Pages from Black, Grey, and Ivory: Psalm 16:11
I feel miserable in this shell. And I don’t know how to remedy this situation.
I feel my only resolve is to come to You- my primary means of resolution.
Yet, I find I myself repelled and distrusting of You.
I hate these aforementioned words that have come out of my mouth. But within me there is a resignation and confirmation that I believe them as true.
I feel miserable with no explanation.
With little evidence that I could possibly claim as a reason or cause, I find myself dumbfounded and inarticulate to convey them.
I am speechless and paralyzed.
At any rate, I also find myself pitiful and ashamed to bring them as an accusation towards You, myself, or any other being.
I just can’t bring myself to find fault.
I can’t bring myself to compute a list of my deficiencies.
I cannot compute or relay to another human the depth of my silent agony.
I do not know the way in which life feels meaningful and complete, as far as regular rhythms go.
Is there such a thing?
I do not know the formula in which suffering makes sense in the light of joy.
Or when joy makes suffering a worthy companion.
What I do know is this:
I am plagued with an unbearable cycle.
Like Daylight Savings the beast crouches at my door ever-present to the moment when I either spring forward or fall backwards. When I either glimpse a taste of peace or I drink from the cup of despair.
It seems fixed but yet it always comes to me unexpected and never precise.
This angst of my soul never ceases to deliver.
This depression of sorts always seems to find a season to “rest” within me; to find a nook in my soul.
I don’t know how to predict it or estimate its arrival. It just shows up- unannounced and not welcomed.
But hope and faithfulness will be my anchor for today.
I will rest in this today:
” You make known to me the path of life;
in your presence there is fullness of joy;
at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.”
Make known to me this path, in this very day.
Life, the one that I now live, does not exude this air of freshness, but rather it bears the stench of a rotting corpse. I beseech You, in good Old English fashion, to quicken this truism in my life.
May heaping mounds of joy enter this graveyard!
May I skip and jump and dance on the gravestones and epitaphs of sullenness!
May my tears uncried return to their original Source.
May they find consolation.
May they return to the River of Life flowing out of me.
Word Written in the Darkness is a series of writings based on depression, pain, suffering, and failure. They are my attempt to make sense of their place in my life. In them you will find me wrestling with God, people, and myself as try to find freedom, solutions, and respite from the cycles that seem inevitable.
Pages from Black, Gray, and Ivory are writings that come from a particular journal that has allowed me to delve into some deep dark spaces in my life.