“Character, Like a Photograph, Develops in Darkness”
Exploring the Stages from Darkness to Light, Together Through the Book of Psalms
I remember the first time I felt it. The first time I sensed that things weren’t right—that the world was not ordered as I thought, and that my own thoughts were deceiving me, whispering things I had no business believing were true. It was the year I worked at a church for small group ministries. Each night, I would find myself at home, sitting on the couch, grasping for meaning, searching for answers and solutions in the only place I thought I might find them: the book of Psalms. I traced the shadows in the authors words, following his cries of anguish, and I felt a hollowness—a pit that stretched beneath me. My life, on the surface, seemed fine. I had what I needed, a steady routine, but something essential was missing. An emptiness, a quiet void, and a darkness I couldn’t shake. I began to realize that this was not a fleeting feeling; this was something deeper, something relentless. That was fifteen years ago. The darkness receded, but it wasn’t gone. It returned, and like a shadow I couldn’t escape, and this time, it took root. It has lingered ever since, persisting in ways that words often fail to capture.
It wasn’t that something began to crumble—it was that there was already a crumbling, an erosion revealing itself beneath the surface. And the reason it was crumbling was because the foundation had never been strong in the first place. That truth had never been shown to me, had never occurred to me, until that year when I first experienced the void and the anguish. As my foundation began to shift, parts of me began to fall apart. My exterior began to crack and crumble, revealing the strain of what was built underneath. On the surface, my life had seemed so secure, so solid. But underneath, what truly lay at the foundation was an existence built on trying to please people, a life structured around the hope of meeting everyone’s needs but my own. Working at the church—the very job that should have fulfilled this purpose—didn’t bring me happiness at all. It was a paradigm shift, a realization that the life I thought was strong had been held together by something as insubstantial as vapors. This was a painful awakening to my own fragility, a glimpse into a foundation that was built on pleasing others, and it left me questioning my own place in the world.
But all of these words, this understanding of what lay beneath, was still a mystery to me then. I didn’t know why I felt such emptiness, such disillusionment. So I shoveled dirt over the whole experience and walked away, returning to teaching and then ultimately to coaching, leaving it all buried there to be rediscovered another day.
After that year at the church, life seemed to return to normal. I moved into collegiate coaching, my relationships appeared stable, and my job felt secure. But there was still something underneath, a void quietly beckoning to me. It lay hidden beneath the surface, biding its time. It took nearly a decade before it reemerged, before the life I had built—so dependent on meeting the needs of others—could no longer bear the strain. And this time, it wasn’t just a mental weight; my body began to fall apart as well. For about five years, I searched for answers, trying to understand what was happening to me, but I still couldn’t see the cause, couldn’t understand the term depression, or grasp any possible solution. No, my life was falling apart, and I had no idea why, what it was called, or where to begin looking for help.
The Purpose of the November Series: A Shared Journey
And so, this November, I invite you to join me on a journey—not just my own journey but one that, I believe, touches each of us in different ways. Through the psalms, I want to explore depression, not as a solitary experience, but as part of a broader human narrative—a cycle that has pulled countless others through similar depths. Each day of the week will reflect a stage in this journey. Mondays will explore the raw honesty of personal anguish, that deep, empty space where words fail and pain feels endless. Tuesdays will shift to seeking and petitioning, a movement from inner suffering to an outward search for meaning, as we look for something greater than ourselves to hold on to. Thursdays will turn to awe, recognizing the grandeur of God in creation and the overwhelming sense that, despite everything, we are known and loved by the One who made us. And finally, on Fridays, we will arrive at thanksgiving—a time to celebrate the healing and gratitude that emerge after the storm.
This cycle—moving from anguish to awe—is woven throughout the Book of Psalms, appearing again and again as a pathway for those struggling in the darkest places. My hope is that through our exploration together, this pattern might offer a template, a way forward not only for ourselves but also for others who wrestle with similar demons. If these ancient words can reach us, reminding us we’re not alone, perhaps they can be a light for others as well.
An Invitation to Connect and Reflect
As I share these raw and real stories, I invite you to engage—not just with the words on the page but with me, and perhaps with each other. Depression has a way of convincing us that we’re alone, that we’re isolated, that there’s no way out, and that we’re trapped in a pit of despair. But I hope that these reflections, and this space, can become something different—a landing spot where we begin to break down those lies together. My hope is that those who receive these articles will feel free to comment, to share, or to offer their own reflections and guidance. Let this be a place where we reach out rather than retreat, where we find strength in knowing that others have walked this path from the time of David to our own day. Together, we can create a community that reminds each of us that we are not alone in this journey.