share it with others.