I'm not into depression.
Don't have much patience for it. I'm more of a “
I think I can, I
think I can” girl. So
what's a girl to do when joy ain't coming around much and she has no
name for what she's experiencing?
I will ponder Acedia
and Me for a long while yet. It took me a month to chew through
it. Digest. Ponder. Question. Norris speaks what we do not know how
to say and are so rarely willing to ponder, much less discuss.
Darkness. Sin. Death. Loss. Grief. She reminds us our anger is often
caring about the wrong things. Acedia? Our lack of care for the right
things.
For a seed to
propagate it must rupture, and in the words of the prophet Isaiah,
only those who truly mourn are able to receive “a garland instead
of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and the mantle of
praise instead of a faint spirit.” Isaiah 61:3
For grace to be grace,
it must give us things we didn't know we needed and take us to places
where we didn't want to go. As we stumble through the crazily altered
landscape of our lives, we find that God is enjoying our attention as
never before. And maybe that's the point.
I'm embracing a new
tomorrow. A new school year is beginning. I'm praying to set a table
morning, noon, and night for loving attentiveness to God, to my
spouse, and to my children. To cultivate listening. She who listens,
loves. She who loves, learns. She who learns has wings, to soar.
We need John Bunyan's
pilgrim to remind us that we have access to the tools that will set
us free. We need Dante to lead us through the dark wood, and beyond.
The
dark wood of our souls. Humanity at its' worst in you, and in me. But
there's hope. There is a gift that is useful, and there is a grief
that is destructive. The first sort consists of weeping over one's
own faults and weeping over the weakness of one's neighbors, in order
not to destroy one's purpose, and attach oneself to the perfect good.
But there is also a grief that comes from the enemy, full of mockery,
which some call accidie. This spirit must be cast out, mainly by
prayer and psalmody. ~ Amma Syncletica
Fear and anger stalk me
on my worst days. They consume and wipe me clean of energy and joy. I
become hyper aware of those who can hurt me. I desire to embrace stillness. I want to tend time. Attend time. Daily
living, what needs to be done. Rising above. Living below.
Perhaps God is strong
enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every
morning “do it again” to the sun; and every evening “do it
again” to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes
all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately,
but has never gotten tired of making them. ~ G.K. Chesterton
So let me embark upon
this new year endeavoring to never tire of living, loving, and
learning. But, when days arrive and my spirit is filled with the temptation of accidie
let me remember:
Prayer and love are learned in the hour when
prayer has become impossible and (my) heart has turned to stone. ~
Thomas Merton
I will most certainly be filled this year, to the portion that I'm willing to be emptied out.
Devil's Punchbowl at low tide, Oregon
