No, this has nothing to do with Michael J. Fox, Christopher Lloyd, or any of the other actors whose names I just "remembered" thanks to Google.
I suppose it does have a bit to do with preserving myself, and with time travel... But even those things aren't really the thing that's hard pressing on my mind -- on ME -- these days.
In so many ways, I feel like an infant again.
And in this same moment, and in this same breath... I feel so incredibly old.
Back to infancy...and into the future of age, and a growing awareness of what this life is and has been and (in general terms) what it will be.
It's been a really long year. I never imagined depression would stick around for this long, even though I suppose I knew it was a possibility. I didn't know that "getting used to" depression isn't really possible: it evolves in such a way that it's different daily, weekly, monthly. You can't change that or avoid it; it merely is, and you learn to take each day as it comes and to live in the midst of whatever that is. You can't control depression; you can merely control how you react to it, and how you reach out for support in the midst of it.
Old demons that I'd thought were banished for good have returned, and they're supposedly happy to stick around for a while. After a while it's hard to fight against them, and it's hard to remember that their voice isn't HIS voice. Or even to care.
(Sometimes I feel like a bad Christian. Anyone else?)
(Welcome to being human, little one. We still have so much to learn.)
And yet His voice remains. My Jesus is still here, despite my waverings and wonderings and wanderings.
(Sometimes I forget that.)
And it is in this, especially, that I feel so very, very old and so very, very young. I've very literally had to re-learn to sleep through the night. (Sometimes that still doesn't happen.) I've had days where it's hard, not just mentally, but physically, to get up from my bed in the morning and keep going.
Sometimes, things hurt for no reason, like my heart has become stiff and arthritic.
Sometimes, I cry like a baby, unable to put words to my ache and my want, but knowing that that's the only way to express my own needs (needs?) and desires.
Sometimes life hurts for no reason.
Sometimes tears are necessary.
Sometimes helplessness is a good thing.
That doesn't mean I always like it.
That doesn't mean I EVER like it.
But that doesn't mean I'd change it.
(Does it?)
I'm so ready to be done with this season.
I'm tired, worn, broken, faltering, doubting, flailing, struggling to keep the faith in a meaningful way. (It's as though even that has returned to infancy, too, in a way...)
But.
But God.
Those words that always change everything...
But God wouldn't keep me here if He didn't have a purpose for it -- a GREATER purpose than "normalcy" (whatever normalcy is), than happiness (and what is happiness?), than my ideals would fulfill.
He is greater than this, has already overcome this, is working even this -- my struggles, my doubts, my fears -- together for good, because I DO love Him. As much as I am humanly capable, and as much as He fills me with His own love... I love Him.
And that is my Hope.
That this will end someday, yes -- but that is merely hope.
It is a good hope, but it is not HOPE.
Hope has another name,
and that Name is Jesus.
If I must be dependent on someone or something (and oh, I am...), let it be Him. (Please, let it be You.) Because if this season lasts til the day I die, I'll at least get to run straight into Love's arms and claim my Hope for eternity.
I already have, really.
And a hundred years, give or take a decade, is nothing compared to an infinity with Him.
"Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these..."
So.
This year, I'm not resolving to go on some weird diet, or to do X, Y, and Z by June 27th at 3:09 p.m. Not that there's anything wrong with that (and I'd certainly love to get back in running shape), but that really can't be my priority right now. And it won't be if He's not.
That said, my resolution this year is to hope. To hope that this season will end, but mostly to hope in the greatest Hope that there is, and to fix my eyes on Him.
(Would You help me, Love?)
I'm also resolving to do less instead of more. To accept imperfection. To rest intentionally and often.
Happy 2014, all.
Even if it's not all easy (or easy at all), I do believe it's going to be a good one.
Monday, December 30, 2013
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Living in Grey
I've always liked spelling the word "gray" with an "e" rather than an "a."
I have no idea why. Something about it must suggest more grey-ness to me: something a bit foggier, something that throws people off a bit, that makes you look twice. Something that's not so predictable.
Yes, something like that.
Because isn't that what grey is, after all: half black, half white; the in-between; the blur; the fog?
And now, suddenly, we're not talking about a color (though I suppose we weren't to begin with, anyhow). Now we're talking about life. We're talking about uncertainty and fear; mental and emotional fogginess; unpredictable futures and seemingly unbearable present.
And now we're uncomfortable. At least, I am.
I don't tend to like living in grey, though I pretend I do sometimes, because I pretend to be "perfect at life," even though that's impossible, and even though I'd really rather not be perfect, or even try to be... *headdesk*
Anyway.
I don't like it when everything's uncertain. I don't like having people ask me questions like, "What are you doing after you graduate?" or "Do you think you'll ever be on Broadway?" or even "What do you want to do for dinner?" Hmm. Extremes, much? I suppose that last one is purely indecision... but the point is that I don't like open-endedness.
Does anyone, really? Does anyone like feeling like they're free-falling through life? Does anyone like it when the rug is pulled out from under you? When a job you were counting on falls through, or when someone dies unexpectedly? Or even the good things: does anyone like it when there are a million different options available, but there's no clear indicator as to which you should take? When all you have are open doors, and you don't know which is best to go through, or if you'll regret choosing to step through one rather than another?
At one point in my journey, I may have said that specific times in life are more grey than others. There are times that are "easier," in a way (at least for me): when decisions seem black and white, virtually made for you; when everything, or at least the important things, seem neat and orderly; when, in those rare and beautiful times, everything goes according to plan -- your plan. The times, however, when it feels like Jesus has asked you to jump off of a cliff, and you can't see far in front of you (whether that's a few years or a few minutes) -- those are the times that feel grey. They feel foggy and abyss-like, dark and unclear, with only the glimmer of a light flickering somewhere within the shadows.
Just because they feel grey, though, does that mean that they actually are? Are parts of our lives actually less certain and more insecure than others? Or do we merely think that they are?
Hello, philosophically minded self.
But really. Aren't we often in grey areas of life when we find ourselves outside our comfort zones? Aren't we most vulnerable, most worried, most fearful when circumstances in our lives seem absolutely out of our control -- whether for the (seeming) better or worse?
Aren't things most grey when our expectations don't come to fruition?
They may be expectations of a 5-year plan, expectations of a relationship, expectations of a job or a future you'd always planned for, or a specific emotional state (or lack thereof), or even a particular spiritual "goal" or "level" (whatever that means). When those expectations don't fulfill themselves, though -- or even when we don't fulfill them -- we find ourselves in the grey.
This isn't to say that all expectations are bad. It wasn't wrong for me to expect to graduate from the same college at which I began my studies. It wasn't wrong for me to hope for a phenomenal freshman experience. None of that happened, of course, but it wasn't a bad thing to expect any of it -- to hope for that, to plan on it.
The thing that did happen when I found myself miserable, depressed, and spiritually attacked, and when I later found myself sliding a withdrawal form across a Cloroxed office counter, feeling like I was signing my life away, was that I found myself in new territory. It was grey territory, yes, but that demanded action. It demanded change. It demanded me to change.
I'd defined a world in black and white for myself. And yes, I'd liked that, because I thought I had control over everything, and I thought I knew what life was going to look like (at least for three or four years)... but that was so limiting. I was confined to that three or four year plan, because I thought I wanted to be. When it came down to it, though, I couldn't really control what was black and white. It was all grey anyway, whether I wanted it to be or not. I started college with a three-and-a-half-year plan on paper, but that changed in a matter of months. I tried to talk myself out of depression....
HA. Yeah, that worked really well. *rolls eyes*
I still don't really like living in the grey, but I suppose I've come to realize that I am living in the grey whether I want to admit it or not. And honestly, I suppose that's freeing more than anything. Living in the grey means accepting the question marks, letting Jesus lead, and doing my best to follow a step at a time. If I attempt to live in black and white, in clarity other than that which He gives me... I'm merely taking the reigns back, saying that I can do it better, limiting my options... and enslaving myself.
Ouch.
And again, I don't think that means throwing caution and dreams and plans to the wind. I think it's more a realization that I'm not in control of this life -- at least, that I don't want to be. What He's got planned is much better. When the Wind blows and leads me in a different direction than I'd anticipated... shouldn't that be exhilarating more than terrifying (though it certainly may be both)? He's proven Himself trustworthy time and time again, has He not?
Living in the grey is living with open hands, open ears, open heart. It's living in perpetual adventure, whether that adventure leads us to a small-town community college we swore we'd never attend or to the middle of the mountains in Africa. Sometimes He'll do both in a year. (Hahahaaa!)
Hm. Sometimes I forget these things...
I rather like adventuring with You, my Love.
Lead me into the grey.
I have no idea why. Something about it must suggest more grey-ness to me: something a bit foggier, something that throws people off a bit, that makes you look twice. Something that's not so predictable.
Yes, something like that.
Because isn't that what grey is, after all: half black, half white; the in-between; the blur; the fog?
And now, suddenly, we're not talking about a color (though I suppose we weren't to begin with, anyhow). Now we're talking about life. We're talking about uncertainty and fear; mental and emotional fogginess; unpredictable futures and seemingly unbearable present.
And now we're uncomfortable. At least, I am.
I don't tend to like living in grey, though I pretend I do sometimes, because I pretend to be "perfect at life," even though that's impossible, and even though I'd really rather not be perfect, or even try to be... *headdesk*
Anyway.
I don't like it when everything's uncertain. I don't like having people ask me questions like, "What are you doing after you graduate?" or "Do you think you'll ever be on Broadway?" or even "What do you want to do for dinner?" Hmm. Extremes, much? I suppose that last one is purely indecision... but the point is that I don't like open-endedness.
Does anyone, really? Does anyone like feeling like they're free-falling through life? Does anyone like it when the rug is pulled out from under you? When a job you were counting on falls through, or when someone dies unexpectedly? Or even the good things: does anyone like it when there are a million different options available, but there's no clear indicator as to which you should take? When all you have are open doors, and you don't know which is best to go through, or if you'll regret choosing to step through one rather than another?
At one point in my journey, I may have said that specific times in life are more grey than others. There are times that are "easier," in a way (at least for me): when decisions seem black and white, virtually made for you; when everything, or at least the important things, seem neat and orderly; when, in those rare and beautiful times, everything goes according to plan -- your plan. The times, however, when it feels like Jesus has asked you to jump off of a cliff, and you can't see far in front of you (whether that's a few years or a few minutes) -- those are the times that feel grey. They feel foggy and abyss-like, dark and unclear, with only the glimmer of a light flickering somewhere within the shadows.
Just because they feel grey, though, does that mean that they actually are? Are parts of our lives actually less certain and more insecure than others? Or do we merely think that they are?
Hello, philosophically minded self.
But really. Aren't we often in grey areas of life when we find ourselves outside our comfort zones? Aren't we most vulnerable, most worried, most fearful when circumstances in our lives seem absolutely out of our control -- whether for the (seeming) better or worse?
Aren't things most grey when our expectations don't come to fruition?
They may be expectations of a 5-year plan, expectations of a relationship, expectations of a job or a future you'd always planned for, or a specific emotional state (or lack thereof), or even a particular spiritual "goal" or "level" (whatever that means). When those expectations don't fulfill themselves, though -- or even when we don't fulfill them -- we find ourselves in the grey.
This isn't to say that all expectations are bad. It wasn't wrong for me to expect to graduate from the same college at which I began my studies. It wasn't wrong for me to hope for a phenomenal freshman experience. None of that happened, of course, but it wasn't a bad thing to expect any of it -- to hope for that, to plan on it.
The thing that did happen when I found myself miserable, depressed, and spiritually attacked, and when I later found myself sliding a withdrawal form across a Cloroxed office counter, feeling like I was signing my life away, was that I found myself in new territory. It was grey territory, yes, but that demanded action. It demanded change. It demanded me to change.
I'd defined a world in black and white for myself. And yes, I'd liked that, because I thought I had control over everything, and I thought I knew what life was going to look like (at least for three or four years)... but that was so limiting. I was confined to that three or four year plan, because I thought I wanted to be. When it came down to it, though, I couldn't really control what was black and white. It was all grey anyway, whether I wanted it to be or not. I started college with a three-and-a-half-year plan on paper, but that changed in a matter of months. I tried to talk myself out of depression....
HA. Yeah, that worked really well. *rolls eyes*
I still don't really like living in the grey, but I suppose I've come to realize that I am living in the grey whether I want to admit it or not. And honestly, I suppose that's freeing more than anything. Living in the grey means accepting the question marks, letting Jesus lead, and doing my best to follow a step at a time. If I attempt to live in black and white, in clarity other than that which He gives me... I'm merely taking the reigns back, saying that I can do it better, limiting my options... and enslaving myself.
Ouch.
And again, I don't think that means throwing caution and dreams and plans to the wind. I think it's more a realization that I'm not in control of this life -- at least, that I don't want to be. What He's got planned is much better. When the Wind blows and leads me in a different direction than I'd anticipated... shouldn't that be exhilarating more than terrifying (though it certainly may be both)? He's proven Himself trustworthy time and time again, has He not?
Living in the grey is living with open hands, open ears, open heart. It's living in perpetual adventure, whether that adventure leads us to a small-town community college we swore we'd never attend or to the middle of the mountains in Africa. Sometimes He'll do both in a year. (Hahahaaa!)
Hm. Sometimes I forget these things...
I rather like adventuring with You, my Love.
Lead me into the grey.
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Well, hello there.
Hello indeed.
After nearly a year of not putting any blog posts up, and several weeks of wondering if I should maybe possibly get back on here, and several days of adamantly avoiding this thing... I'm back. I tend to avoid writing when I'm trying to avoid something in myself, so maybe that's been the case, at least in part. Honestly, though, I never did really get in the habit of posting very frequently and/or consistently on here, and I've spent a lot more time with my own personal journal(s) in recent months than I ever have before.
I've changed a lot over the last year. A lot's happened, after all... And I have learned and grown more than even I am yet fully aware, I think.
Even the last few months have been radically transforming for me, but not in ways I ever would have expected, nor that I would have necessarily wanted if I'd known they were coming. And yet... I actually asked for some of the hard things. Crazy, I know. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Then again, I don't suppose it was me getting into anything: it was much more God taking me by the hand and leading me into a gloriously unpredictable adventure.
And sometimes you have to wend through the brambles on the way to the blackberries.
Back in, oh, February or so, there was one particular day that I was doing nothing spectacular -- driving back to my apartment, I believe -- when I actually asked God to teach me to be weak.
And then realized what had just come out of my mouth and absolutely panicked.
In other words, I thought OH CRAP (...though my word choice may have been slightly different?) and spent the next several minutes trying to take it back and arguing with Him. He, however, did that crazy thing He does and showered out love and peace (particularly that) and grace over me... and I did that crazy thing called surrender. For that moment, anyhow.
From that point, He has been teaching me how to be weak; and I'm strangely glad for it. I don't think it's in our nature as humans to "delight in weakness," as Paul puts it. Not at all. We do what we can to save face, to project brilliant images of ourselves, to sweep our faults behind the masks we so expertly affix to our faces, and to pretend that no darkness dwells within us.
Personally, I try to embody perfection in every capacity. That's been my tendency since I was a child. And though I know I never can be perfect, I often pretend that I am. I strive to be in every realm that I could possibly reach perfection (and people's different definitions of perfection, for that matter) -- intelligence, fitness, work ethic, even spirituality and love -- and, honestly, fail miserably. Over the last several years, I've come to realize the futility and pointlessness of that desire. It took until this spring, though, for me to confront the reality that striving for perfection is, with no exception, an attempt to run from grace -- an attempt to tell Jesus I don't need Him. Is there anything wrong with striving to do the best I can in any and every area of life? No. Unless my motivation is (or becomes) self-driven rather than love-driven... and, really, Love-driven.
So. There's that part of things. I'm learning to throw away my desire for perfection; or, if not that exactly, to acknowledge that desire while desiring, above all, to love and follow Jesus. To realize how utterly dependent on Grace I am. To know how fully, extravagantly, and ridiculously loved I am by the greatest Love of all -- despite my failures and faults. And yes, coming to the end of myself in this way is a bit strange and exhausting, but HE is worth that. He is a much better sustainer than I ever could be; He extends much more and better love than I ever could or would give myself apart from Him.
And then... not long after I asked God to teach me to be weak, I was spending time praying one evening, and I distinctly heard Him ask me a question. I've never actually heard Him audibly speak, but I have heard Him speak... and He asked me, of all things, if I'd be willing to step back into depression.
Naturally, my first reaction was WHY?!?!?
I've dealt with episodes of depression since high school. I didn't talk about it then, really, because I didn't know (and didn't want to know, honestly) what was going on in me; I felt like I had to explain it or have a reason for it before I could tell anyone that something in me was wrong and broken. At that point, too, it was infrequent and inconsistent. That didn't do much to help with my experience of it, but it did help me explain it away and, in some ways, deal with it on my own. And then I went to college, and the worst and longest episode I've experienced to date hit, alongside a massive wave of spiritual attack. I thought I was crazy. I thought day after day that I should tell someone, that I should ask for help, that I should find a community... and I tried, but I felt like I was powerless to speak, to explain, to reach out. And at that point, I probably was.
I'm still not sure how I got through that stretch. I wanted to cut, but I didn't. I wanted to die, but I kept waking up, and getting up, and going through the motions every day. I wanted to kill myself... and somehow never "had the guts." (But really, He kept my hands on the steering wheel.) But somehow, by some mysterious Grace and Glory, God kept me through it, and He proved Himself utterly faithful and unshakable in the midst of something that broke and nearly shattered me.
It was the reminder of that faithfulness -- His constancy, His very BEING, and the knowledge that He is immovable God and is worth loving and following regardless of my emotional state -- that brought me to finally say YES as He continued to ask me if I would follow Him, even again into depression after basically a two-year hiatus.
Maybe I'm crazy. It remains, though, that He did ask if I'd be willing. And though I don't really have a desire to be depressed -- there's no way that I'd ever resign myself to it -- I do have a deep desire and need to follow Jesus wherever He leads. I do not at all believe depression is from Him; I do, however, believe He allows it sometimes. If I, and others praying for me, ask for it to be removed, and He doesn't do so, then He must have a reason for it. And, trusting that He is who He says He is and will be faithful to keep His promises, He would use even this for good.
Because oh, do I love Him. As much as I can -- and with all the grace He allows me, as much as He enables me to -- I LOVE Him.
Funny thing. It took me a few days to finally say that I would follow Him into that. That I would indeed be willing, though I certainly wouldn't prefer it. When I finally did say that, though, I expected it to hit right away.
But it didn't. So maybe it was just a question, I thought. Maybe it was just a test, a thought process, a wrestling with God. Maybe nothing more would ever come of it.
....Or maybe it would. About a month after that, it hit out of the blue.
Depression is strange. Sometimes it's like a constant fog, though it clears a bit some days; sometimes it's like a brick weighing on your chest and sinking into the pit of your stomach; sometimes it's a series of aches and pains and random muscle spasms; sometimes it's an overwhelming, dark heaviness that infiltrates every emotion, every action, every thought. It isn't always demanding and controlling, but sometimes it is. Those days are the hardest.
The strangest thing in all of this to me, though, is the way that Jesus, and the Holy Spirit in me, are renewing and re-molding my mind. Do I like depression? Oh, that's funny. No, of course not. But I am, in so many ways, grateful for it. Not every moment, not every day... but, increasingly so, I'm grateful for it because, and really ONLY because, I am absolutely convinced that nothing can separate me from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus. He reveals that love through His own presence, absolutely (and oh, thank You); and He also reveals that in a rich, beautiful community that surrounds me.
I'm not alone. We're not alone. And the fear of appearing weak and imperfect becomes a reality -- but it then becomes the reality that living in a community with other weak and imperfect people is, though messy, so much better. It's better to have somebody -- or somebodies -- praying for you, staying on the phone with you until two in the morning when you're not sure you'll be safe on your own, or holding you on the couch when you're sobbing for no reason.
It's better to be able to do that for others in return, too.
This is part of what it is to be the Church: to be the hands and feet of Jesus to the world, we must be the hands and feet of Jesus to one another. And we must allow others to be the hands and feet of Jesus to us.
Oh, what love. By Love, we extend love to one another; we receive love from one another; and we spread that love throughout our broken, hurting, depressed world. We know how to do that better when we have ourselves been broken, hurting, and depressed.
It is thus, too, that we share in the sufferings of Christ. And that is one of the greatest privileges I can imagine.
"The Spirit Himself testifies with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, heirs also, heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, if indeed we suffer with Him so that we may also be glorified with Him. For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory that will be revealed in us..." (Romans 8:16-18).
After nearly a year of not putting any blog posts up, and several weeks of wondering if I should maybe possibly get back on here, and several days of adamantly avoiding this thing... I'm back. I tend to avoid writing when I'm trying to avoid something in myself, so maybe that's been the case, at least in part. Honestly, though, I never did really get in the habit of posting very frequently and/or consistently on here, and I've spent a lot more time with my own personal journal(s) in recent months than I ever have before.
I've changed a lot over the last year. A lot's happened, after all... And I have learned and grown more than even I am yet fully aware, I think.
Even the last few months have been radically transforming for me, but not in ways I ever would have expected, nor that I would have necessarily wanted if I'd known they were coming. And yet... I actually asked for some of the hard things. Crazy, I know. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Then again, I don't suppose it was me getting into anything: it was much more God taking me by the hand and leading me into a gloriously unpredictable adventure.
And sometimes you have to wend through the brambles on the way to the blackberries.
Back in, oh, February or so, there was one particular day that I was doing nothing spectacular -- driving back to my apartment, I believe -- when I actually asked God to teach me to be weak.
And then realized what had just come out of my mouth and absolutely panicked.
In other words, I thought OH CRAP (...though my word choice may have been slightly different?) and spent the next several minutes trying to take it back and arguing with Him. He, however, did that crazy thing He does and showered out love and peace (particularly that) and grace over me... and I did that crazy thing called surrender. For that moment, anyhow.
From that point, He has been teaching me how to be weak; and I'm strangely glad for it. I don't think it's in our nature as humans to "delight in weakness," as Paul puts it. Not at all. We do what we can to save face, to project brilliant images of ourselves, to sweep our faults behind the masks we so expertly affix to our faces, and to pretend that no darkness dwells within us.
Personally, I try to embody perfection in every capacity. That's been my tendency since I was a child. And though I know I never can be perfect, I often pretend that I am. I strive to be in every realm that I could possibly reach perfection (and people's different definitions of perfection, for that matter) -- intelligence, fitness, work ethic, even spirituality and love -- and, honestly, fail miserably. Over the last several years, I've come to realize the futility and pointlessness of that desire. It took until this spring, though, for me to confront the reality that striving for perfection is, with no exception, an attempt to run from grace -- an attempt to tell Jesus I don't need Him. Is there anything wrong with striving to do the best I can in any and every area of life? No. Unless my motivation is (or becomes) self-driven rather than love-driven... and, really, Love-driven.
So. There's that part of things. I'm learning to throw away my desire for perfection; or, if not that exactly, to acknowledge that desire while desiring, above all, to love and follow Jesus. To realize how utterly dependent on Grace I am. To know how fully, extravagantly, and ridiculously loved I am by the greatest Love of all -- despite my failures and faults. And yes, coming to the end of myself in this way is a bit strange and exhausting, but HE is worth that. He is a much better sustainer than I ever could be; He extends much more and better love than I ever could or would give myself apart from Him.
And then... not long after I asked God to teach me to be weak, I was spending time praying one evening, and I distinctly heard Him ask me a question. I've never actually heard Him audibly speak, but I have heard Him speak... and He asked me, of all things, if I'd be willing to step back into depression.
Naturally, my first reaction was WHY?!?!?
I've dealt with episodes of depression since high school. I didn't talk about it then, really, because I didn't know (and didn't want to know, honestly) what was going on in me; I felt like I had to explain it or have a reason for it before I could tell anyone that something in me was wrong and broken. At that point, too, it was infrequent and inconsistent. That didn't do much to help with my experience of it, but it did help me explain it away and, in some ways, deal with it on my own. And then I went to college, and the worst and longest episode I've experienced to date hit, alongside a massive wave of spiritual attack. I thought I was crazy. I thought day after day that I should tell someone, that I should ask for help, that I should find a community... and I tried, but I felt like I was powerless to speak, to explain, to reach out. And at that point, I probably was.
I'm still not sure how I got through that stretch. I wanted to cut, but I didn't. I wanted to die, but I kept waking up, and getting up, and going through the motions every day. I wanted to kill myself... and somehow never "had the guts." (But really, He kept my hands on the steering wheel.) But somehow, by some mysterious Grace and Glory, God kept me through it, and He proved Himself utterly faithful and unshakable in the midst of something that broke and nearly shattered me.
It was the reminder of that faithfulness -- His constancy, His very BEING, and the knowledge that He is immovable God and is worth loving and following regardless of my emotional state -- that brought me to finally say YES as He continued to ask me if I would follow Him, even again into depression after basically a two-year hiatus.
Maybe I'm crazy. It remains, though, that He did ask if I'd be willing. And though I don't really have a desire to be depressed -- there's no way that I'd ever resign myself to it -- I do have a deep desire and need to follow Jesus wherever He leads. I do not at all believe depression is from Him; I do, however, believe He allows it sometimes. If I, and others praying for me, ask for it to be removed, and He doesn't do so, then He must have a reason for it. And, trusting that He is who He says He is and will be faithful to keep His promises, He would use even this for good.
Because oh, do I love Him. As much as I can -- and with all the grace He allows me, as much as He enables me to -- I LOVE Him.
Funny thing. It took me a few days to finally say that I would follow Him into that. That I would indeed be willing, though I certainly wouldn't prefer it. When I finally did say that, though, I expected it to hit right away.
But it didn't. So maybe it was just a question, I thought. Maybe it was just a test, a thought process, a wrestling with God. Maybe nothing more would ever come of it.
....Or maybe it would. About a month after that, it hit out of the blue.
Depression is strange. Sometimes it's like a constant fog, though it clears a bit some days; sometimes it's like a brick weighing on your chest and sinking into the pit of your stomach; sometimes it's a series of aches and pains and random muscle spasms; sometimes it's an overwhelming, dark heaviness that infiltrates every emotion, every action, every thought. It isn't always demanding and controlling, but sometimes it is. Those days are the hardest.
The strangest thing in all of this to me, though, is the way that Jesus, and the Holy Spirit in me, are renewing and re-molding my mind. Do I like depression? Oh, that's funny. No, of course not. But I am, in so many ways, grateful for it. Not every moment, not every day... but, increasingly so, I'm grateful for it because, and really ONLY because, I am absolutely convinced that nothing can separate me from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus. He reveals that love through His own presence, absolutely (and oh, thank You); and He also reveals that in a rich, beautiful community that surrounds me.
I'm not alone. We're not alone. And the fear of appearing weak and imperfect becomes a reality -- but it then becomes the reality that living in a community with other weak and imperfect people is, though messy, so much better. It's better to have somebody -- or somebodies -- praying for you, staying on the phone with you until two in the morning when you're not sure you'll be safe on your own, or holding you on the couch when you're sobbing for no reason.
It's better to be able to do that for others in return, too.
This is part of what it is to be the Church: to be the hands and feet of Jesus to the world, we must be the hands and feet of Jesus to one another. And we must allow others to be the hands and feet of Jesus to us.
Oh, what love. By Love, we extend love to one another; we receive love from one another; and we spread that love throughout our broken, hurting, depressed world. We know how to do that better when we have ourselves been broken, hurting, and depressed.
It is thus, too, that we share in the sufferings of Christ. And that is one of the greatest privileges I can imagine.
"The Spirit Himself testifies with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, heirs also, heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, if indeed we suffer with Him so that we may also be glorified with Him. For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory that will be revealed in us..." (Romans 8:16-18).
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)