Barricade the road that goes Nowhere

The winter is long and dreary, here in a place where winters are supposed to be just that.

But this winter . . .

. . . this one is different.

In the midst of this winter, I am weary.

Not just any weary, but the weariness and heaviness of a soul trapped and afraid.

As a Christian, it is the sort of weariness I’ve struggled with for two decades, crying out to God, clinging to His leather-covered Word, feeling the stinging, false accusation of “not having enough faith to handle it” creep through my arms and into my chest as once again I wander the desert known to many of us as depression.

Anxiety.

Panic attacks.

Why do I dare blog about such things?

Why lay it all out there for everyone to see?

Because I know, after blogging about it numerous times already, untold numbers of others struggle with the craze and walking-alone-in-the-pitch-black uncertainty of that pesky little neurochemical called seratonin (or lack thereof).

If your soul is weary today . . . if your heart cries out to Him and you feel on the edge . . . know you are not alone. 

Know it is appropriate and necessary and even of the utmost importance to seek help if you cannot climb out of the pit yourself.

Feeling like I was nearing a crisis point a few weeks ago, I did just that. And with the help of friends who are also on this journey and my doctor, I am starting to see the light of day again. (Many online resources are listed in the bottom right corner of this blog page.)

I am starting to lose the fear of leaving my home–literally and figuratively.

I built not one, but three snowmen with my sons yesterday, a task which on other days might seem insurmountable. But yesterday and today, the task morphed into a blessing.

And I am grateful.

So.

Very.

Grateful.

For a husband who loves me.

For friends who care.

For modern medicine.

For God, who knows the depths of our weary souls and helps us find the way to our families, our selves, and Him again. If you doubt God knows how rotten we feel, read the scripture I found below, and know that God knows.

Praise God, He knows!

 ”I’m feeling terrible—I couldn’t feel worse! 

Get me on my feet again. You promised, remember? 

When I told my story, you responded; train me well in your deep wisdom. 

Help me understand these things inside and out so I can ponder your miracle-wonders. 

My sad life’s dilapidated, a falling-down barn; build me up again by your Word. 

Barricade the road that goes Nowhere; grace me with your clear revelation. 

I choose the true road to Somewhere, I post your road signs at every curve and corner. 

I grasp and cling to whatever you tell me; God, don’t let me down! 

I’ll run the course you lay out for me if you’ll just show me how.”

~Psalm 119:25-31, TMV

***This post is also part of the One Word at a Time blog carnival on renewal this week.***

Into the solstice I go

Winter has a way of isolating us.

From each other.

From life.

From our Savior.

The cold penetrates and causes us to suck into our selves, and our selves are not a good place to stay. Not for long, anyway.

We weren’t meant to live alone.

We weren’t meant to live in the dark.

And yet, at times, I think the sharp edges of isolation have a way of cutting into places of the heart which need healing.

So, despite my longing to stay indoors, enveloped by a warm, wooly afghan and curled up next to one of our curled up dogs, I go.

I pull on my walking clothes, wrap a scarf around my neck, tuck my mittens into the sleeves of my parka, and I go.

Into the angled glare of a sunken sun, kissing the horizon like a lover longing to touch more . . .

. . . I go.

And in sunlight I find solace.

Smiting the unbridgeable solstice between hurt and healing, solace shows up like a waltzing curl of winter air on stretching beams of light.

The.

Light.

So will it be when the Lord begins to heal His people.

So will it be.

In the sunlight. 

The moon will shine like the sun, and the sunlight will be seven times brighter, like the light of seven full days, when the LORD binds up the bruises of his people and heals the wounds he inflicted. ~Isaiah 30:26 NIV

This week’s column

Sub-zero thoughts about bacon, blokes and belles

Did you hear yelps coming from our house last week?

We were fighting over bacon.

Again.

Our family loves bacon so much I cook two pounds at a time.

On that fateful night last week, I made the mistake of cooking only one pound. So we were fighting over, rationing bargaining, and clawing for our fair share of bacon.

Bacon or not, I think we’re going crazy. February is generally a time when folks go stir crazy from the incessant cold and random dumps of snow. Indeed, these days of darkness, cold and close quarters could turn Shirley Temple into a rabid cougar.

Science has provided a technical name for the phenomenon: Seasonal Affective Disorder, or SAD. Scientists attribute seasonal lunacy to a chemical imbalance, which causes bouts of exhaustion, funks and moodiness. An entire industry of light therapy and medication has evolved to relieve people of their SAD-ness.

Other professionals recommend exercise. Youngest Son took a field trip yesterday to the National Institute for Fitness and Sports (NIFS). As I tucked him into bed that evening, his countenance grew grave. “Mama, we’ve got to start exercising,” he implored.” They told us we’re supposed to exercise 60 minutes every day.”

“You’re right,” I said. “We all need to exercise. Badly.”

I wanted to say, “Of course the fine, svelte trainers at NIFS said we must exercise 60 minutes a day. They have treadwalls and treadmills and an indoor track and fitness circuits and scooters and climate-controlled beach volleyball. Plus they get paid to exercise every day. All we have is an indoor Wii.”

No wonder we’re SAD.

And mad about bacon.

On the other hand, I’m tempted to think early humans hibernated. What if SAD is a remnant of our need to do as squirrels and bears do: curl up for the winter and sleep until the sun comes out?  Consider the definition of hibernation: “. . . a state of inactivity in an animal brought about by shorter days, colder temperatures and limited food . . . Hibernation allows the animal to skip over the cold, stressful seasons and only expend itself fully in those months of abundant food and moderate climatic conditions.” About every two weeks, hibernating animals wake up enough to go to the bathroom and, as one source said, “maybe grab a bite to eat.”

Imagine if all of us cold-climate-humans decided to hibernate every year. We could stock up with snacks and toilet paper from the super stores, hunker down with our heating pads, and sleep like Rumpelstiltskin.

Grumpy old men would disappear in December and emerge as bushy-tailed blokes; come March, moody middle-aged women would burst forth as buoyant belles; and kids with cat-scratch fever would spring from their dens as cheerful, happy cubs.

Maybe we’re mad over bacon.

Or maybe we need to skip the mood lights and medications, snuggle up and sleep until spring.