I tossed a pebble down into the black pit, tilting my ear, straining to hear the clunk as it hit bottom; but I was met with silence. Before I could ponder any further just how deep this abyss must be, I lost my footing and fell in. Flailing, kicking, screaming, I plummeted in darkness, careening toward an end nowhere in sight. Streams of light intermittently broke through my indistinguishable surroundings but I began to wonder if my mind was playing tricks on me. Then, after what seemed like days, I crashed with a thud into a hard surface. Wincing, I slowly righted myself, dusting off the dirt that had been stirred up with my impact. Still in darkness, my eyes tried to adjust, searching for any sign of light. At least the fall was over. It was time to climb. That is what I thought anyway. I needed rest first. Exhausted from the free fall, frightened by the blackness that smothered me, I curled up with my knees to my chin and cried myself to sleep. When I awoke, I was teetering on the edge. This had not been the bottom after all. It was merely a ledge. My reflexes failed me and I slipped off, helplessly lost in a tailspin.
Every ounce of me longed to fly; for the air to rush past me as I spun around and soared back to the top. But the sickening flip flop in my stomach continued. And then I truly hit the bottom with impressive force. I felt like I shattered into pieces, scattered along the ground. Broken, feeling every ache, every wound. Can I be put back together again? Out of the silence a voice lovingly said, “Yes, my child.”
“Who’s there?,” I asked.
“You know who I am,” He answered.
Anger flooded my face with red as I recognized the voice. I mustered up enough strength to shout, “Why didn’t you catch me?” The tears began to flow down my cheeks like a downpour. “Where were you all that time?,” I screamed, “Why did you let me hurt and break?”
When I had finished my tirade, He was silent for a time. I was afraid He had left me alone again. Then He spoke evenly and with such love that it hurt to hear, “I have been by your side the entire time. I sent you beams of light to show you the way. I helped you find rest along the way. I slowed you down so that the impact would not be as painful…” He continued to reveal to me all the ways I had not truly been alone. And then the darkness began to recede, so that a large stone staircase was revealed. Getting back to the top would take some effort but I could see the way out now. “This is not what I wanted for you,” He said, “But since you are here, in a place without distraction, without interference, maybe we can talk some more.”
So I poured out my heart. I told Him all the things He knew already but that I needed to say, “I am so tired of waking up every morning feeling unwell. Why do I hurt every day? Why do I feel sick every day?” My health mysteries, the guilt that maybe I am doing something wrong to cause them (ie: not eating right, not exercising enough, too stressed out), the frustration that no one takes me seriously even though most of these issues cropped up within the last two years and nothing much has changed in my lifestyle. Then I moved on to the hurt caused by people and how hard it is to forgive, “I don’t know how you do it. How do you forgive people who mock you? Who slander your name? People that kill, steal, lie, hate, lust…How?” I seethed as I recalled past slights and then that gave way to hurt again. It is easier to be angry because that keeps people at a distance. Bitterness keeps people out. Allowing yourself to acknowledge the hurt means you feel it. “I lost a friend because I was trying to share your Word,” I sniffed, trying to keep my crying from drifting into the ugly mess that comes when your nose joins in, but I was soon a mess of tissues, tears and loud sobbing. And I continued to sob, while my heart throbbed in my chest. I asked God to forgive my bitterness, to heal me. I could not stop. I felt like I could explode from the pain. When the tears ceased, I sat quietly, a deep sadness taking hold.
I looked at the staircase, still illuminated by light but I could not move. “I can’t,” I whispered.
“I will be here.” His arms wrapped around me and I closed my eyes.
When I awoke, I thought it all might have been a dream but my body shouted, “No, it was not!” And my heart cried out, “No, it was not!” I sat in a cloud of sadness, uncertain what to do with myself. Then I looked up and saw the light streaming in and I lifted myself to my feet. They hurt. Everything hurt. I moved slowly but I kept inching forward until I reached the base of the staircase. My hand rested against cold stone wall. Unsteady, I began my ascent. I slipped on the smooth stone step but I felt Him there, steadying me, “Thanks.”
“I said I will be here.” I felt His love envelop me.
That is where I am this morning. Climbing back up to the top; or at the very least distancing myself from rock bottom. I do still fear that I will take another tumble. I do still fear the backlash that comes with saying, “I’m a Christian.” But I am grateful that even when I lose sight of God in the darkness, or His light grows dim to me, He never loses sight of me. Taking heart in knowing that truth this morning, so that I can persist in the climb! Yes, I hit my rock bottom last night. I know I could fall deeper but it was my low. Obviously, I did not literally fall into a pit but it aptly illustrates how it feels to begin the spiraling descent into a deep depression. It can happen overnight, it can take days, months… Regardless of how long it takes, or how deep I am plunged into it, one thing remains true: God is faithful. That is what I take hold of as I climb, because I know my feet will falter, I know my strength will fail me, but He is always there.
~What rock bottom looked like for me last night~
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