I always fear the darkness rolling in. The fog that eats me up, the heaviness that camps out around me isn’t new. But that doesn’t mean I fear it less.
Romania. I had a lot of expectations of this month. It’s all-squad month meaning that the entire squad is living together doing ministry. It’s our last month in Europe. Our squad mentor, Amy, is here for the month. I held a lot of hope for this month on the onset of it. But the darkness rolled in.
Since we showed up in Dragonesti-Olt a week ago the sun has not shined. It is gray, cold, and foggy here every single day. The sky is gray, the buildings are gray, the trees are gray, the street, the sidewalk. All I see when I look outside is gray. All I see when I look inside myself is gray.
I was diagnosed with clinical depression 7 years ago. It has been a long journey with Jesus through all of it. Though I don’t suffer with symptoms everyday, I still live with a sense of fear of the fog that comes when my depression is raring its ugly head. I always hope and pray that the darkness won’t roll in at inopportune times.
But it always knows. It always knows the moments that I am starting something new, excited about an opportunity that is coming my way, or just about to have a little bit more pep in my step. Those are the moments that the fog begins to billow in, at first hidden behind the veil of being tired, overworked, distracted, but then it settles in for the long haul and reveals itself to be exactly what it is. It’s a liar, a hungry monster, that demands all my time and all my energy.
There are days this month that I have just wanted to pack it all up and go home. It has felt like maybe at home there would be sunshine, light, a breath for my soul. But then I remember that it’s Michigan in November. It’s always gray there, too. The real reason I want to go home: I could sleep, fall deeper into the darkness, and no one would be there to tell me to keep moving. I could let my depression overtake me and there would be no consequences. No squad to disappoint, no host to leave behind, no need to push myself each day to stay awake from sun up to sun down.
That is the joy of community when I feel great, and the necessity of community when the heaviness is trying to eat me from the inside out. At home I could let the darkness consume me until I am lost in the gray. On the race I am forced to come face to face with the fog everyday and make a choice. I can choose to engage with the people around me and choose to praise the Lord in the heaviness, or I can choose to let it overtake me. But in Romania, I have 21 people who are on my side. I have a community that will battle the lies, the fog, the heaviness with me, and most of the time, for me.
So, I will praise God for the fog. For it’s in these moments that I am reminded what it looks like to be a community, a family. I am reminded of all the people who are on my side, and battling for me when I’m too tired to even lift my own arms.
