Found this quote recently by our good friend Søren and it really hit home. As Christians, knowing this is true for some of us, how then should we react?
In addition to my many acquaintances, I have one more intimate confidant— my depression. In the midst of my joy, in the midst of my work, she beckons to me, calls me aside, even though physically I remain on the spot. My depression is the most faithful mistress I have known, no wonder, then, that I return the love.
What, then, is a poet? An anguished man?
A man who hides his deep anguish away
A man who saw his pain and away he ran
Knowing that the pain will arise one day
A man who’s lips are made in a way that
When describing pain it sounds like art
People want more what he to them begat
The artist acquiesce though it be tart
The self be in anguish despair and sick
It is through poetry the self will heal
Wax of pain is burned away by the wick
Soon again, to the pain my soul will neal
the poets most faithful mistress is pain
No wonder, then, that I write this refrain