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Editor's Note: We are a non-religious magazine. However, we acknowledge that spirituality is an important part for some. Our Faith column is a place for anyone to discuss how faith positively affects their mental health and how to improve the conversation around mental health within faith communities.
The past month has been trying to say the least. It felt as though it was just one thing after another, wave after wave of attacks both in my personal life and at work. I had people coming at me, criticism thrown at my work, and a To Do list that kept my mind racing to a million places at once. And then with one final blow, I was defeated.
It’s difficult to know what to do in these moments when life seems to come crashing down all at once and you don’t even have the chance to come up for air. I did what any person would do; I came home in the middle of the afternoon, grabbed a box of Kleenex, and crawled into bed, waiting for the day to end or Jesus to return.
Yes, it would appear my world was flooding.
At times like these I allow myself to let go of the one thing that can actually work as my life raft: hope.
Even when we know God has a master plan, we still get to the place where hope seems to have drifted away. Yes, we are Tom Hanks screaming out after poor Wilson as we watch our volleyball of hope bob up and down, floating off to sea, with an ironic smile on its face (for those who haven’t seen Castaway, this must seem like an odd metaphor). And all we can do is watch.
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But the truth is hope doesn’t drift away unless we let it.
Hope is a gift; it is real, and it is always there.
Always. No matter how stormy things may get.
Back to my story. So it was just me, my box of Kleenex, and a good 18 hours before I could call it a New Day, get up, and give it another shot…
The next day wasn’t much better, though. I call it the emotional hangover day—when the worst of the storm is over, but you are left wading in the water, looking around frantically for a piece of shore, and wondering how much longer you can keep yourself afloat before you run out of strength and begin to sink. So I dragged myself out of bed, went to church, prayed, came back home, and crawled back into bed—once again waiting for another New Day. I really thought that day would have been it, but it wasn’t. My hope was now merely a speck in the distance.
Little did I know what the next day had in store.
There was nothing special about that particular Monday morning. Like usual I snoozed my alarm, slept about thirty minutes later than I should have, and then finally pulled myself out of bed to face a new week, albeit somewhat anxious about what was in store for me considering how blindsided I’d been by the previous one.
Now, I’m not usually one for “visions,” but as I was pouring the milk over my Mini Wheats, I saw a rainbow. No, not in my cereal bowl—though that would’ve made for a great story—the image popped into my head and then was gone as fast as it had appeared. With it came a message I’d long forgotten:
“This is the sign of the covenant that I make between me and you…When I bring clouds over the earth and the bow is seen in the clouds, I will remember my covenant…And the waters shall never again become a flood to destroy all flesh.” (Genesis 9:12-15 ESV)
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