I’ve thought a lot about these “ruts” we get into as humans. How sometimes our lives seem to steadily swirl toward rock bottom, until finally we realize there’s space even below rock bottom. For me, these ruts have lasted a while. I wouldn’t have called it depression, though, because I wasn’t sad. I didn’t have a problem getting out of bed in the morning, and I went through my days just as any other, but I certainly never looked forward to them. It’s a waiting game really—when will the next unfortunate thing happen? When will my car break down again or my dishwasher stop working? When will I find another unexpected bill set on the edge of the piano for me? When will I forget a research paper and fail a class?
And pretty soon, when I’d trip on my shoelace I wouldn’t chuckle. I didn’t even shake it off and keep walking. I would grunt and mumble (even when alone) something along the lines of “ugh, just my luck.”
I’d come to expect those things and merely roll my eyes…waiting. Waiting for rock bottom.
And it was at these moments that I could honestly say, I didn’t want to be happy. I tried praying—a lot. But I knew that somewhere deep down, as a “p.s” to my prayer, I was asking God not to answer me. Because my life was out of order, priorities scattered and passion a mess, and until it was right, I wasn’t willing to be content with it. I had to get it back.
I decided to start doing everything right. I stopped going out when I shouldn’t. I studied hard and worked long hours when I wasn’t doing that. I kept my house clean and ate well. I held the doors for strangers and got to bed early, I sat in church every Sunday and gave thanks for things I hadn’t before.
But I felt nothing.
I laid there in bed a few weeks ago, scrolling through Facebook on my phone when I learned of my friend’s death. And in that bed is where I stayed for two full days. I cried that entire night, I cried so much I wasn’t sure if it was possible to cry anymore. But then I would, and it was just as full and wet and sad as the cry before that. I sat up alone wondering why these things could happen to such a young, beautiful, kind, girl... and I still don’t know that answer. I thought and cried and though some more until six that morning when I finally had no energy left and I fell asleep. The next morning was foggy through my swollen, glazed eyes. I woke up too early and felt sick to my stomach when I realized is wasn’t all a dream. This was my rock bottom. Then, before I had fully woken up, I got a call from my sister. My uncle had passed away. That is when I learned there was no such thing as rock bottom, and THAT was a terrifying thought.
In the least expected moment, God was merciful, and for some amazing, unknown reason, I was able to go back to work soon thereafter. He let me stop mourning and instead remember fondly. On what was one of the worst days of my life, I was pulled out of the rut.
They were taken to a place so amazing that I will always have something to look forward to. So, while it’s not up to us when we hit these ruts, or how long we’ll stay there, it is certain that we will be saved. Even in the hardest of ways.
It’s good to be back.
~In memory of sweet Ericka Wade and my fun, loving, Uncle Don~
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