Seasonal Affective Disorder

One of the best television shows ever created was Northern Exposure, an under-appreciated contribution of the 90’s, about a sleepy little town in Alaska with a New York doctor who left his heart on Park Avenue. One of the phenomena that this city doctor found peculiar to the Alaskan tundra was caused by long winters with few hours of sunlight. Seasonal Affective Disorder is a real problem is some places of the world, where the brain experiences a shortage of natural light and seratonin levels suffer anemia. Jos is not one of these places. Even in the dead of wet season, with pregnant rain clouds always looming overhead, we have a plethora of light. But we do have another distinct cycle in our little missionary community. This being my fourth May, I am just now taking note of my own rhythm. As a Mom of three, my life revolves around the Hillcrest calendar rather than the January-December to which the rest of the world times their watches. The whirlwind of August, with the resumption of the school year brings a busyness to our beehive that always reminds me of new school supplies. I love it. Then we have birthdays and a nine-day school break in October, also fun. Rains stop and we can schedule outdoor activities without a contingency plan once again. The Christmas season is a mixed bag. The constant ache for family is exacerbated, but with the Miango frenzy, I have managed to hold sadness at bay for 4 years running. Then the long haul of Spring, when the school year feels eternal and the Easter Break seems to never arrive. First Rain is an annual highlight, when kids of all ages splash wildly in puddles. Then finally…the niggling ache in my heart begins to make itself known and I am aware that May is just around the corner, feeling it before I actually see its presence on the calendar.
My parents were solidly rooted at 10735 Valley Hills Drive for the bulk of my life. Selling their house when I was in my thirties, the mother of three, and living in Africa, one would imagine that I could have handled the sale with gracious maturity. One would be wrong. I inwardly protested and outwardly cried for many months, knowing that my childhood home would be inhabited by strangers who surely could not appreciate my memories. Being a spontaneous, free-spirit, it would seem that I might be an adventurous thrill seeker, always in search of new horizons to explore. The converse is true. In my heart of hearts, I love consistency: in geography, in emotion, and especially in friendship. I crave long-term bossom friends, the Anne and Diana type. The Jonathan and David type (preferably without any King Saul.) Those usually only happen over time, with two people who stay in the same place for awhile. So the first in my list of Questions-to-Ask-God, “Lord, I trust You, but why did you put me in a place with a constantly revolving door? The only consistent fact in this missionary life is that come May or high water, my friends will leave. Some for three months, some for six, some forever. I try to deny that May is coming the other eleven months of the year, but no matter my attempts to hold back the tide, May rolls up on shore every year, washing away my friendships like yesterdays sand castles.
So May is a month of turbulent emotions, a break-neck pace at Hillcrest with a litany of end-of-school activities. Perhaps some gregarious pioneer missionary plotted a scheme to make us all sick of each other throughout the month of May so that when the plane departed, we were ready to say Good Riddance! It doesn’t work. After years together in the life boat of missionary service in Nigeria, how does one continue on without fellow rowers, or without a crew chief or the familiar encouragement of my favorite Kiwi’s? (A Kiwi is someone from New Zealand!) But it is hard to break the rhythm to lick my wounds, feeling loss right along with everyone else, but feeling it as deeply personal. This is my Nigerian Seasonal Affective Disorder. If only it could be treated with a light-visor!!