We don’t cry out much anymore. I mean, if I cried out from that deepest place, I’d probably be put in a straitjacket. So much. Just started pulling out of muck and felt a bit of hope again, then another disappointment, another unexpected challenge. I understand why people drown. Too much water.
Out of the depths I cry to you, Lord;
Lord, hear my voice.
Let your ears be attentive
to my cry for mercy. . .
I wait for the Lord, my whole being waits,
and in his word I put my hope.
I wait for the Lord
more than watchmen wait for the morning,
more than watchmen wait for the morning. [Psalm 130:1-2, 5-6]
I have my faith. Relax.
But I am crying out, down in that private place only God knows about; the place I reserve for tear collecting, the place I hide, the place I wait. No one can really tell. It’s small and protected. Like a fantasy tale, that place changes shape depending on my state of heart. Sometimes, like today, it’s covered in sound absorbing quilts. Not a black hole yet.
Meditations from Zion 
Many years ago, I spent a bit of time with Mother Teresa when she was in Phoenix. The crowd was cheering and the people reached out to her with money and gifts, and I was doing my best to hold onto everything for her. I said as I huddled against her in the crush of people, “Isn’t this wonderful, Mother?”
She stopped cold, and turned to me. She said, “It is wonderful. But it will all change. It will all change. Never forget that. That is the only truth there is.”
Those words have come back to me many times, in the darkness and the light.
So true. So very true.