To See in the Dark

For as far back as I can remember, I was afraid of the dark ... so much so that I slept with a light on every single night of my life until a couple of years ago. Now, the darker my room is when I hit the sack, the better I like it. I love to ride my bike in the cool darkness of the early morning hours, and there's a calm that settles over my soul as the sun begins to set and the sky grows darker with every passing minute. I can't point to any one event or catalyst that made me shift from being terrified of the dark to now preferring to reside in the shadows, but I certainly like darkness more than light these days. And no, I don't believe in vampires, which means that I'm more than sure I'm not one.

As I mentioned in my last post, I traveled a couple of hours on Friday to speak at a retreat for a group of ladies in Thayer, Kansas. The retreat is a yearly thing, and for the life of me, I can't remember how many years it's been held. The camp where it takes place, as I said in my last post, is quite rustic and way, way, way out in the country. For those of you who are city folk, I've got a secret to tell you ... it gets very, very, very dark out in the country away from the city lights. When I stepped outside after our first session to soak in some cool air ... yep, what I really mean is that the hot flashes were coming fast and furious that evening and it was either find a way to cool off or self-combust ... I marveled at the blanket of darkness that surrounded me. It was cloudy and rainy, which served only to intensify the depth of the blackness enveloping the soggy countryside around the camp. I squinted my eyes as I tried to make out the building where we would meet on Saturday if the rain subsided, but I could barely see in front of my hand, much less make out a structure several hundred feet away.

The Scripture I had used for the evening session was from the book of John ... perhaps my favorite book in God's Word. The story was the one of the woman caught in the act of committing adultery by the religious leaders of that day. I talked about how Jesus saved the woman, rescued her from death, forgave her sin, and instructed her to go and begin a new life. I closed out the night's session by sharing a little about being diagnosed with diabetes and depression, and yes, I got emotional. But ... thank goodness, I didn't completely dissolve into a blubbering, snot-dripping, weepy mess. My friend ended the night's meeting by singing a song by Jason Gray ... a song about remembering who we are and to Whom we belong ... Remind Me Who I Am.

In the minutes after the session ended, I was approached by woman after woman after woman asking if they could talk to me. One by one, they told me of their own struggles with diabetes or depression, or those of family members or friends. The ladies asked me lots of questions ... questions about how to find their way out of the darkness, or how to help the ones they loved hold on to hope. Some of their stories were heartbreaking, and some of them were encouraging. I directed some of the women who asked how to help the ones in their lives who were struggling to my friend ... my friend who has repeatedly refused to give up on me. It was humbling for me to hear her talk about how it was through prayer and following God's leading that she was able to weather so many fierce storms in our friendship and continue to love me unconditionally.

As I pushed open the old-fashioned screen door a few minutes later and stepped into the dark night, my heart was heavy with the knowledge of several important truths that God had placed before me. There were many women at the retreat who were in the midst of the darkness themselves or who were trying to stay strong as they loved someone who was drowning in the sea of depression. God brought me to the retreat because He wanted me to be transparent with them, to make myself vulnerable before them by sharing my story, to allow Him to humble me and once again teach me that it truly is all about Him and not one little bit about me. He wanted me to understand that He had brought my friend along to encourage some of those dear ladies in a way that I couldn't, from the perspective of one who has walked alongside me through some of my darkest days. He wanted me to see Him in the dark, to feel Him in the night, to trust Him in the murky black. He wanted me to understand that the only way for me to see in the dark is through faith ... simple, childlike faith.

To the ladies who spoke with me who are fighting the fight of their lives against depression ... I'm praying for you, dear ones ... praying for peace for your troubled and wounded souls, praying for hope for the darkest and deepest of nights that engulf you. To those of you who pleaded for strength and wisdom in loving someone who is depressed ... I'm praying for patience and wisdom and grace for you as you unconditionally love and stand beside those who mean so much to you as they struggle to find light in the black sea swirling around them. To the women who worked so diligently to bring everything together for the weekend ... God bless you ... God bless you ... God bless you. To my friend who accompanied me ... I can never thank you enough for your steadfast and faithful friendship, thank you for hanging in there, for not running away, and for walking through the darkness with me. 

God is good ... so amazingly good ... all the time ... in His time ... right on time ... He is so, so good.

A Way to See in the Dark -- Jason Gray

"Here I am
Begging for certainty again
But simple trust
Is what you're asking me to give
If I am saved
You tell me it will not be by sight
So when I pray
I'll close my eyes, I'll close my eyes

I'll reach for your hand in the night
When the shadows swallow the light
'Cause I'm giving up, giving in
Once again a childlike faith
Is my only way
To see in the dark

The question mark
Hung at the end of every fear
Is answered by
The promise that you are with me here
And that's all I've got
When the lights go out and I lose my way
So I'll close my eyes
I won't be afraid, I won't be afraid

As I reach for your hand in the night
When the shadows swallow the light
'Cause I'm giving up, giving in
Once again a childlike faith
Is my only way
To see in the dark

If every star falls and the sun fails to rise
Still in my blindness I'll see
If You are my help, my hope and my vision
One step at a time You will lead

And I'll reach for your hand in the night
When the shadows swallow the light
'Cause I'm giving up, giving in
Once again a childlike faith
Is my only way

So I reach for your hand in the night
When the shadows swallow the light
'Cause I'm giving up, giving in
Once again a childlike faith
Is my only way
To see in the dark
To see in the dark"