Christmas has long since passed, and the carols no longer play, yet I still have that lyric lightly bouncing in my brain.
“A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices; as yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.”
Obviously, this phrase wiggled its way into my conscious when our founder, Mary, presented it last year as the theme for this issue. But it’s February now. Hell, it’s practically June, if we’re being honest. The time is flying by, and I’m so far into 2017 that the dumpster fire that was 2016 is nothing more than a faint wisp of smoke in my rearview mirror. Christmas carols—even catchy ones—should be the last thing on my mind.
But here’s the deal: I identified with the phrase like, whoa. I identified with it so hard. I identified with it because I needed it, because I’m living it, because it’s a part of my soul set to words.
But here’s the second part of the aforementioned deal: I identified with it like, whoa, not because of the bit Mary chose. I’m not identifying with “a thrill of hope.” Instead, a part of my heart is breaking because of the next three words—”the weary world . . .”
I’m weary, y’all. So, so weary.
For the last two years, I’ve battled staggering depression and anxiety. I fighting off numerous suicidal thoughts and only besting an actual suicidal attempt when my husband caught me trying to swallow pills. In that same time, I’ve wrangled a thyroid tumor that left me nearly penniless from medical bills and caused me to gain 130-ish pounds in 24 months. And I’m unemployed, because the thought of going into an office with this depression and this gigantic ass seems too overwhelming to even contemplate. Although my marriage is strong, even the heartiest of organisms gets strained when carrying heavy burdens, be they financial or emotional or physical.
I’m weary, y’all. So, so weary.
So when Mary suggested this focus on hope, I wanted to be enthusiastic, but optimism evaded me. When I went to bed that night, I found myself humming “the weary world . . .” instead.
Months have passed now, and we are here, with this issue before us, and it has taken that much time to add the next word to my ruminations: “rejoices.”
The weary world *rejoices*, y’all. Rejoices!
Because, apparently, somewhere over yonder there’s a glorious morn.
And you can’t appreciate that aforementioned morn without the night. And you can’t bask in rejoicing if you’ve not first suffered weariness.
Life is a cycle, and lately I’ve been at the nadir rather than the zenith. But rejoicing is on the way. And what’s more, it’s not just me who’s been weary. It’s the world. In other words, I am not alone. And neither are you. So, I invite you to join me on that morn, so we can rejoice together, as we watch that sun rise.
Bekah Rigby, Managing Editor-
Bekah Rigby is a former journalist who now spends her days buying her cats designer bowties and writing for her ill-conceived humor blog, www.theomgspot.com, which isn’t for the faint of heart or pure of soul. She loves Indian curry just as much as she loves Tim Curry, and if she could be anything when she grows up, she’d be a white man, because she’s heard they have it pretty good.