Sometimes I wake up in the morning and feel like my life doesn’t have meaning. The thunderclouds roll in overnight and pour deep puddles of rainwater into my consciousness. So when I wake up, before I even open my eyes, I feel the drowning sensation that means nothing good will come from my day. I had just such a day yesterday, and I groaned beneath the weight of it.
When the dark thoughts come, one thing I know for certain is that I absolutely cannot trust them. But sometimes I can’t unthink them either, especially when they have wrapped me in their cocoon of unhappiness. On days like these it is GREAT to have a rebellious nature. I give myself liberty to jump the train(of thoughts) track and chart my own course, even if the path leads through the swamp. Because even dangerous swamps can be beautiful places where the most unexpected things grow and thrive.
I learned this from Gene Stratton-Porter in her beautiful book, “A Girl of the Limberlost”. As a girl I saw myself in the character of Elnora Comstock. She was what I wanted to be I suppose, a young woman climbing through the swamp in search of the ever elusive Yellow Emperor moth in order to complete her collection. Elnora was tough, resolute and steely in her resolve to go to college. She proved that perseverance pays off and a fiery temper(used in moderation) can be helpful.
So yesterday when my thoughts were tumbling all over each other, condemning and condoning, and twirling into the most glorious belly flops, I knew I had to run away. And run away I did. I did not care that it was only 43 degrees (that is what fleece is for). I climbed onto my white and blue Jamis Allegro and went searching for hills because hills make me happy.
But unfortunately, my body was tired. My body did not want to climb hills. So I decided to ride one of my favorite routes, which is a flat and decidedly unhurried terrain. In that space I would be able to ride at my own pace and breathe in the blue sky that fills my soul with wonder.
The problem was, there was fog. Thick fog. Dense fog. The kind of fog not conducive to cyclists trying to find beauty on country back roads. So when a truck pulled up beside me, I was understandable afraid. I thought the driver was going to yell obscenities at me. I thought he would tell me I was crazy and stupid, and to get out of his way. So you can imagine my surprise when the woman in the passenger seat simply said, “We can’t see you. We don’t want you to get hurt.” Then she handed me a reflective vest and said, “My husband works on the highways and we have plenty of these.” And then they drove away. I stood there speechless and quite humbled by the grace they had given to me. I was also deeply troubled with concern over my predicament. Even though I quickly put on the vest, I felt more unsafe than I had before that encounter. My thoughts were now knives sharpening themselves against my very real fear of being hit by a car. So I did what any well respecting person in my circumstances would do, I turned around and rode straight home (albeit up some very steep hills).
I arrived with the notion that I should go to church. That is what I normally do on Sunday mornings. But my body was still tired and my thoughts were still wonky. And all I could picture was me sitting there feeling awful while some unsuspecting person tried to talk to me while I fake smiled. Or even worse, I imagined I was honest and articulated my discomfort only to get that sad, pitying look people give when they know you don’t feel well. Or, even worse than that, I saw myself facing the emotional tyrant who blurts out, “Margaret, you just really need medication!” and then walks back to their neat and tidy life completely unaware of the emotional landmine they just laid and how it blew up and will now cripple my brain for days.
Exhausting living inside my head, isn’t it?
So I did what any self-respecting person in my situation would do. I called Hermann’s orchard(which, btw, is closed for the season) and asked if they had any surplus apples. Which they did. And so I purchased 100 pounds and went home to keep myself busy until the dark thoughts dissipated. And I prayed. Oh, how I prayed!
Because danger surrounds us. It inhabits us. Danger is our ever present reality. I think one of the greatest delusions we ever have is that we are safe. We are not safe. Not from physical pain. Not from emotional pain. Not from fear of pain that hasn’t happened yet. Simply said, to live is to be in some kind of pain. From my missteps I have learned that pain cannot be avoided. Neither by food lust(which incites the deeper hungers), nor by mental avoidance. The only way to manage the pain is to face it head on and walk straight through it. Walking through the pain, bearing it well, taking its blows on our bodies, all the while giving them to the One who bore our sorrows for all time. This alone seems to me to be the only way to bear it. I am not strong enough in myself to stand impervious to the deluge. I am weak. I am fragile. I am riding my bike in the fog. But Jesus is my lighthouse. He is my soul-soothing balm. So when my brain fails me, I can trust Him to guide me through it.
The repetitive motion of peeling, coring and slicing apples soothed me. And when my littlest guy asked to help me make the applesauce, I gave him a knife and let him peel too. I let him slice half the apple into the trash. His delight brought me joy and also added reassurance. I find that the simple act of surrendering, not only to my pain and discomfort, but to his feeble attempts to help, important. Because in accepting his help, I came to realize that the people who want to help me may not be very darn good at it, but that doesn’t negate the heart behind their help. As I watched him peel, I realized that by avoiding people, I was actually hindering friends who might want to help. That was seriously short-sided, and, I might even go so far as to say, dumb.
Still, yesterday is gone, never to be re-lived again. Today is fresh and new. Tomorrow is promised to no man(or woman!). Today I take courage from having persevered through the pain of yesterday—dangerous as it felt—because I emerged enlightened. And if nothing else, each day is a new opportunity to learn. Yesterday I learned I need a safety vest in the fog. I learned there is human kindness when I expect an insult. I learned my thoughts are not safe, but God is. But most importantly, yesterday was a clear and present reminder that there is beauty to be found even in swamps.
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