The Dark Night of the Soul

....the endurance of darkness is preparation for great light. ~ St. John of the Cross

My mom has often told me, in my times of suffering, that I was experiencing a "Dark Night of the Soul." I had no idea what that meant. She tried to tell me, I guess in an attempt to encourage me, that I had so long endured, during different times in my life, this darkness because God must feel a special connection to me; that He had deep purpose for my life, but that He must feel I needed to be tested in order to truly fulfill what that purpose was. 

I didn't pay my mother much mind because it didn't feel, during these times, that God cared for me at all.

I had read several years ago a book, Mother Teresa: Come Be My Light: The Private Writings of the Saint of Calcutta. Mother Teresa, that saintly woman, who went into the slums of India to be a servant to the poorest of the poor. She always did her work in the slums with a smile and what appeared to be a true light about her. The book consisted of the correspondence, in letters, between Mother Teresa and a few different people, but mainly with the few priests, who through many years, were her main confidants.

I'm telling of reading this book right now because, unbeknownst to the world, and nearly every single person closest to her, Mother Teresa suffered a "Dark Night of the Soul" for nearly fifty years! In other words, she did the work of God, while at the same time keeping the secret that she spent almost 50 years without sensing the presence of Him in her life!!!

It was astonishing for me to read of this lack of God's love, that a woman whom many would consider as being a modern day saint, felt. She felt that God didn't love her; that he had abandoned her! But she still kept true to what she felt was what God had called her to do: be the lowliest of servant to the lowliest of human beings.

But I hadn't thought of these last three years of my illness: the severe, chronic nausea that never leaves my body completely, and sometimes, like these past few weeks, makes me feel as if death is near - as being my "Dark Night of the Soul." That is until today.

I have struggled these past several weeks with my illness, feeling as if I was going backwards, instead of forward in my attempt at getting well. The surgery I had was just some small thing thrown into the middle of my real battle.

I even remember telling my mom, when she told me that family members had said they would be praying for me during my operation, that what I really needed, more than anything else, was for them to  be praying for me about my real illness; my nausea.

In the past few weeks of suffering (and I can't call it anything other than that) I have lost probably twelve pounds. I had felt happy before as I saw my weight go up close to what I consider to be my optimum. But then I gradually saw that feeling of success slowly go away. I was once again feeling gauntly.

But it was yesterday and today in which I became fully broken. I was so sick, so physically and mentally sick of being sick that I called my neuropsychiatrist, Dr. T., and left a message telling her I didn't see a way of going on, I was crying in sadness at that fact and spoke little more before I hung up. I sat on my bed for a moment, lost in my misery, and then I realized that I better call her back and leave another message telling her that I wasn't going to harm myself. I knew I could't do that.

But today when I woke up, and that same overwhelming sickness enveloped me, I had nothing left to tell myself - to bring my mind out of the darkness. So I didn't even try. I just began to talk to God. I asked Him to take me. I told Him I was ready to go. I was ready to be with Him. I remember saying to Him that everybody has their time to die and that I would like Him to let it be my time now. I just kept repeating over and over, "I'm ready."

And I  was ready. I no longer felt, that strong and deep desire, I had held in my heart for so long - to be married and have a biological child, or children, of my own - I didn't want anything but to let God take me away.

I barely even cried, I was too busy begging. Begging God to let it be my time to go. Begging Him to take me away from where I now was. Promising Him that I was ready; I was ready to go.

But as I lay there on my bed, questioning everything about God and me - about our relationship and what He expected of me. I told Him, "If you decide this isn't my time and You aren't going to take me to You, then You have to give me a Big Sign to let me have some kind of hope that I will get well." And so now I am expecting that Big Sign to come to me in the next week or so. I will be looking for it. I will be believing that it will come.

Not long after my plea with God ended, my neuropsychiatrist called me. She was concerned and wanted to know how I was. I told her that I was past a place where my mind could try to reach for anything positive any longer. That I was at my darkest hour.

I know I've written a lot about all the different therapies I have tried over this past three years to get better - both Eastern and Western medical modalities. But I'm not sure if I've ever written about having had a conversation with a woman one time who had asked me about my mother's pregnancy while I was in the womb. I had told this woman that my mom said that I was her worst pregnancy out of the seven children she had. My mom had told me she was sick the whole nine months. And, I told this woman that my mom had five kids ages, seven to one-in-a-half, that she was trying to take care of while I was in her stomach. So, this woman told me that she thought it was quite possible that I had picked up the stress hormones, that were surely streaming throughout my mother's body, during the time of her pregnancy with me. 

I thought some on what this woman had said but I didn't see how it could help me figure out how to get better. I didn't dismiss it, but I didn't think further on it. That is until some months later when I came across an article from a medical journal that had presented the evidence showing that a cell from a mother's child was found in the brain of the woman thirty years after she had given birth! I believe this is the article that I read. And I certainly feel that it explains better than I could what the ramifications of such findings might be.

Anyway, after reading the article my mind began to think back to what this woman had spoken of: that it might be possible for me to have picked up, and presently be in my body, stress hormones my mom endured during the time of her pregnancy with me. 

Yes, it still sounded kind of crazy,  but I began to mention it to the health practitioners that I was seeing. First, I presented the idea to my chiropractor, and believe it or not, he felt like it could be a plausible connection. He said that he would try to find a hypnotherapist who did "regressions" which I basically understand as taking you back to the point of some trouble, and attempts to "re-program" your thinking - your mind - so as to see what occurred not in a negative light, and to not hold onto that feeling, whatever it may be, any longer. 

You know, as sick as I have been, and as hard as I have worked to find a way to get better, I was willing, am willing, to try just about anything. 

And, as it happened, further to my surprise, both my general practice doctor, Dr. M., my neuropsychiatrist, Dr. T., and my Chinese acupuncturist all feeling like it was also possible - these stress hormones from my mom, at the time of her pregnancy, now being a cause, maybe not the only cause, but one worth looking into, of my having ill health.

I remember my acupuncturist saying to me, after I mentioned this "theory" to her, that that was exactly the reason why pregnant woman should not smoke, or drink, or do things that aren't calming to them, because in the end, the child can bear the ramifications of any negative behaviors by the mother while pregnant. 

So, now my only problem became, that in the smaller town in which I live, though hypnotist could be found, none could be found that had experience and "certification" with regression. That is until today. 

Today, when my neuropsychiatrist called to talk to me she said that she had just come across, in an alternative health newspaper, the name of a woman whom she knew, but had completely forgotten about, who was a hypnotist and did do regression therapy. She gave me her name and number and as soon as I hung up with Dr. T., I called this woman, Z., 

Z. answered the phone and told me she wasn't in town today, but would be back tomorrow, Sunday, and would call me to talk to me more and schedule and appointment. But the best thing that happened was that after I had told her that I had nothing left in me, that I felt no hope, and that I had asked God to take me because I was ready to go, Z., said to me, "L. I just want you to know, that in my experience, whenever a person has reached that seemingly bottomless place of darkness, that is when they are actually closest to the light, closest to having things change, closest to being healed. So just hold on." 

And that was exactly what I needed to hear, I don't think it was my Big Sign, but it I do consider  that it was a small "sign" and it has allowed me to "just hold on" a little bit longer. 

When I called my neuropsychiatrist back to tell her that I had gotten in touch with Z. (she had asked me to do so) and what Z. had ended our phone conversation telling me, my doctor, Dr. T, said it reminded her of the Dark Night of the Soul. 

The Dark Night of the Soul, I thought, yes, just as my mother had tried to tell me, I have been going through my Dark Night, and when I come through it, and a miracle-believer like me should know that day will come, I will be victorious... not for myself, but for God.

I will be victorious for God. And what that may mean to me personally is only something that will be revealed as I make my way from the darkness to the Light.

I will have survived my Dark Night of the Soul and I will have come through it, by God's grace, and  for His glory.