Where Are the Angels?

Being a man of faith, I've always been inclined to believe -- or at the very least, HOPE -- that I've been assigned a squadron of angels to walk alongside me as I plot my way through this often perilous existence. But I have to admit there are times when I descend into particularly deep valleys that seem so daunting even the angels themselves would rather just not put forth the effort of navigating them. It can seem as if they'll just use those wings to fly to the other side, yodeling back that if I can make it across to them, they'll be ready to resume their tasks. Of course, I know this isn't the case, because, even as supernatural beings, angels (as I perceive them) don't possess the ability to deviate off plan. They are unwaveringly bound to their charges. At the same time, though, there's a certain cruelty in the fact that the angels are resigned to an invisible state: cruel for both the angels themselves and for the all too often ungrateful humans issued into their care. It's this invisibility that makes me doubt, and I'm sure that must be absolutely maddening to the poor creatures. But sometimes we as humans NEED the angels to reveal themselves. We need to see. We need to feel. We need to hear. It's just the nature of the insecurity we all innately possess.

Right now is one of those times.

Most people who know me also know that I've lived for years with chronic and often severe depression. A couple years ago -- almost to the day -- I finally got the help that I needed to bring it under control, and it's been, for the most part, smooth sailing ever since. Actually, I should clarify that by saying it HAD been smooth sailing. It turns out that there are still times when the assistance of pharmaceuticals, psychotherapy and a rock solid support network turn out to be no match for the human brain and the dark places it sometimes decides you need to visit.

Starting back around the beginning of October, I felt myself starting to veer off towards one of those dark places. I couldn't understand why this was happening. After all, everything was going my way: I was happy in a relationship with someone I loved (and still do) very much, working at a not bad job (although with a less than desirable schedule), and finally starting to achieve at least the footings for some degree of balance in my life. With all these factors in my corner along with my treatment regimen, how could it be that I was finding myself being steered in such a melancholy direction? I couldn't answer that question, which only exacerbated the problem because not having that answer troubled me to no end. All I did know was that it was starting to happen, and I felt utterly powerless to stop it.

It was only a matter of time before the descent started to manifest itself in the form of moodswings and fits of rage along with the quickly diminishing desire to pursue even the most mundane of everyday tasks. I knew I was alienating one person in particular -- the LAST person I needed to be alienating at the time -- and, again, felt powerless to do anything about it. This only increased my insecurity which, in turn, caused me to lash out that much more. That's the nature of this illness -- and, yes, it IS an illness: it robs you of everything. It steals your joy. It steals your passion. It steals your judgement. It steals your mind. It steals your life. And, in doing so, it makes you hurt not only yourself, but also those people around you and particularly those you love most.

Needless to say, it was only a matter of time before the person I really needed to count on couldn't take the instability, or, moreover, couldn't take this new and ugly person he suddenly found himself living with. So he left. And who can blame him? No one should be subjected to a life with Jeckyll and Hyde.

Yes, I was hurt and angry at first, which, of course, caused me to plunge deeper into the cesspool of despair I had unwillingly entered. I lashed out harder, even further alienating him. In my mind, the one person I thought I could count on to see me through this thing didn't love me enough to stick around. Again, that was the depression thinking for me. I know this now, because this person is still present in my life when, in all honesty, he should've been done with me weeks ago. The only explanation for that is love. The fact that I can now recognize this signals to me that I might be starting my climb back up towards the light. Now, I can't help but wonder if this is the work of an angel.

But the fact remains that my depression robbed me of my relationship, and I am mourning it accordingly. A friend reminded me recently that to NOT be mourning the break-up would be cause for concern, but added that I must be steadfast in not letting it hinder my recovery. These words brought me comfort, and the fact is not lost on me that this, too, resembles the handiwork of angels.

There is one problem with where this is going, however. I've said more than once that the thing that leaves me feeling most empty during times like these is that the depression also steals God. As if everything else weren't enough, this thing has to rob me of my faith as well? Just this morning, I served at the altar at church. Afterwards, I expressed to someone that I felt a complete absence of God during the mass. I can promise you that I can't think of a single more distressing feeling than that one. So, feeling completely defeated and isolated, I headed home to slip under the covers in hopes that just maybe when I awoke, I'd realize that the loneliness was a lie.

It was on that trip home that I received a text message from that very special someone I discussed earlier. I had just let him know how I felt, and how lonely it was to feel deserted by God.

The text message said: "God loves you. And know that I send angels to you every single day."

When I received the message, in my clouded state, I somewhat insolently brushed it off as nonsense and continued on. But as I grew nearer to my house, the words started speaking to me. And I began to reflect on all the people with whom I'd had contact while at church: all these people whom I love and who love me; the people who offered encouragement or just a hug; the people who are determined that I'm going to have furniture in my empty apartment by week's end; and the person who had sent the message about the angels.

By the time I lay down and was about to drift off to sleep, I heard a shuffle. But my half-hearted investigation revealed nothing. All I knew was that I felt calm. There was a peace about me that I hadn't known in what had begun to feel like an eternity. And then I knew.

God was there. God is here.

And so are the angels. I had been encountering angels all day . . . maybe even weeks. I just didn't have the clarity of vision to recognize them. Angels DO reveal themselves. They reveal themselves in the persons of those we love. They reveal themselves through unexpected gifts. They reveal themselves through text messages.

I'm surrounded by angels. I know this now.

I'm not trying to pretend I'm cured of my depression, because I know that's not the case. Nor am I going to go as far as to say I won't again (maybe even very soon) forget the angels are here. But that's the beauty of angels: even though I may be ungrateful or even flatly deny them altogether, they don't go anywhere except the places I go.

I'm so thankful to know that I'm not fighting this thing alone. This brings me great comfort -- at least for now. I'm so thankful these angels have enlisted the help of more than just a few of my fellow humans, most of whom know who they are but a few probably don't.

So, I'll end this babbling by saying that I'm going to go foward with my head raised trying to keep the focus on emerging from the darkness.

All I ask of these beautiful people who surround me everyday is this: The next time you hear me asking where the angels are, just simply reply: "You're looking at one."

Peace.