I began this in March. It made sense to finish it now. -eg

I used to love Sundays. The sleep, the worship, the friends, the food, the renewal of spirit before another week. But the past weeks have begun and ended with seemingly normal Sundays metastasizing into black tar and bile, a culmination of frustration, guilt, loneliness and dissatisfaction. Ugly feelings that engulfed me, suffocated me. I was trapped in a sadness I could not explain and I could not overcome.

I have never experienced depression. Sometimes I'll get into a funk, a day or two of malcontent, and then it leaves. But this, this clung to me, like barbells on my limbs, latching on to my eyelids and dragging every part of me down into a haze, a fog, an endless mushroom cloud of choking self-pity and despair.

I suppose that was his plan, all along. To lure me in, to trap me there in my self-deprecating thoughts where I could rationalize them, validate them, and allow myself to excuse myself from goodness, from service, from light.

Instead of venturing out, I holed up, rearranging my room in an attempt to rearrange my sadness. To place it in the corner. Not get rid of it. No. I had begun to cling to it just as it clung to me. I reveled in the deep emotion and the fault I could place on it. "That is why I don't serve. That is why I keep to myself," I'd silently say as I pointed to the mess of destructive emotion and excuses heaped in an oozing mess in the corner of my room. The corner of my mind. My life.

One such Sunday night, ignoring phone calls, texts and knocks at the door, I shut myself in my room. Laying prostrate across my unmade bed, I was a tangled mess of curls, limbs, blankets and thoughts. Music was playing from my laptop, soft and slow and raw.

I gave up, that night. I gave up trying, because no matter how hard I tried, it wasn't enough. So I decided — I declared to the four white walls around me — that I was done. And that night I let the music wrap around me and I cared for nothing else. I let it encircle every inch of me, slowly, gently, completely. I dared not breathe, in fear it would flee. But there it stayed, an invisible embrace of melodies that no words can describe. No words can do justice. All words fall short.

It was in that darkness, that self-inflicted misery, that He broke through. I didn't invite Him, not consciously, but, oh, how glad I am He came. Yes, there He was, revealing what I did not allow for so long: light, courage, strength, desire, opportunities — even happiness. I just had to choose.


And so I chose.


  1. That was my kind of poetry. Beautiful.

  2. Wow... I'm so glad you shared something like that. That was powerful, Elizabeth... Thank you.

  3. You say what we feel, but so much more poetically.