// Marianna Schmiesing //

I was talking to a friend recently, and he said, “We go to dark places when we’re by ourselves.”

Now, he, like me, tends toward the melancholic. We wander into those dark places a little more frequently and a little more willingly than others. 

But I think wandering into the dark is a universal experience. Only sometimes, we don’t wander. We’re thrown. We tumble and fall. We would rather be anywhere else, but we find ourselves completely lost. Like Dante wrote: “In the middle of our life’s journey, I found myself in a dark wood.” 

Being lost in the dark is worsened when we are alone. Or magnifies that we are alone.

One time, another guy asked me what I was afraid of. I said, “Being alone,” and that really threw him off because he was thinking about spiders or something. 

The dark takes on different forms. Depression. Sin. It isolates, convinces us that our solitary state is well-deserved. Owed. That we aren’t worth anything more. 

“Help! I’ve fallen, and I can’t get up, and you know what, just leave me here, because that’s where us stupid people belong. On the floor. In the dirt.”

But I don’t belong in the dirt.

You don’t belong in the dirt.

I wish I could say more so that everyone was convinced of this (including myself), but I like it simple, and I don’t do affirmations well. 

I will say this: don’t be afraid of the dark.

That doesn’t mean sin more or willingly let yourself sink into depression and not take care of yourself, body and soul. It means don’t shy away when something scares you.

It’s terrifying to dive into the dark places of our hearts. Sometimes, we can have a spiritual director or good friend and mentor to help us, but ultimately, it’s a journey that we have to make on our own.

Just me.

Just me and Christ.

It might be more comforting for some if I had said The Rock or Mark Wahlberg would be accompanying us through the shadows of our lives, but this is a spiritual expedition. Who better to come along than the one who made our hearts?

Yes, we have been broken by sin, and yes, we will complicate it, but we get through it.

I wrote this little reflection a few months ago:

Where have you been, Jesus?

I’ve been to the depths of your heart.

I’ve rappelled down into the caverns of your being. 

I’ve lit a fire in the furthest hollow.

The shadows aren’t frightening to me.

The shadows dance. 

We look up.

And slowly climb.

You scaled down these cliffs in the dark.

But look how much easier it is

To climb, with me, in the light.