No time to read? You can listen to this week's letter instead.
What Winston Churchill called the “black dog” of depression snapped at my heels this past weekend. Have you ever tussled with it?
I kept the bad boy at bay with my usual tactics—tricks I’ve taught myself if not the dog, since it resists training.
I hadn’t consciously opened the door but somehow it slipped in. I wanted to tighten its choke collar, but it licked my hand with faux sympathy—its slobber mixed with my tears.
As I eyed the thing, I could see where the mutt gained access.
A younger friend’s mother close to my age died suddenly. Grieving families in Washington DC and Mexico awaited aircraft that would never arrive. A close friend caring for two family members with cancer was hospitalized after a stroke. Refugees escaping persecution whose apartment building adjoins our former church in Illinois were frightened yet again for their future.
These are all people we care deeply for. My sadness spiraled into a black hole of sorrow for their pain.
And sometimes the mongrel’s attacks are purely personal.
Just over two years ago, Christian singer Amy Grant was critically injured in a bike accident not long after undergoing open-heart surgery to correct a birth defect. The traumatic brain injury she suffered stripped her memory-bank.
In a recent interview, Amy recalled, “I’ve had to be very patient with myself. I have had a lot of good, hard cries. And I went through depression. But everyone is recovering from something. . . If nothing else, we recover every day from the shock of what it means to age. My memory used to be my superpower.”
Do any of you Spanish speakers know what the phrase “noche obscura del alma” means?
It originates from a poem by 16th century Spanish poet and Christian contemplative, St. John of the Cross, who was describing a difficult time in his life, a crisis of faith. Other noted Christian leaders — Spurgeon, Graham, Mother Theresa— wrote of this experience as well, the “dark night of the soul.”
But night is singular. Depression is often plural. The black dog sniffs around our doors waiting for a chance to slip in and make its bed in our bones for weeks, months, sometimes years.
This is nothing new.
Thousands of years ago, the Psalmist cried out:
“O Lord, God of my salvation, I cry out to you by day. I come to you at night.
Now hear my prayer; listen to my cry. For my life is full of troubles. . .
Can the darkness speak of your wonderful deeds?
Can anyone in the land of forgetfulness talk about your righteousness?. .
You have taken away my companions and loved ones.
Darkness is my closest friend.” Psalm 88: 1-3, 12, 18
For the past month, we’ve been searching together for “treasures in the darkness”—the secret riches of going through difficult times.
And they are there, friends—sparkling geodes disguised as ordinary rocks.
But the search to find them is often far-reaching, exhausting, frustrating. The dark night of the soul can seem endless when one cannot see the light.
This past Sunday night, my hands were plunged in dishwater when I glanced at the clock overhead and recalled that a local Protestant church offers a Taizé service on the first Sunday night of each month. In the manner of the Christian monastic community in France, it’s a service incorporating contemplative prayer and silence. Simple scripture both spoken and sung.
Throwing on my coat, I hurried downtown and slipped into the shadowed sanctuary illuminated by dozens of candles—some tall and new, others close to being extinguished.
There was no preaching, no “special music,” no offering taken. Only silence and prayer accompanied by candles as light, water as a reminder of baptism.
No greetings were exchanged. Worshippers were there to speak with God, not one another. To listen, mostly. To slip silently up to the altar to lay our own petitions before the only One who can make a difference.
To remember.
Following her TBI in 2022, Amy Grant spoke transparently of her struggle to regain what she had lost.
“Now I can’t trust my memory. But there are hidden gifts in everything. Our mindsets, the stories we tell ourselves, become our realities. Find the tool kits you need to move forward.”
Hidden gifts.
Treasures in the darkness.
Spiritual wealth it can take a lifetime to discover.
That noche obscura del alma? A night can feel like forever. But morning will come.
This past weekend I chose not to feed the black dog. He’s gone, for now. I don’t sense him sniffing around.
I’ve learned a few things that keep him at bay that I’ll share here next week. They have to do with you, my friends.
Read on for a Galentine’s Giveaway this month—a triple dose of friendship!
Seeking the Light with you,
Maggie
TRIPLE GIVEAWAY FOR FEBRUARY
Christmas may be past, but I love giving things away to our community here! In celebration of the love between friends, you can enter once to win a gift package of all three items. Just leave a comment! Winner chosen on Friday, Feb. 7.
- $25 pair of pierced sterling silver drop earrings from Talbots
- $15 hardcover edition of Life is Sweet, Y’all (already have it? Gift to a friend!)
- $18 hardcover copy of the new IVP Kids book Saint Valentine the Kindhearted
From the publisher: We celebrate Valentine’s Day with flowers, candy, and cards for the people we love. But have you ever wondered why we do this on February 14?
Learn all about Saint Valentine, a man whose life of kindness and love inspires us each year to let others know how much they mean to us.
Told as a charming poem, this beautifully illustrated book will be enjoyed by children as well as the adults who read with them. Also included is a note from the author to encourage further conversation about the contents.
When you're down and troubledAnd you need some lovin' careAnd nothin', nothin' is goin' rightClose your eyes and think of meAnd soon I will be thereTo brighten up even your darkest night
- Carole King