I started this space because I needed a place where I could be honest. I had long-since drowned in my own voice in the echoing walls of past blogs -- overshadowed by my then-voice of judgement, superiority, and an expectation to always have things together. I need a place to be vulnerable, to be honest, to be forthright about life's confusing twists and the inevitablity of failure. And I needed to say them, outside the shadow of my former self, understanding that those things were unforseen and okay.
Because Life gets messy. Sometimes really messy.
I got a call this morning that a dear and close friend had been admitted to a hospital on suicide watch.
There is a lot of busyness that fades into sharp clarity against the stark contrast between life and death. And in that sudden emptyiness and blankness of thought, there's a slow filling of lyrical poetry that occupies the mind while the soul is grasping for its own words:
"Step one you say we need to talk. He walks you say sit down it's just a talk. He smiles politely back at you. You stare politely right on through. Some sort of window to your right, as he goes left and you stay right. Between the lines of fear and blame, you begin to wonder why you came" (The Fray)
... more quiet washing of dishes and staring blankly...
"I wish you could step back from that ledge, my friend. You could cut ties with all the lies, that you've been living in. And if you do not want to see me again, I would understand" (Third Eye Blind)
... absentmindly wiping counters and watching the rain pound my picture windows...
"I watched you sleeping quietly in my bed. You don't know this now but there's some things that need to be said. And it's all that I can hear, It's more than I can bear. What if I fall and hurt myself? Would you know how to fix me? What if I went and lost myself? Would you know where to find me? If I forgot who I am, would you please remind me? Cause without you things go hazy." (Rosi Golan)
I have been to dark places. I've spent long weeks out of contact with humanity, staring out of a dorm window watching unending rain that seemed to match the weeping of my soul; where hygiene, appetite and companionship were things of a seemingly previous life. There have been periods of creative writing, describing jumping from an 8th story window and swimming deep beneath the waters to find quiet and eternal peace, that won awards for "ingenuity". It wasn't creative writing, it was non-fiction.
But in the decade since, my life has also understood what my clouded mind then could not. Life has these messy moments. These "I don't think things will ever change" stages. When I first got married, my husband had a heinous job for the military. He would stumble in from work, barely remove his work boots before he would fall asleep mid-sentence from exhaustion. I would have been praying for him his entire commute, begging God to keep him awake enough to get home without incident. I had almost lost my new life-partner on sleep deprivation insanity. He was enslaved to a job by contractual obligation that only prison could provide escape. There was no quitting, no showing up late, no "can I have a different job, please?" options. For months, he would say as he would leave for another 27 hour shift: "Life won't always be this way."
It became my mantra. We lived in an emotional triage, just surviving until we could be finished with that life stage, with that job, with that work cycle, with that employer. But every day when the day closed or I had a difficult time putting one foot in front of the other with any renewable hope, he would remind me, "Life won't always be this way."
Life did change. The job ended. The reenlistment bonus offer came: I told him to spend it alone if he considered it seriously. We left the military and started something new: school. Unending semesters without break: from undergrad, the birth of our first child, to graduate school, the birth of our second child, until graduation. He worked during the week at a full time job, and full time course load at school (plus leading worship, being an addictions counselor/mentor, and leading a life group). Study time was after dinner at the university library until 2 or 3 in the morning, before coming home to "nap", shower and load up on coffee before work. I began to think there was no difference from our previous life stage. It was in these stages of absolute crazy in which the only thing that gave me pause for grace was his reminder: "Life won't always be this way."
Right now, life is slow. Education and life experience and work ethic (and God's marvelous goodness) provided us with a solid employment, a great home and a church that aligns theologically with how we view/understand/love God. But we just left a season of shock with the miscarriage of our baby last September that made us remember how sincerely we used to cling to Him when things were continually rocky. Life's messiness always shakes me into root myself and simplify all the busyness down to the essentials.
I don't know the desperation of my friend, or what would make them feel trapped inside this lifetime enough to beg for an absolute end. But I know that I have felt those things. I also know that life gets messy. Hurried. Muddled. Darkness overshadows the Light and makes it impossible to see Truth, or Love. Life's messiness demands clarity: the shroud of Darkness makes it difficult for us to look to the One who is Light: "in whom there is no darkness at all."
I used to sit in that dark room, for unending cloudy days, listening to the rain, relishing the moodiness, enjoying the sulk, appreciating my lonliness and praying for an end. End did come with summer, and its bright sun and its beckoning to warmth brought me out of my major depression disorder and into a new season. The light dispelled the darkness and through counseling mediation and sharing my depression with my family and their overwhelming love to help me heal, I eventually came to be without MDD. It's been a long journey since then, but I remember the clouds.
Dear friend: "Life won't always be this way."
