Caverns, Grave Clothes and the Land of Meh

At the beginning of 2017, I told the Lord I was ready for a catalytic change that would take me from the wilderness and caverns to being joyful again. I was finally ready to see what lurked beneath this “Meh” season I’d been in for 10+ years. What is “Meh” you ask? Meh is the place between, “I’m doing good!” and “I am so depressed I can hardly move.” It has no real definition in Webster’s. It’s just there. It is that nagging pull deep within that we can’t define or really see in our mind’s eye. The symptoms you exhibit when you have been in the Land of Meh are no passion, no life, and almost a cynical irritation that lingers behind what used to be dreams and hopes. Anyone that has been to the Land of Meh knows exactly what I mean.

How everyone gets there is a little different.

If Meh goes on long enough, and traumas do not get dealt with, caverns develop. These are deep recesses in the soul that hold on to hurt, trauma and the like. We can’t always see them or feel them; but we can sure smell the decay of stale pain when it stays there long enough. How does this happen?

We are all familiar with the stages of grief. Some psychologists say there are 4, 5, or even 7 stages. No matter how many roads in the cycle, if any of those are not walked to the fullest or have their complete work and release in our soul, things will linger and go stale.

For much of my life, I experienced traumas or pain and I never fully grieved the changes they brought. I went thru the denial, anger (camped out on this one a LONG time), bargaining, depression, but never quite made it to acceptance before another trauma burst onto the scene. Thus a new cycle of grief, forgiveness, death, etc would begin.

My therapist explained this was the perfect material for cavern-building.

So Holy Spirit and I went to work. Starting January 27th, every Friday and Saturday was spent in concentrated fasting and prayer to climb through the dark caverns to pull out grave cloths left there to rot. Holy Spirit didn’t give me a road map or a sign from heaven. He just brought tears. Lakes and floods of tears as He would remind me of a forgotten heartache. Some were from childhood. Some from my marriage. Others were from my own imperfections as a wife or mother.

No matter the cause or the age, we spent the next four months unpacking stinking, rotting, stale grief.