I struggle with what I call the shadow: my name for that sudden darkening of my inner vision, the acedia or spiritual apathy, the gray and muffling pall of depression. Sometimes it is mercifully absent from my inner horizon for days or weeks; other times it is hovers, vaguely threatening, in my peripheral vision.

I’ve tried fighting back: asserting, in the face of crippling self-doubt, that I have so much evidence of my own accomplishments that the shadow is absurd. Unfortunately, the positive-thinking route does not work. It has been more effective to accept the reality of the feeling while intellectually recognizing that it is based on a lie, a distortion of reality. Better yet has been to also offer up my sadness to the Lord in prayer, and turn my thoughts deliberately toward gratitude for all the good things in my life, which are many – to be grateful, even if I don’t feel happy.

As I write this, it’s October, the Southern California summer finally shading into fall. A year ago I was feeling very low, physically and mentally exhausted and ill. What was worse than feeling tired and sick was what I came to think of as “the shadow.” When the shadow fell on me, it was as if all the color washed out of the world. My accomplishments – meaningless. The work that I was trying to do – a waste of time. My need for friendship – pathetic and sad. Why bother? It became difficult to do anything under the shadow. I had trouble getting myself even to eat at times; it seemed hardly worth the effort.  

And all of this, it is important to note, at a time when my ministry work, teaching, and writing were by all accounts successful. I knew that my lecturing at church was well received, because people would come up and tell me how much they appreciated it.