Remembering Jesus

I will cry aloud to God;

I cry aloud to the One who will hear me.

In the day of my trouble I sought after God;

my hands were stretched out by night and did not tire;

I refused to be comforted.

I think of God; I am restless;

I ponder and my spirit faints.

You will not let my eyelids close;

I am troubled and I cannot speak.

I consider the days of old;

I remember the years long past;

I commune with my heart in the night;

I ponder and search my mind.

Will you cast me off for ever;

will you no more show your favor?

Has your loving-kindness come to an end for ever;

has your promise failed forevermore?

Have you forgotten to be gracious;

have you, in your anger, withheld your compassion?

-Psalm 77:1-9 (OSH Psalter)

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We pray through the Psalms multiple times every day. Sometimes, if I'm being completely honest, the words don't fully sink in or feel like they make a difference to me. But every now and again, it is like a curtain gets pulled back and I see clearly.

Yesterday we prayed the words from the psalm above. It felt so like what I wanted to say, though I had yet to form it into words. It was if the groans of my heart were finally given language.

I've not been sleeping. Somewhere between two and four hours per night is all I'm getting, despite my best efforts. But it has not been the normal, high-energy lack of sleep from mania. Rather, my heart has been aching through the depths of depression. There is an emptiness that I feel in my chest as I numb out sometime around midnight.

In the wee hours of morning, my mind wanders down well-worn pathways of grief and trauma and heartache. I think through the losses and rejections I've experienced. I feel anew the weight of the pain of seeing someone's back turned on me. And I wonder, does the past negate the chance of a future? Can I hold this pain and still move in hope?

Somewhere around 1:30am, I drift off and dream fitfully of falling. I toss and turn every twenty minutes, and around 4am I finally give up on sleep all together. I rub my tired eyes and feel my muscles creak with fatigue as I climb out of bed.

I'm so tired. And yet I can't seem to find rest. So my prayers to God have turned toward the questioning nature of the psalm above. In the aching loneliness of night, when I can't even find it in me to lift my eyes up to heaven, I beg through my questions.

The thing I'm coming to realize though is that I don't really want an answer to the questions. I just want to know God hears them. I want to not feel alone. If I am suffering, I don't want to suffer by myself.

That's what I'm remembering in these sleepless nights and tiresome days. I am remembering the coming season of Advent, when we acclaim the God Who Is With Us. I am remembering the God who entered into the turbulence and chaos of this world by taking on flesh. I am remembering the Christ who ached with loneliness and betrayal and fear in the Garden of Gethsemane. I am remembering the body broken and blood poured out.

I am remembering Jesus...

I know it won't take away my pain. I know this doesn't mean I will suddenly be able to sleep and rest. I know this remembering won't mean I will cease to suffer. But remembering Jesus does help me. It helps, because when my tears roll freely, there is a hand there to cup my face and run a thumb over my cheek to wipe them away. It helps, because when my body shakes with sobs, there is a shoulder on which I can lean my weight. It helps, because when that empty hole in my chest feels as if it will tear me apart, there are arms to wrap around me and hold me together.

I am not alone in my suffering.

And that makes all the difference...