The soul in despair

Everyone has, or will, at some point in their lives experience the pits of despair. While the dictionary defines despair as the loss of all hope, I think one must feel terribly alone as well. My most vivid memory of despair was more than 35 years ago. We were building our house near Sherrard, and because the home we sold in Moline closed before we were ready, we were living in a small motel out in the country. It's still there as apartments. 

I fed the kids instant oatmeal and took them to catch the bus at our new property where I spent much of the day varnishing, staining, or whatever task was needed that I could do. We're talking subfloors and no toilet yet, so it wasn't easy. I also tried to keep up with my volunteer duties without benefit of cell phones or email. I remember quite a bit of phone booth calling. As I recall, I was organizing a walk to raise money for a charity among other things. Marvin went to work, then came to the new house to work on it, along with the kids. We cooked supper  over an open fire, then back to the motel for homework and bed. We all remember that work with pleasure, building our home on a hill, clearing brush, future plans for horses and cattle and pigs (even chickens just one year - too messy), and of course dogs and cats. The red fox that followed us on our first walk across our 160 acres was a symbol of all that could be good in that place.

One night Marvin and I decided to leave Frank in charge of his younger siblings and go out for dinner. We argued about one thing or another ... while we share the same values for the most part, sometimes my choices just are beyond his capacity to tolerate or understand. The walk was probably one of them. Can't remember and it's not important. The argument was terrible, and we had to quit when we got back to the motel. So with unresolved anger and pain, I sat on the bathroom floor and wept. Now weeping is different than crying, and sometimes noisier ... certainly with more depth in feeling and need for smothering sobs in a towel. There I am, alone, in despair, praying for relief. And trying to do it quietly so I would not wake up the children who were sharing one of the two beds in the room. I still remember the pain of it. 

Despair has come again for me, and certainly for him, but that's his story to tell. Do I continue to challenge Marvin's patience and understanding? Certainly as much as he challenges mine. Yet we still hang on to our separate truths, as well as find common ground on the most important ones. Neither of us are quitters, so we stayed married, and have found great peace and companionship spiced with a bit of dissonance. Sort of like a good book, fine food, or time with nature.

Even in the pits I always feel a connection with something beyond. Is that God? I like to think so. I know that alone in that bathroom that night, I felt a presence. God finds us no matter where we hide. We all need to step into that light and reflect it on others. The three most important words are "I love you". Or are they "I forgive you." We need to say both of them freely.