The fog flowed between the hilltops like ocean foam surrounding a sand castle. Our bus weaved around green contours and as I leaned out to see where the road led, sure enough, the crease in the hillside leaned down under the blinding cotton.
©2011 Amy Conner for World Vision
I’m a flatland-dweller. I can’t climb out of a fog bank without an airplane.
I’m more intimately acquainted with fog’s dark side.
I know how difficult it is to imagine the beauty of this scene from the land beneath.
This autumn feels like that drive. I can see the fog ahead, and I can see my road turning down towards it, disappearing under the mist.
I’ve ridden this rock around the sun three times since our daughter died. Three times now I’ve watched the days taper into dark to match my soul’s descent into depression’s gray.
The first time, it happened suddenly and without warning. One day I was caring for four children, the next day I was burying one. The months after that we just tried to put one foot in front of the other, keep food on the table, and pay the bills on time.
The second time, I saw it coming. Even though I knew it would be bad, I still resisted help, not knowing what unintended side effects it might have and too proud to admit that I needed it.
…until the day one of my kids wrote me a note. When I saw it, all that pride crumbled. I saw sketches of an angry mommy yelling at her children. I saw sad and scared children. I read words from a child telling me that mommies shouldn’t say those things.
My gut still twists, and I shrivel inside when I think of it. How massive my failures. How deep my wound-words struck. They lashed out of the pain inside me, but they sliced at my precious children.
I got help. It took months, but with counseling and medication, the fog began to thin and the road turned upward toward the light. Forgiveness asked and granted.
The autumnal equinox is here again. We’re one month from that third anniversary. I sense down- and dark-ward motion again.While I’m fearful to enter the fog a third time, I’m also hopeful. Much has changed in the last year. Relationships with my husband and children are far stronger and more open. Our busyness is reduced and our health and physical strength is improved.
Most important, even though I’m still wrestling with what following Jesus means, I am following Jesus. I know that Jesus will be with me, even if I can’t see him in the fog. The sun is still shining above the clouds, even when I can’t see it.
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This is life: unmasked, an honest exploration of finding God in the mess, and a sharing of the hard things. When we share our struggles, we share hope and we encourage one another.
Join me this week. You can do anything — write for a few minutes or for an hour, simply post a photo, or record a video. Share the link to your specific post (not just the general link to your blog) in the linky tool below, or write your story in the comments. I know we are all short on time, but will you please try to visit one or two other posts and share some encouragement for the other brave unmasked writers?
I’m giving away a copy of Christa Wells’s CD “Frame the Clouds” to one of this week’s life: unmasked participants, so make sure you link up before midnight this Saturday.
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Sponsor a child in Bolivia with World Vision
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As I was reading your post, it reminded me of a Henry Wadsworth Longfellow poem called “The Rainy Day.” He wrote this pome after the death of his wife, and his question “behind the clouds, is the sun still shining?” I think part of hope is believing the sun is shining behind the fog, the clouds, even though we can’t see it. Much love, friend.
Sarah@From Tolstoy to Tinkerbell recently posted..How my Body Aches
I read this post and wonder what I can write in a comment that will add anything. I can not say I understand when I haven’t been through the experience. Yet I am so thankful you share your heart here Joy. Praying for you as you near this anniversary.
Amy Nabors recently posted..Hope and Trust
Thank you for writing this. I’ve been struggling with depression since I found out I’m being deployed this autumn, but reading your story and seeing how strong you are, makes me see things in a different perspective. The fog might be coming but it looks so different from up top. Thanks for reminding me to look down at it rather than through it.
Same for me, November 10 was when I lost my mom, I know, it’s not like losing a child, but it was one of my anchors, my upline, and my most clear source of God’s love. So I was surprised when fall was a particularly bad season of the year, but just as you described, this year I am aware and in a much better place (and seeing a counselor!) so I am ready for the storm, God willing. With you in the approaching fog (foggy for real outside my house today).
Beth Werner Lee recently posted..Fifteen Minutes
Joy-thank you for visiting my post through WWHW. This is my first visit to your blog and I am humbled. I ache for the pain your journey has brought you. So sorry for your loss. You bring a verse from Job to my mind: “though He slay me, yet will I hope in Him.”
Praying that hope keeps you warm through whatever fog you may encounter in the coming month.
Stacy recently posted..Hope Perches
Tears. I’m praying for your family, for you, Joy. And I cannot thank you enough for sharing your story. Mine’s different, drastically, but the heaviness of grief, the feeling of fighting through the fog to see through to the sun, it’s a similar sting. Your words move me.
Hyacynth recently posted..Life Unmasked: Joy in the Mourning
I think of, and pray for you often, friend. Whatever God did for us in that little time we spent together is the kind of strong I can’t explain. <3 you
mich pendergrass recently posted..bitterness burnt
I too, Joy, am in that fog right now. For different reasons, but it is still here. I am hanging on by the grace of God knowing there is sunshine some where above the clouds. Knowing that this time will end….knowing there is some reason that I may never understand…I’ll pray for your tonight Joy. Jen
Jen recently posted..Our Metamorphosis
I was so thankful to read this as I am descending back down into my own personal valley of depression. I have learned that on the other side of this valley, I will be stronger and more focused on the Lord. He has proven Himself to be a faithful guide and friend and I am thankful that he led me to this today for it has encouraged me that I am not the only one who faces these times. Praying for you as well.
Joy, I just came across your blog . . . I struggle with depression at times, deep discouragement often (primarily related to difficulty in conceiving children). This is the hardest thing I have ever walked through! But God . . . He becomes more real and more majestic every time the fog clears.
It is beautiful to read your honest confessions of doubt and faith. Thank you. It has encouraged me very much.
Rebekah recently posted..Health-related soapboxing
I am so thankful and blessed to have found your blog several months ago- I have followed from afar but suppose it is time to add my two cents to the conversation.
As strange as it may sound, it is so encouraging to hear you speak so candidly and openly about this struggle, about getting lost in “the fog”. Last August, a friend died very unexpectadely followed by my grandmother passing away 3 short days later…along with a few other major life changes in a short 1 week period of time. I remember walking through it all in disbelief that it could actually be happening. In the months that followed, I fought hard and as soon as I felt like I was coming out on the other side of grief and pain, I would get thrown back into the depths.
I refused to accept the term depression. That was my mom, not me. Depression isn’t a real thing, it’s just an excuse people use who can’t cope with life. And yet, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the feeling.
After weeks or arguing and fighting it, my mentor finally convinced me to see a doctor because she thought there might be something going on physically. I went to the doctor and got the tests done and turns out there is something wrong with my body. I’m not crazy. I took my medicine for a few months and decided I was fine and didn’t need it anymore…but recently decided that I still am not better. It’s a hard battle; one that’s kept so secret and hidden. But in reading blogs like yours, I find hope and community.
I wrote about my battle in this blog post: http://gazinguponbeauty.blogspot.com/2011/05/on-my-way-back-to-normal.html
thank you for your transparency.