Sunday Sum Up: Getting Up

It's been colder lately.  The fall season officially started well over a month ago, but lately the cold has really started to creep in.  The sun is still shining, but there's less heat in it--not enough heat to warm the icy wind.  I used to be the sort of person who didn't mind the cold so much.  Maybe it was after I lost a significant amount of weight (twice) that I started feeling the cold deep down in my bones.  And when the cold gets into my bones, it can take me hours before I feel warm again.  And then when the fall comes, I start coughing.  My nose gets stuffy.  I have to rely on generic Claritin to be able to function semi-normally.  Most people have seasonal allergies in the spring; mine don't come until fall and winter.

I really think I'm allergic to cold.

This morning when I woke to the sun shining through my windows, I first thought that I'd overslept.  Then I realized the time had changed, and 8 a.m is the new 7 a.m.  Or something like that.  My second thought, once I realized that I hadn't overslept, was that I really didn't want to get out of bed.  It wasn't because I knew that my bed was much warmer than the rest of my apartment.  It wasn't because I was still tired after an extra hour of sleep.  It wasn't because I was hoping to drift back into some wonderful dream involving a mid-90's version of Bill Pullman making me some banana pancakes and turkey bacon for breakfast.  It was because I really just didn't see much point in getting out of bed.

And seriously...I really think humans should take a cue from bears.  We should stuff ourselves full of food and then just lie in our caves beds all winter.  Humans should totally hibernate.

Yes, the fall depression has hit me.  I really didn't expect it this year, just because I figured if I was going to get it, I would have already gotten it.  But I guess it didn't want to come until it got good and cold.  See, every time the weather gets colder and the days get shorter, I get depressed.  It's nothing too severe.  It's been happening since college (and probably before that, too, but it's hard to tell because I was sort of emo in high school--before emo was cool...or even invented).  When I first noticed it, I didn't know what to do with it, so I freaked out.  That's kind of what I do when presented with anything new.  I freak out.  But later on, once I realized what was going on, I stopped freaking out.  When the depression hit, when I started having that feeling like, "Oh, there's no point in getting out of bed again.  Ever," I'd just get out of bed anyway.  I'd put on my big girl pants and deal with it--because I'm going to have to work and pay bills and be nice to my friends whether I'm depressed or not.

Only, I really gotta say, I just don't want to write this blog today.  I don't want to do much of anything besides lie around and eat candy.  I could give myself an excuse to do that, since I did successfully finish my first 10K yesterday (and by "successfully," I mean that I jogged/waddled the whole thing, I didn't die, and there were at least five three people who finished after I did).  But since I ate candy, cheese biscuits, and Chick-fil-a yesterday, I'm pretty sure I ate three five times as many calories as I burned off yesterday.

Sometimes, I really think it's okay to not feel like writing or blogging.  I just get afraid sometimes that my lack of writing desire is lasting too long.  I didn't feel much like blogging this week because I'd just gotten back from a short vacation, and oddly enough, I needed to recover from my vacation.  Also, I was busy training for a 10K and working my usual three five guess a number between one and ten jobs.  So I'm fairly surprised I got any blogging done at all.  And sometimes I think it's good to take a break from blogging so that you can actually spend some time living.  It's just that I wasn't living so much this week as I was sitting on my bum watching reruns of M.A.S.H.

But, you know, I'm oddly grateful for this feeling of depression--as long as I don't let it decay into true apathy.  I need to care about my writing.  I need to care about my work.  I need to care about the people in my life.  I need to care about life in general, and I need to remember that it's not about how I feel or even about me at all.  Because that one word that's defining this whole season of my life keeps reappearing.

Hope.

I was reading in Romans yesterday, and I came to chapter 8.  Surely, this is one of the best Biblical chapters to read after running a 10K.  I like a lot of what Paul said in this chapter, but this is the part that really got me:

"For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory that is to be revealed to us. For the anxious longing of the creation waits eagerly for the revealing of the sons of God.  For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of Him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself also will be set free from its slavery to corruption into the freedom of the glory of the children of God.  For we know that the whole creation groans and suffers the pains of childbirth together until now. And not only this, but also we ourselves, having the first fruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, waiting eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our body. For in hope we have been saved, but hope that is seen is not hope; for who hopes for what he already sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, with perseverance we wait eagerly for it." Romans 8:18-25

I don't know if I'm right in my perceptions or not, but it seems to me that God's reminding me to keep hoping, to keep waiting and trusting.  I keep seeing/hearing so many reminders, whether it's a song on the radio, an impatient child at work, a word from a friend, or a Word from Scripture.  I'm reminded to hope.  And I can't help but think that there's a reason I'm being called to persevere in this time of my life.  I think it's because some of the things I've hoped and waited for are coming soon.


I don't deserve to have anything good come to me, but I've been commanded to wait for it anyway.  The Father who won't give us a stone when we ask for bread, or a snake when we ask for a fish, He knows how to give us good things.  I'm not talking about the "prosperity gospel" here at all.  It's just that I know my Father has already given me the greatest Hope.  In hope in Christ, I have been saved.  And I will see the fulfillment of that hope.

But while I'm still down here, living in a body that is affected by heat and cold, by changes in the seasons, by the passage of time, by sickness and sin...I must wait.  I must wait for the fulfillment of that great Hope, and I must wait for the fulfillment of smaller hopes.  But there is work to do while I'm waiting.  There are people all around who need that great Hope, and there are people all around me who need smaller hopes.  And I've been given breath to breathe and songs to sing and hands (though horribly chapped by this blasted cold wind!) to work.  I can't hibernate, even if I think it's a really good idea.  I have to get out of bed in the morning.

Because I believe there's going to be a Time and Place where the wind will be warm, even without the sun.  We won't need the sun anymore, because the Lord will be our light.  That's the hope that lights all my other hopes.  So I'm going to rise, and keep rising, whether I feel like it or not.