Surviving the Darkest Nights
When depression and faith collide
Take it.
Take it. Take it. Take it.
I won’t survive this.
I’ve said the words “I won’t survive this” thousands of times.
Yes, thousands, that’s not an exaggeration.
Ten years.
That’s over 3500 days, 3500 nights —
nights I’ve spent praying I wouldn’t wake up
asking God to take this cup.
But He said His grace is sufficient and He’s all I need,
but I’m on my knees.
Tears rolling down my face, trying to lean in to grace, but whispering
“I don’t want to run this race anymore.
Please take me from this place of pain.”
He promises me better days are coming,
better than I can dream.
But my dreams are filled with terror and endless nights,
but still He promises me He’s already won this fight.
He said, “I’m not praying to take you out of this world, but to protect you from the evil one.”
But oh, how I wish you would take me out of this world.
Take me out
knock me out
I just want out —
out of the never-ending pain
out of the suicidal thoughts louder than the rain that floods this place of pain.
Or at least lighten the load.
I tell myself I’ll never survive at this intensity,
but we’re 10 years down so I guess that’s something.
Yet even in the pain,
even on the nights with my hands clenched white-knuckled pressed up against my head that’s resting on the steering wheel of my car,
tears soaking my sweatpants as they fall.
With tissues sprawled everywhere
as I cry out the psalms I’ve memorized because David knew what it was like to be tried.
I whisper these words
I scream these words:
WHY my soul are you downcast?
Why SO disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God for I will yet praise Him my Savior and my God.
My soul is DOWNCAST within me.
Therefore I will remember You from the land of the Jordan, from the heights of Hermon, from Mount Mizar.
And the pain doesn’t go away.
But I feel Jesus with me.
And I don’t say that in a this-is-what-we-say-because-we’re-Christians kind of way.
I say that in a
‘I can’t fathom living one more second, but I feel Jesus’ arms wrapped around me’ kind of way.
His scarred hands wipe the tears from my face,
in that space, He holds me in grace.
And I close my eyes and I can feel Him next to me, I can see Him.
And I don’t think you get that kind of intimacy with Jesus in other circumstances.
James said to consider trials blessings —
and I’m blessed to know this intimacy.
That in time I’ll see
but right now, He’s got me.
