My Dark Night
I recently was told about a guy named St. John of the Cross (what a great name) and a poem he wrote called Dark Night of the Soul. I did more reading about this condition…the dark night of the soul and realized: I have felt this.
I am very aware it’s not probably not the best for a missionary to admit they have experienced the dark night of the soul, but my only justification is if Mother Theresa wrote about it, I feel like I can too (not saying I’m Mother Theresa, but you get my point). We’ve got to start talking about these things.
The dark night of the soul is described as feeling God’s absence. It’s a deep feeling of loneliness and separation from God. It’s not depression, though that can accompany it.
When I used to think of my relationship with God, the image that came to mind was a suitor who would come to ask me to dance, usually in a field (not sure why a field, I’m a city kid…and a bad dancer, so this scenario had to be supernatural). I never understand why people would say God has a still, small voice. His voice has been so loud and so strong for so many years. But what happens when it’s gone?
After having a season of feeling like I’ve taken beatings over and over, I woke up one morning and there was no voice, no dancing. I went to the field to find my partner and he wasn’t there. Had he left me? Had he found another dance partner? I felt the emptiness deeper than any feeling before.
I listened to people talk about him, but he had become a stranger to me. No guidance, no support, no words. Just silence.
Over time, I got angry. Not only had I taken all these beatings, but for him to abandon me in my time of need was unforgivable. What kind of friend, or partner would do this? Maybe he wasn’t really available to everyone all the time. Maybe I didn’t really know him.
At first, I screamed out to him and then just started screaming at him. “You didn’t protect me when I needed it. You didn’t heal when I asked. How can a good, good father abandon his daughter? It’s not right. This is not the God I have come to know. I am supposed to ask and you give. You are supposed to look out for me, protect me, because I am yours. You didn’t, and now you aren’t even showing up.”
My soul had moved from the field of dancing to a cold, dark prison. Thus beginning the dark night of my soul.
My dark night is consumed with distrust and anger; feelings of abandonment. I have been forgotten. (For those who are not English teachers, I’m now talking in present tense.)
Before the dark night, I felt protected as if my big daddy was walking behind me and anyone who would pick on me, would have to answer to my daddy.
During the dark night, I am walking alone, unprotected, vulnerable. Anything or anyone could take a punch at me and it felt like theywere are, I was am raw and bruised; limping along trying to understand where the God of wonders has gone.
I would find myself in worship, not singing. There are words in the songs I just can’t sing. I can’t buy into the good, good father. I don’t think my soul is well. I just don’t understand how amazing grace is. And I don’t know how a father could send his son to death and not save my friend’s son.
Maybe he doesn’t really love us as I thought.
Maybe he doesn’t love us as I thought. Yes, I repeated that sentence on purpose, because in my dark night, I have realized that I have a made up god in my head because that’s all I can grasp. My mind knows I have a good father, who does want good things for me and will do what he can to help and protect me. I can make the image of God into my earthly father.
But God is not my earthly father. He’s different.
Author Barbara Brown Taylor, says in her book, Learning to Walk in the Darkness, that we shouldn’t run from the feelings of darkness, but embrace them and learn from them.
What kind of god would he be if he did everything I asked? A genie, he is not. What kind of person would I become if my god wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me? A bodyguard, he is not. So, in my darkness, I’m learning who God is not.
But I have declared that I’m tired of being angry with him. I’m tired of feeling abandoned.
I screamed at him that he had forgotten me. He sent a friend that very day to pray over me and she told me that she was supposed to tell me to give up control. She didn’t know I was mad at him and not speaking to him.
So, who is he?
So to get to know him, I have to sit in the quiet and the still. I’m an introvert, I don’t generally mind the quiet. But stillness and solitude are things I’m working on because I’m an enneagram 8. I fill the quietness with my thoughts. Sitting quietly and doing nothing with my mind sounds physically painful.
In my stillness, I listen to Crazy about you, by Christian singer, Plumb. (Yes, I know I’m cheating on the silence part.)
You screwed up, made mistakes
Got dirty from the messes you've made
But I whisper "That's okay, I love you despite what you say"
Take another chance
Take another chance on my love
No matter what you've done right
No matter what you've done wrong
You, you've been fighting so long
You, you belong in my arms
When I look in your eyes
They're magic like the stars in the sky
And I made them just like I made you
And I'm so crazy,
I'm so crazy about you
Take another chance
Take another chance on my love
No matter what you've done right
No matter what you've done wrong
Oh you, you've been fighting so long
You, you belong in my arms
Take another chance
Take another chance on my love
No matter what you've done right
No matter what you've done wrong
Always wanting you
Always been after your heart
So come and dance with you now
Come and dance right where you are
You, you've been fighting so long
You, you've been fighting so long
Oh you, you belong in my arms
I'm crazy, so crazy
I'm crazy, so crazy about you
This new song that Plumb released feels like a gentle invitation to get to know my God. He even tucked in an invite to dance again. Characteristics—persistent and cheeky…check.
I’m not mad at being in the dark night anymore.
I will not fear the dark night. I will embrace it. I will learn from it. I’ll be ok. But while I’m not ok, that’s ok too.
I am very aware it’s not probably not the best for a missionary to admit they have experienced the dark night of the soul, but my only justification is if Mother Theresa wrote about it, I feel like I can too (not saying I’m Mother Theresa, but you get my point). We’ve got to start talking about these things.
The dark night of the soul is described as feeling God’s absence. It’s a deep feeling of loneliness and separation from God. It’s not depression, though that can accompany it.
When I used to think of my relationship with God, the image that came to mind was a suitor who would come to ask me to dance, usually in a field (not sure why a field, I’m a city kid…and a bad dancer, so this scenario had to be supernatural). I never understand why people would say God has a still, small voice. His voice has been so loud and so strong for so many years. But what happens when it’s gone?
After having a season of feeling like I’ve taken beatings over and over, I woke up one morning and there was no voice, no dancing. I went to the field to find my partner and he wasn’t there. Had he left me? Had he found another dance partner? I felt the emptiness deeper than any feeling before.
I listened to people talk about him, but he had become a stranger to me. No guidance, no support, no words. Just silence.
Over time, I got angry. Not only had I taken all these beatings, but for him to abandon me in my time of need was unforgivable. What kind of friend, or partner would do this? Maybe he wasn’t really available to everyone all the time. Maybe I didn’t really know him.
At first, I screamed out to him and then just started screaming at him. “You didn’t protect me when I needed it. You didn’t heal when I asked. How can a good, good father abandon his daughter? It’s not right. This is not the God I have come to know. I am supposed to ask and you give. You are supposed to look out for me, protect me, because I am yours. You didn’t, and now you aren’t even showing up.”
My soul had moved from the field of dancing to a cold, dark prison. Thus beginning the dark night of my soul.
My dark night is consumed with distrust and anger; feelings of abandonment. I have been forgotten. (For those who are not English teachers, I’m now talking in present tense.)
Before the dark night, I felt protected as if my big daddy was walking behind me and anyone who would pick on me, would have to answer to my daddy.
During the dark night, I am walking alone, unprotected, vulnerable. Anything or anyone could take a punch at me and it felt like they
I would find myself in worship, not singing. There are words in the songs I just can’t sing. I can’t buy into the good, good father. I don’t think my soul is well. I just don’t understand how amazing grace is. And I don’t know how a father could send his son to death and not save my friend’s son.
Maybe he doesn’t really love us as I thought.
Maybe he doesn’t love us as I thought. Yes, I repeated that sentence on purpose, because in my dark night, I have realized that I have a made up god in my head because that’s all I can grasp. My mind knows I have a good father, who does want good things for me and will do what he can to help and protect me. I can make the image of God into my earthly father.
But God is not my earthly father. He’s different.
Author Barbara Brown Taylor, says in her book, Learning to Walk in the Darkness, that we shouldn’t run from the feelings of darkness, but embrace them and learn from them.
What kind of god would he be if he did everything I asked? A genie, he is not. What kind of person would I become if my god wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me? A bodyguard, he is not. So, in my darkness, I’m learning who God is not.
But I have declared that I’m tired of being angry with him. I’m tired of feeling abandoned.
I screamed at him that he had forgotten me. He sent a friend that very day to pray over me and she told me that she was supposed to tell me to give up control. She didn’t know I was mad at him and not speaking to him.
So, who is he?
So to get to know him, I have to sit in the quiet and the still. I’m an introvert, I don’t generally mind the quiet. But stillness and solitude are things I’m working on because I’m an enneagram 8. I fill the quietness with my thoughts. Sitting quietly and doing nothing with my mind sounds physically painful.
In my stillness, I listen to Crazy about you, by Christian singer, Plumb. (Yes, I know I’m cheating on the silence part.)
You screwed up, made mistakes
Got dirty from the messes you've made
But I whisper "That's okay, I love you despite what you say"
Take another chance
Take another chance on my love
No matter what you've done right
No matter what you've done wrong
You, you've been fighting so long
You, you belong in my arms
When I look in your eyes
They're magic like the stars in the sky
And I made them just like I made you
And I'm so crazy,
I'm so crazy about you
Take another chance
Take another chance on my love
No matter what you've done right
No matter what you've done wrong
Oh you, you've been fighting so long
You, you belong in my arms
Take another chance
Take another chance on my love
No matter what you've done right
No matter what you've done wrong
Always wanting you
Always been after your heart
So come and dance with you now
Come and dance right where you are
You, you've been fighting so long
You, you've been fighting so long
Oh you, you belong in my arms
I'm crazy, so crazy
I'm crazy, so crazy about you
This new song that Plumb released feels like a gentle invitation to get to know my God. He even tucked in an invite to dance again. Characteristics—persistent and cheeky…check.
I’m not mad at being in the dark night anymore.
I will not fear the dark night. I will embrace it. I will learn from it. I’ll be ok. But while I’m not ok, that’s ok too.
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