“Marilla, have you ever been in the depths of despair?” 

“No.  I have not. To despair is to turn your back on God.” 

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When I was younger, i was a book-worm.  I loved little more than I loved getting lost in a book.  There could be many roots to this love — moving often, being very shy, not being very good at friendship (another blog post all-together) — but the bottom line is, I loved to read as a child, and I love to read to this day.  I just have a lot less time to do it.

Some of my favorite books were Lucy Maud Montgomery’s Anne of Green Gables series.  I probably read them around the same time they were first serialized (and played ad nauseam, it seemed) on PBS.  I loved that first mini-series, when Anne fell in the well and twisted her ankle, when she and Diana got drunk on what they thought was Raspberry Cordial, when Matthew bought Anne her first dress with puffed sleeves ….  Magical.  Reading those books made me want to be as smart as Anne, as clever and funny and creative and charming and beautiful.  And in those books, it was cool to be smart.  Which — at the time I was in middle school and high school — it was decidedly not.  

I got to thinking about the books — and the miniseries — today as I felt as though I hit complete rock bottom.  And I could hear Megan Follows’ voice as Anne Shirley, saying very sincerely to Marilla — have you ever been in the depths of despair?  And Colleen Dewhurst’s bald practicality coming right back at Anne’s heartfelt, romanticized plea — to despair is to turn your back on God.

Today –if ever I’d been close to the depths of despair — well, today was it.  Our day began early, as John had an international flight to catch to Cancun for work — and then it just kept spiraling downward (icy road conditions, bumper to bumper traffic as I approached the city, hit after hit in my in-box about various business traumas whose deadline — if I hadn’t already missed it — was today).  I met my boss for lunch and the man who has always been a beacon of positivity looked like a defeated beast.  Tired, slightly distracted, forlorn.  I said — slightly in jest, but slightly in truth — I felt as though December lulled us all into a false sense of well-being, and January hit us with a vengeance.  He ruefully agreed.

I can’t repeat things I’ve already said — even though so many things repeat themselves in life with no consideration for those affected.  I miss my husband when he is away on business.  I hate when he’s in other countries, because I am at the mercy of his schedule and both of us being on Skype at the same time.  It is beyond lonely and with the immense stress at work, the tears overtake me at odd moments, and Lucy looks up at me half fearfully and half broken-heartedly.  She wants to help, but she doesn’t know how and she looks for her daddy — as I do — and he isn’t there.

Work scares me every day — it scares me that it will overwhelm me, that it will become too much for me, that at some point I will be revealed as a fraud.  I am blessed with incredible co-workers, an amazing staff at both restaurants, and so many people we work with on a regular basis — but sometimes I think I’m just making it all up as I go along.  And maybe we all do that to some extent.  I know in my heart that I know this industry, I know this business in my bones — I love it and I hate it but I know it, and I have instincts for it.  I think I was built for it in a way I am not built for anything else.  But every day I have to learn something new, I have to solve an unsolvable riddle, fit the pieces of an infinity-piece puzzle together … somehow.  And it can be incredibly overwhelming, insurmountable.  Humbling.

And usually, when all that becomes almost unbearable, I get to come home, to my warm, snuggly apartment, to my excitable, beautiful puppy and to the calm, supportive and reassuring presence of my husband.  When that is taken away from me, I feel lost, adrift at sea in a storm … without my anchor and my strength.  Without the person who makes me find the humor, who sees the light when I can only see the dark.  We’re a good pair — I live at the extremes and he resides in the middle and together we cover the whole spectrum.  But when he’s not here to pull me back from the abyss, I struggle. Some days I struggle at lot, and other days I don’t struggle at all.  But the possibly is always there — that without him, I’ll tip right over the edge.

And then the tears begin again.

When Anne first arrives at Green Gables, it is revealed that Marilla and Matthew Cuthbert had asked for a boy — someone to help Matthew with the chores, to help run the farm as he grew older.  But they agree to keep Anne for a bit — to see how things go.  Anne has been shuffled from homes as – for lack of a better word — an au pair, to orphanages.  She hasn’t had a family of her own.  Marilla takes her to her room on that first night, and tells her to say her prayers.  Anne — who is not one for silence — begins rhapsodizing about prayer, and the manner in which one prays.  She expresses to Marilla that she has never understood why prayer happens kneeling next to a bed.  In a somewhat skeptical attempt to humor her, Marilla asks Anne how she would pray.

With wide-eyed wonder, Anne tells Marilla she would go out into a wide field, and open her arms to a sky filled with brilliant stars, and just talk to God.

I like that idea.  I’ve always thought it was beautiful.  Highly romantic, but so beautiful and pure and true.

I’d like to walk into a huge field, open my arms, lift my face to the sky, and ask God to please have mercy on me, to know how grateful I am for all my blessings, and to please, give me strength when I am sure I have run out.