Just put me in a box,
padded soft with fluffy blankets and pillows
and sweet smelling pink flowers.
Just leave me in the box until the time
when again it’s bright with light and heat
outside.
Just put me in a box,
that’s warm and safe and let me
sleep the hours away,
not thinking,
not doing,
just waiting,
for SPRING.
Thanksgiving dinner was at my house; present being my brother and parents, and our two grown children. Other than the ham being too done and the rolls rising too much I thought things went pretty well. Dad and brother didn’t get in an argument, brother appeared less depressed than is usual on a holiday, hubby was helpful, and I managed not to do anything to inadvertantly upset the kids. Thank you God.
By late afternoon eveyone but one child had left and I could relax. Not only had things gone rather well, but I had managed to get through the day without getting upset myself. Holidays are never easy it seems, and honestly, that makes me angry. Holidays and family time together are supposed to be fun, right? So why is it, I have often wondered, that I would just as soon skip the entire holiday season? It is not fun. It is not happy. Holidays are days to be endured.
Don’t get me wrong, I am not anti-holiday. I love Thanksgiving in principal and I really enjoy this time of year at school, spending more time than is necessary educating my students about the Pilgrims and the reasons they came to the New World in the first place. I’m finding ways to enjoy Christmas within the parameters of the church; the anticipation of Advent, the music, and the beauty of the Christmas Eve service. The rest of Christmas however, the shopping, gifts, music, cards, baking, and etcetera, do nothing but make me feel inadequate and stressed. When it’s over I’m left with a dull ache in my heart that doesn’t begin to dissipate until mid-January.
In an effort to make some sense of the way I feel, I go back to the holidays of my childhood. Holidays were never a huge big deal like in many families. Mom did try to make things special though. Perhaps she tried too hard, because I don’t ever remember her has being anything but very stressed on such occasions. Dad, who worked 3rd shift, was around more during the days on holidays but that was a mixed blessing. He was hard to please, and my mother, and eventually my bother, bore the brunt of his harsh words. We all walked on eggshells. When I picture holidays at home I picture a little girl trying not to cry, or hiding in her room crying in private. It’s taken me most of my adult life to admit it, but while I have a few happy memories overall holidays were not happy times in the home I grew up in.
So the little girl grew up determined that things would be different and better in her own young family. She tried hard, probably too hard because she was always stressed and things never turned out like she hoped. Her husband was a gentle man, but not easy to please, so she kept trying harder. Her children, hopefully, have some good memories of their childhood holidays but have also been left with a deep sense of unrest and grief that holidays in their house were not quite the joyous events for which everyone seemed to hope. The grown up little girl still tries not to cry.
Sunday….my favorite day of the week. Church this morning was chilly as the furnace is not working properly, but it surely warmed my soul to worship with my brothers and sisters in Christ at St. Peter’s. Sometimes I think I could go to church every day and not tire of it.
Later I went to the library to drink coffee and read, and it was there that I realized that the darkness was lurking about. I got none of the things I needed to do today done. I huddled in my bed and read and tried not to think.
I’ve dealt with depression for as long as I can remember and I believe the darkness would have destroyed my life entirely were it not for God’s grace and mercy. True depression is a place of darkness so dark that no light can penetrate the black shroud around you. It can’t be chased away by an act of will, or doing the “right” things, or even, perhaps more often than not, by prayer alone. It still hurts to think about what I was like during the worst times, and it’s been close to 15 years since then. When I sense a dark fog on the perimiters of my consciousness, it takes all the faith I’ve got to convince myself that I will not visit that hellish place again.
So why, I ask the Only One Who Knows, is the darkness lurking? It could be the upcoming holidays, for various reasons. It could be hormones. It could be that for some reason right now I need to remember the Darkness so that I can appreciate the Light. I don’t have an answer to my question as yet. I don’t want to think about it, but it’s probably important that I do. I must be on the offensive when dealing with Darkness; if I wait to defend myself it will be too late. So I will think and pray, and pray and think, and ponder just what is going on and what I am to do about it, and hope it’s nothing more than a cloud passing in front of the sun.
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