Space between sighs

Shall there be dawn beyond the empty blackness?
That space between sighs

You've given me pain, Lord.
You've set me up for glory
Planned me a coronation
And then given me pain.

Why?  What good could possibly be in this dust
Falling, crumbling between my slender fingers
I couldn't stop it for all the money in the world

just like I couldn't pay to calm your heart
I couldn't spend enough to pardon my own soul
To bring healing to the wounds
Caused by the rough words of a father

I didn't ask to be wounded.
I didn't ask to carry his cross
You could tie me to a rock
And blame me for not moving
Fast enough.  Or now too slow
That molasses was sweet
But dripped in my eyes, and now I can't see.

He held my heart close to his
Safe in his dear rough hands
Carried to the place of treasure
In his sweet eyes

But then asked its price
Appraised its worth
Called down the sellers and the buyers

And now I've found myself in the dust
On the dust, under the dust
Made of dust

Ashes.  Ashes and dust.
Terrified of which questions in my heart
I shall not ask.  Shant ask.
Ashes and dust and diamonds and dust.
Once brilliant sun, now mocking me.  Blinding me.
Shaming me.

Like the calendar on the wall which mocks my days.
Unfeeling papers planned before my time.
"The way it's always been".
Someone decided.  But they didn't tell me.

A Second Chance

I thought my world had come to a crashing halt a few days ago.

Things got rocky.  Really rocky.  I didn't see a way out.  It less than fun.

I was thinking back on 10 years ago when I had a horrible breakup about this time of year.  I got so depressed that I stopped going to work for a few weeks.  I would sit at home on my couch, all clinched up.  I was so incapacitated by anxiety and depression that I could barely breathe.  Or eat.  I lost weight (I liked that part!).  But life was grey and dark and I didn't see much of a reason to live it.

This time wasn't like that.  The world got dark for a few days.  But I realized, and my mom pointed out to me, how much stronger I am, now.  Granted, I'm ten years older.  But I'm tougher.  I got up, scrubbed my face and went to work, sans makeup.  I taught my voice lessons.  I went to bed and got up the next day and did the same thing.  Between those things there was a lot of crying.  The were was a lot of steering wheel gripping and whispering "God help me" as I put on my cheery voice and face for the next voice student coming in for a lesson.  But I kept going.  This is a big step for me.  I didn't let emotional turmoil take over my life. 

And in that vein, I'm kind of done with emotional turmoil.

I've thought a lot about it.  Growing up incredibly scarred by such a rough relationship with my dad, emotional turmoil has been my comfort blanket.  It feels safe.  It feels like home.  Crying and not knowing what to do is just that...it's not doing anything.  It's putting energy into not doing.  It's diverting away from facing the real problems of pain, disappointment, hurt, broken friendships, breakups, getting fired, etc.  And putting it into harming myself and those around me with a deluge of tears and anger.  It's not pretty, and I'm not pretty when I do it.  

The cool thing is that I have a choice, now.  I have tools to help me, now.  I have a way out.  

It doesn't have to FEEL like there is a way out for there to BE a way out.

It doesn't have to feel right to be right.

It doesn't have to feel right to be the truth.

If it feels like the end, it isn't always the end.

I don't need to self-destruct because the world will try hard to destroy me anyway.  I don't need to help it.

There is a man who I love, dearly.

And I harden my heart to him when I'm afraid.

I get angry when things don't go the exact way I want them to.

I close myself off to him when he messes up.

I try so hard to protect myself and get defensive when I get hurt.

When all the while, his love, kindness, forgiveness, hugs, and presence are the very things I need.  Emotional turmoil hurts me, but it also hurts him.  I am so angry at myself for reverting to this stupid childhood technique of coping with abuse.  He's not abusing me!  But when I feel hurt, I cover up with things that don't protect me.  Things that hurt both of us more.

For the very first time in my LIFE, today, I felt the healing of Jesus.

I have begged Jesus for years to heal my heart.

To heal my hurt.

To heal my brokenness.

To heal the ways I try to cope that hurt me.

To stop the crying.

To stop me from being hurt by friends and family.

And it never seemed to help.

So this horrible time I've been through the past fews days left me terrified that I was going to lose the very thing that I love.  It made me more scared and angry and just...an emotional hurricane.  And I heard Jesus asking me, once again, to trust Him.  I guess what?  I opened up just a teeny tiny bit and let go of my pride.  Just a bit.  Seriously..not much.  I'm NOT good at this trust thing.  And Jesus reset my heart.  I stopped crying.  I felt calm for the first time in days.  I felt like I got a second chance to love Him.  And to love Christopher.  And to love myself. 

I am NOT patting myself on the back.  At all.  Please don't think I am! 

I really am not good at this stuff and I hope I don't fall into sadness again.  But I want to praise Jesus for helping me in a supernatural way, and I hope He does it some more.  And I hope I'm not too broken to love.  I hope that I can just be calm and happy and mature.  And that God will prevail even though I'm a beginner in being merciful and trusting.  A beginner has gone farther than a skeptic.  

I volunteer to take another step, if Jesus will have me.  

To life

You brimming bucket of catch-all maddness
Youthful exuberance mixed with a smattering of
Useless days, wasted expectations
Old ovaries and too many phone conversations
And starting over.  And over.  And over again.
Like looking in the mirror and seeing laugh lines
Turn to wrinkles, not from frowning
But too many days in the sun, too many
Too many cares and untied ends
Till it drifts again into an unending parade
Of alarm clocks, hitting snooze, feet on the cold floor
Coffee cups, watching the hours tick by
Trips to the bank, waiting for...what?
Acceptance from a shattered childhood
Memories burned into hearts like brand irons
And handkerchiefs full of millennial angst caught forever
Between cotton fibers, like running between raindrops
Raindrops, or were those tears?  Falling cautiously
Back to you, little bucket.  Half-full of life.
Or half empty?

Still fighting it

It's amazing what depression can do.

I have been depressed off and on, for probably most of my life.  Not in a bad, chronic way that totally disrupts everything.  That's happened a few times and it was awful.

No, this is a low-key, subtle thing.  It creeps slowly, along the ground like a poison.  Almost invisible, it climbs up and gets into things, my thoughts, my energy, my words, and eventually my heart.  It is nasty.  I don't like it.  Yet it's always there like an unwelcomed guest.

What can a Christian do about depression?

We are Christ-followers.  We are His.  I suppose a hundred angels fight for us on so many levels.  They do mighty things against our great enemy who so desperately wants our soul and to steal us away from our Dear Shepherd.  Maybe we can put out a little effort, too.  Depression weakens us.  It makes it harder for us to call out to Jesus.  It lies to us, tells us we are alone.  Tells us we will fail.  Tells us there is nothing we can do.  Makes it seem helpless when we try to do good.

Our number one help is prayer.

We are told over and over in scripture to pray.  To call out to God in our loneliness and weakness.  To ask Him.  This is so hard when we are depressed.  But maybe we should do it.  Maybe we should try.  Maybe He'll come through.  He has to. We are His.

Diet and exercise help me immensely.  If you can force yourself to drink a glass of water and get out and take a walk in the sunshine, do it!  I have never once regretted doing a workout after I was finished.  (During it...yes!)

Scripture is so good and filling.  The Psalms are full of hope.  Here are some of my favorites:

Psalm 84

Psalm 121

Psalm 37

Psalm 139

Psalm 27

But they are all good.  There is hope there.  Try to find it.

Reach out to someone.  Have a friend in mind who brings you the sweetness and comfort of Jesus.  Who reminds you of Jesus.  Who brings Jesus to you.  Don't have anyone?  Pray now for Christian friends.  And BE that person to someone in the future.  We really need each other, guys.  Need someone to talk to?  Please reach out to me.  I am so far from perfect but I can pray and I do care.


I don't fully understand why depression besets me sometimes.  I have everything going for me right now.  I have a great mom, a nice living set up, a couple of great jobs. I have my health and my talent.  I am dating the best man in the entire world, and the future looks so good for us.  But still I am plagued by uncertainty.  That ever-present spiteful guest who is full of snide comments and little things which seek to unravel it all.  Why, Jesus?  Why?

Depression runs in my family.  My mom and grandmother suffered greatly.  I'm not sure about my dad's side, but I know mental illness is usually not an isolated family event.  I come by it naturally. God have mercy on me and make me wholly thine in body and spirit.

One day at a time.

A night on the moor

I slept, but my heart was awake.

A sound! My beloved is knocking.

“Open to me, my sister, my love,

my dove, my perfect one,

for my head is wet with dew,

my locks with the drops of the night.”

I had put off my garment;

how could I put it on?

I had bathed my feet;

how could I soil them?

My beloved put his hand to the latch,

and my heart was thrilled within me.

I arose to open to my beloved,

and my hands dripped with myrrh,

my fingers with liquid myrrh,

on the handles of the bolt.

I opened to my beloved,

but my beloved had turned and gone.

My soul failed me when he spoke.

I sought him, but found him not;

I called him, but he gave no answer.

The watchmen found me
as they went about in the city;
they beat me, they bruised me,
they took away my veil,
those watchmen of the walls.

I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem,
if you find my beloved,
that you tell him
I am sick with love.



S.O.S. 5

Dreaming

There are certain times of year I associate with stillness, quietude, and dreaming...

November, January and February are those times.

Maybe it's because it's the darkest part of the year.

October is about action.  My birthday is in October.  It's always been a month of happiness and excitement for me.

December is candle-lit.  It's Advent.  It's the holy time...the Nativity.  The wonder of the birth of the Christ child, and the virgin Theotokos cradling Him in her arms. It's angels singing.  It's light.

January is dark.  It's still.  In January we walk a knife edge between delight and depression.  Snow blankets much of the area.  The light fades almost as quickly as it comes.  It's a time of stillness, yet fire in our hearts.  Everything slows.  I love it, but I struggle with Seasonal Affective Disorder to a degree.  I have to use a therapy light to stimulate my brain into happiness.  But sometimes the beauty of the cold grey backdrop overtakes me and I fall into a dreamy sort of state...watching black and white movies that echo the images outside.  Or reading real books by the fire.  Or burning candle after candle while listening to Ambient music.  I love it.

February is a tease...she is a month whose crowning day is a day of love, but it's often drowned out by people belly-aching about having no love. The same stillness, but it seems the wind begins to pick up and move forward toward the Spring time.



I am open to these times of dreams.  Now we are in November, just before Advent.  There is much to be done.  There is a time for everything...for work and for rest.

Oh God, don't let me waste it.