False
On the one hand, it feels like deep ingratitude; on the other hand, it happens this way every year. I’m talking about False Fall. This is the first year I remember hearing this term that so perfectly describes the September-November climate in North Texas. Once we escape the hellish 100+ degree temps of August, a small shoot of hope breaks through the parched and broken soil: maybe there is hope for fall after all!
Football is back, hockey is happening, baseball playoffs are underway, the light is growing shorter each day, and often, like what we experienced this year, we get a taste of unexpectedly cool weather. Maybe there is hope for fall after all.
As they say in English football, it’s the hope that kills you.
Just in the middle of last month, in OCTOBER, we kept having 90+ degree days, even as the leaves from my neighbor’s tree began their annual assault on the back yard of the parsonage. Every morning, I look at the 14-day forecast, hoping for some relief, some actual fall. I’ve lived in Texas since 1986: I don’t know why this late-season heat bothers me so much. Such ingratitude! I would do unholy things in August for highs in the upper 80s/low 90s! Those temperatures are now here, and yet it’s just not cool enough for me. If the days are getting shorter, then it should get a lot cooler, am I right? What a monster I am!
I remind myself every day in False Fall of the words found in Psalm 118:24, “This is the day that the Lord has made. We will rejoice and be glad in it.” You would think, as a cancer survivor, that I ought to live in gratitude for every sunrise I get to see on my morning walks with Sarah. Turns out gratitude isn’t a feeling but a practice. Human beings…we are a mess. Well, at least I am, especially in the fall.
You see, I suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder, like, for real. Every fall since my late 20s, around this time of year, I find myself losing energy, and I get sad, tending towards melancholic. (Hard to believe, I know: ministry has trained me on how to be an extrovert, but it’s not where I draw energy from; in fact, it drains my energy.) I’m actually writing this column in front of one of my two light therapy boxes. I just got my second one for my office, so I can try to bring some good energy to the staff during this low period for me.
It doesn’t help that I get hit with the SAD during Charge Conference and Stewardship seasons, which are hard enough already. Not to mention everything that is happening in our country and in the world, we live in heavy and dangerous times. Then, coupling all of that with the annual reminder that this was when I was diagnosed with cancer, that it will be time for my yearly scan and colonoscopy soon, and Lord only knows what will come of that, it’s a lot. You don’t get over that quickly. There is a great book about how the body remembers trauma by Dr. Bessel van der Kerk called The Body Keeps the Score that I would heartily recommend to you if you have been through any trauma. (And, pro tip, if you lived through the pandemic and found yourself profoundly concerned about possibly dying from the virus, you’ve experienced trauma.)
I keep reminding myself that things will start to feel better in the next few weeks. By Thanksgiving, I am going to start feeling more like myself, and some energy will return. I know that I have to make it through these three months. And that making it through is enough.
We live in a world that is so saturated with messages about optimization, total wellness, treating our bodies and souls as if they are machines to be maximized. But that’s not what we really are. We aren’t machines, we are human beings. We are fearfully and wonderfully made, each one of us, in the Image of God. Our bodies and our souls are gifts to us to be stewarded, to be cherished, to be embraced and welcomed and loved, in whatever state they are in. Being alive on this tiny blue speck in the middle of the universe is extraordinary! I cling to that in this season, though, if it would just get cold already, that might help!
Having been through this before, even though it’s worse this go around, I not only keep reminding myself that I will make it through, but I also make time for the things that bring me up and out of myself. (Depression leads us down and in, so connecting with things that lift us up and out is so helpful in getting through it.) I take regular walks in the morning with Sarah, use my lightbox, listen to music that brings me joy, and I make sure to make some music, too. I share where I am with my amazing therapist, Terry, and my awesome spiritual director, Tracy, and I do the work they give me to do. I reach out to friends and family, and I’m even listening to a rewatch podcast for the show, How I Met Your Mother, a show that I loved. I keep connected to God through prayer.
Some chapters of life are more challenging than others, but with connections to community, to the things that bring us joy, and to God, they help us get through difficult seasons.
Know that if you are going through it right now, you aren’t alone. I have a strong suspicion that we are all going through it right now, but that’s for another column. Know that you are loved, you are cherished, and you have immeasurable worth, today, just as you are, right now. God loves you and sees you, and that what God sees in you brings a smile to God’s face. So put down your phone (or use it to call a friend), get outside for a bit, and do something that brings you joy! We only get one shot at this life!