I didn’t know God was with me in the darkness where I resided.

The darkness took me down paths of desperation. It welcomed anxiety and sorrow, rocks at the pit of my stomach. Pain, which would travel into my throat, causing it to sting. Breathing, short and fast. Eyes squeezed shut to try and keep the tears from pouring out. 

Life overwhelmed me. I was hospitalized and medicated, twice. It was me and the darkness and a world with seemingly no purpose — no rhythm and no security — spinning around. 

In my late teens, everything changed when I was introduced to God, a God who loved me, a God who cared deeply, a God whose light broke through the darkness and offered me the peace I had been so desperately seeking. Faith uprooted the constant pressure and overwhelm. Feeling a peace that I had never felt before, the darkness slipped away, taking anxiety with it.

Eventually, I married and had a football team’s worth of babies. I floated through life, God at my side, filled with that peace that surpasses understanding. Those things that had plagued me were barely a memory. Making a home, baking bread, homeschooling, family traditions, walks along the beach, life was beautiful and full . . . until one day, a sibling squabble brought me to my knees.

In an instant, I felt it. That rock in my stomach. It had been years and another lifetime, but as soon as it came knocking, it was as if it had never been gone.

I was the lyrics from that Simon and Garfunkel song, “Hello darkness, my old friend. I’ve come to talk with you again.” From that point, darkness tried, desperately, to creep back into my life.

Things had been getting more overwhelming. I had been feeling burnt out more often. In the middle of the daily chaos, I was finding it hard to breathe. So many things calling to me. Suddenly, it had all broken me. How was I supposed to mend this tattered mosaic, aka me? 

When I first met God as a teen, I knew I needed mending. There was no shame in it. But then, as a mature Christian wife and mother, I found it impossible to admit that. Shouldn’t I be able to hold things together, do it all, and not focus too much on myself?  

But, if I maintained that mentality, I would be a frog in a pot of boiling water, unaware that I needed to jump out until it was too late. I would break. I had already begun. So, I went back to the beginning. To whispered prayers. I looked for the light in the darkness and reminded myself, daily, of the love of God.

I wrote out priorities that reminded me of Him. He is a God of beauty, order, relationship, wisdom, and creation, and I thought these orienting myself to these priorities would help me connect to Him. I would do one thing in each area every day; five things to help ease my overwhelm, make me mindful of my surroundings, remind me that God wins, that I matter, and to breathe.  

He is a God of beauty, so every day I would bring something beautiful into my life. I’d add something lovely — pick wildflowers, light candles, set the table for a family meal, rearrange things, and create.  

He is a God of order, so I decluttered. The junk drawer, the catch-all table, the unruly garden, the cluttered closet. I’d make change in one area daily, bringing order to the madness, lessening the chaos. 

He is a God of relationship, so I would make an intentional effort in one relationship every day. Date night, one-on-one with a child, write a letter to a friend, or service to someone in my community. 

He is a God of wisdom, so I read books, considered ideas, wrote, and had discussions. Goethe wrote, “One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and, if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words.” I took this to heart. 

He is a God of creation, so I spent time outside every day. Creation soothes the soul and is calming. Some days I would go to the beach and watch the water, the tide coming in and out. Some days, all I did was step out my front door to breathe fresh air. Watch the birds. Dance in the rain. Marvel at the majesty of nature. 

By focusing on my priorities, I found the darkness fleeing. With deep humility, I realigned with the peace of God. I knew now that I wasn’t immune: I couldn’t keep going without focusing on God and caring for myself.  

God doesn’t want us to neglect ourselves. As human beings, we need to be nurtured, refreshed, and take time to grow. An empty vessel has nothing to pour out. When we begin to tatter, it’s time to find the light and focus on mending.

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