I used to smirk at those commercials about some anti-depressant drug. You know, the one with the lady that walks with the cloud over her head, and while it is sunny all around her, the cloud turns dark and starts raining on her. The narrator says something about how depression hurts, but Cimbalta can help. The woman takes Cimbalta, and suddenly the cloud turns to a happy sun, her family rushes in to embrace her, and somewhere in the corner a flower blooms and a dog barks.
I used to smirk at those commercials.
But this year I’ve had my fair share of hovering clouds. Sometimes it is gloom about my job, and no matter what anyone tells me, I am convinced I am the worst pick for this role, that I am doing more harm than good, and that all the people I work with are just counting down the days until I figure it out and walk away. The cloud is real. And with that cloud, it takes everything in me to go to the office, answer emails, and come up with a Sunday School lesson.
Other days it is gloom about my self worth and value. I don’t know at what point in my life I started believing this lie, but at some point I learned that I don’t matter. And although something tells me it is a lie, when that cloud blows in it feels like there’s nothing I can do right, well, or of any lasting value. On those days the world is better off without me, and I escape into the fantasy of cheesy romance movies, quick fix novels, and browsing everyone else’s valuable life on Facebook. I detest that cloud, but it is real and powerful.
Still other days bring in the cloud of loneliness and isolation. I work in a church, so you would think that I have my fill of relationships. Well, it depends on what you mean. I have plenty of acquaintances…people who know me just well enough to stop me in the hallway between services to ask me whether the youth can help with an upcoming function, or why some email announcement didn’t get sent out, or why so few kids are attending this or that event. I have plenty of acquaintances who think I am dying to tell them my deepest prayer requests in the 5 minutes between services, when someone else is looking for my key to get into the office and someone else wants to know if their kid has to be at the next program.
Of course…stopping me right then and asking me how you can pray for me is THE BEST way to show your support for the ministry. Cough cough.
And then after all the hubbub is over…all the supplies put away, sign in sheets filed, doors locked and trash emptied…after all that, I stand in the corner and watch people go home with family, make plans to go out for lunch with friends, or gently slide their hand into that special someone’s as they walk to the car. That’s when the loneliness cloud hovers the darkest.
So yeah, this year I have become well aware of that hovering cloud. It’s dark. It’s gloomy. I don’t like it.
That’s why I value the season of Advent so much. During Advent I’m empowered to face that dark cloud and weigh it against the coming story of Jesus’ birth. During Advent I find the discipline I lack during most of the rest of the year to light a candle and read a devotional thought almost every day. During Advent I take time to wonder about the things that bring on the darkness…where do they come from…why do they feel so powerful….what if I chose not to give them power…
This year I’ve struggled to feel the enthusiasm of waiting for Christmas. And yet, the cloud that has hovered for the last several months has temporarily disappeared. I first noticed it when I was invited through my devotional to see the darkness as preparation for dawn. Something shifted with that image. I have been feeling like this darkness is just descending, and I can’t see the end of it. But what if I pictured it differently? What if I pictured it with the sunrise on the horizon? In that case, the darkness doesn’t win. THE DARKNESS DOESN’T WIN!!! The sun rises…the darkness doesn’t win.
With the dark cloud diminished by the realization that darkness doesn’t win, I’ve had the energy and inner strength (two different things) to take advantage of resources that are always there but overlooked: Phone calls from friends…chances to play with friends’ kids…invitations to lunch at people’s homes…smiles and hugs from kids at church…caring conversation from older folks who support me in prayer even when I dismiss them unintentionally…conversations about the challenges and joys of attempting to support faith development in children, youth and adults…the wisdom of authors who write about stuff that makes me think.
So for now, the cloud has lifted. I’m guessing it will be back. But the sun is rising…the darkness does not win.