Maybe it is the holidays closing in upon us that makes me weary, or perhaps it is the 24/7 life that calls to keep on keeping on–either way, I look out my backyard window and ask, “How much longer, Lord?”
I don’t think I even fully understand what it is that I await. I just know that I ache. Body and soul, heart and mind, I’m tired of the pushing to make it to the day where joy comes naturally. There are moments when I think I’m there, that joy is finally here, but then there is a thought to undo the peace and sadness takes its place again.
I shouldn’t be sad. I shouldn’t be hurting. Everything is okay. I teach high school English to (mostly) awesome students. I live an adventure that other people will only ever dream of. I have a family that supports me and loves me and rejoices over this life with me. I have friends that know me completely and still think I’m worth their time. I shouldn’t be sad. I shouldn’t be struggling. I shouldn’t be hiding the word depression away, like a skeleton in the closet.
But I am. I’m struggling. The weight I thought was breaking is now reaching its way over my shoulders into a more permanent position, and I don’t know how to undo its grasp. I don’t know if I want to undo its grasp. The weight has become so familiar, I don’t think I would know what to do without it.
Can I tell you this? Can I take off the mask and tell you that I’m hurting without a reason? Can I tell you that I cry out the question, “How much longer, Lord?” but I don’t even know what I hope for Him to say in response?
In March of 2012, four months before I even learned of the job to teach in Ecuador, I went to one of Goodwill Church’s Saturday night services. I sat in the same seat as always, far in the back to the right, in a row of empty chairs. The service turned into an opportunity for people to come forward for prayer– specific prayer for healing and restoration. I remember feeling like I had to move forward, but then there was that paralyzing fear of everyone watching. It was so far to walk, from the back to the front. It seemed like a million miles lay ahead of me, but I saw a spot at the altar. If I could just make it there, if I could just get to the front of the church, if I could just lay all the burdens down for someone else to pick up and carry for a while . . .
Pastor Jose asked me what I needed, and I told him, “I don’t know what I need.” He smiled and said it was okay. He said, “That’s what we pray for, then.” And we did.
I’m in that spot again, praying for something I can’t even name, seeking out the only One who can answer. And He responds by showing me grace to give thanks.
Thanks for hot chocolate that warms my body and eases my mind. Thanks for flowers that don’t have to keep on growing, but they do. Thanks for lessons to plan, because it means I have a job that I love. Thanks for a silly picture from a friend, because it means we’re not so far gone that we can’t still laugh. Thanks for a verse from a sister, because it means we are still together, even though we are so far apart.
May we never stop giving thanks, through His grace.
a scribble of jo 