One thing that puzzles me to no end is how anybody can tolerate living in a place where winter lasts from November to April, and where one must endure frequent peltings by tiny frozen pellets falling from the sky, even when it is sunny and partly-cloudy. As I was driving through a heavy, late-March snowfall the other day, I began to ponder, for my own amusement, what I would do if I were faced with the prospect of weather like this every day for the rest of my life, with no hope of seeing blue skies or feeling the sun's warmth ever again. It no longer struck me as odd that places like Tacoma, Washington experience some of the highest suicide rates in the U.S.; over an extended period of time, this cold, wet, inhospitable, biting weather acts upon one's psyche in the same manner as an illness that never clears up: one feels hopeless, weary, oppressed, and downright grouchy. Or, at least I do. Apparently, there are scores of people who don't mind it, or most of central Europe wouldn't be populated. But, anyway, back to my make-believe scenario. No matter how deeply I fell into despair, I would be far too chicken (not to mention morally opposed) to commit suicide. Instead, I am fairly certain that I would go insane. After my drive in the rain/snow/darkness, I spent the evening in typical borderline crazy fashion: I hurled insults at the T.V. when I found out the evening's programming had been changed and I almost wrote a furious email to the people responsible for said programming. Fortunately, I am not a full-blown crazy, so the little voice advising me not to make an ass of myself was still very much intact and I refrained from sending the email. However, I did spend a greater portion of the evening sobbing in bed, bemoaning my fate, and longing for winter to end.
The next morning, my senses restored and intact, I opened the Bible to Psalm 69 and read this:
"Save me, O God!
For the waters have come up to my neck.
I sink in deep mire,
Where there is no standing;
I have come into deep waters,
Where the floods overflow me.
I am weary with my crying;
My throat is dry;
My eyes fail while I wait for my God." (New King James version)
I cannot tell you how many times something like this happens, where I just happen upon a passage from the Bible that relates, with an almost uncanny likeness, to my situation. The secret to maintaining my sanity seemed to jump out at me in those opening lines of the Psalm: why not pray about my situation? Why not turn my grumblings into prayer? I had to agree that praying would be a much more beneficial means of dealing with my unpleasant emotional state than plotting revenge upon television station employees.
So I'm giving it a try. And I must confess, I find myself much calmer and resilient-feeling when I pray on a regular basis. I recommend it to anyone else who might be feeling a bit on the crazy side lately.
