Dog Days

I have hit that place. You know that place I mean. Like the dog days of summer, when the heat has finally gotten to you, the grass crunches when you walk on it, there is no energy, no joy, just vast endless unrelenting waves of heat. There is no breeze, the air is still and lifeless. Its bound to be what our forefathers thought hell would be. That's where I am on the inside: dead, dead, dead.

I hate being here. Sometimes when I see it coming I get in such avoidance mode that I don't speak to myself for days. I hate when the sun loses it's fascination for me because I am hiding from the heat, and when I feel the same way about the Son. And the Father. Today, the heat it too great and I wish to hide from it all.

I need to say this. I know what to do. I do. I understand when it gets like this I need to recite the promises God gives me in His word. I need to revisit the many times I have wandered into these places and He has rescued me. I need to center in prayer, clean my thoughts, remember that I am not supposed to solve the problems of the world. I know. My soul needs rest, my cups needs to be refreshed, my thirst quenched. I know. I need to sit at the feet of a good teacher, let my spirit be encouraged, remember where I have come from, see this as an opportunity to develop my faith, look for the promise, keep my eyes focused on Jesus. I know. I do.

And I will. Only, for right this moment, I am weary. I am too tired, too sore, too overwhelmed and too defeated to be proactive. Right now if I truly have permission to be, to be present, to be aware, to be real, to embrace the moment and feel what I am truly feeling, I am weary to the core. I find no safe harbor, no kindred spirit, no help or hope and no desire to find any. I find colors lifeless, inspiration shallow and comfort empty. I feel abandoned and unwanted, put upon and depleted, friendless and faithless.

Even as I write the words I begin to feel the cloud gently lifting. I am in just a few short moments going to see one of my dearest friends and he always refreshes me. Just being with him is like drinking from the coolest well. It will help me tremendously. I am starting to think about how good the shower will feel, how nice it is to have my house empty and my son home. I am aware that help is coming.


Embracing the desolation enables me to embrace the consolation when it comes. I resist it very much. It makes me uncomfortable, I feel like a bad person, a bad friend, a bad daughter. I know that others dislike it when I get this way and that adds to the rejection and loneliness. So I resist and encourage others to resist. I begin to believe that is wrong. I begin to believe desolation is essential to consolation and failing to be present in it creates the very demons I try so hard to defeat. And I wonder this, what if being faithless in the moment will result in more focus on faith in the big picture. What if acknowledging emptiness, the joyless weariness that robs you of hope actually makes you ready to receive a hope that is based not in positive thought but sacramental truth. What if it does?