Category: Depression

The Victory

11/17/2014

All of us have or will have to experience times of difficulty, hardships, and defeat. Sometimes, when you are going through this pain it is a brutal thought to realize God allowed it. He allowed your body or the body of a loved one to be injured or have a horrible sickness. He allowed you to lose your job. He allowed you to be in a car accident. Or maybe he allowed even the loss of someone you hold dear.

Oh, and it is so difficult at these times to power through on a faith in our God. A faith that He is doing all things for good. A faith that there will be victory in this time of extreme defeat.

Its been a hard thought for me, for sure. During that rough pregnancy, the early birth and various sicknesses of our twin girls, and the continuing hardships I clung to an idea that faith would preserve me and prayer would protect me...but it didn't keep the things I feared away from me. I still gave birth early, lost a child, and had my world tossed and turned into complete insecurity.

Oh, it hurts that God did not stop it.

My perfect, holy, and loving God allowed it.

And then this morning I came across a story that put it all into new perspective for me. It was the story of Lazarus. (John 11) Jesus was told of Lazarus' sickness and chose not to go to him until Lazarus was already gone. But the death and subsequent resurrection of Lazarus was a powerful demonstration of God's power, glory, and love. Jesus, though it hurt him deeply to allow such pain for Lazarus and his sisters, knew what he was doing.

And in the end, he did all he promised to do. He saved Lazarus from death.

Then I realized that God's glory has been shown. Even in these times of hurt I have victory. And the funny thing is, to me the victory has been faith. Having survived things that could easily pull families and lives apart, we are stronger now than ever before. And then I saw it...

Faith preserved me.

Prayer protected me.

My heart was not hardened through the fire but has an even greater ability to love.

Isn't that a miracle?

My faith, though challenged dearly through this super-long and painful year that my sister accurately has dubbed "The Job Year", is just as strong and maybe even stronger.

But what brings tears to my eyes is the fact that I didn't do this. I know I didn't. There were hours of completely darkness, terrible days of weakness, anger, and despair. I did not keep myself from falling away from God.

No.

God kept me close to him and didn't let me fall.

"For in the day of trouble he will keep me safe in his dwelling; he will hide me in the shelter of his sacred tent and set me high upon a rock."
Psalm 27:5

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Courage to Fall in Love With My Premature Babies

8/6/2014

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At first I was afraid to love them. Ashamed I even dreaded going into that room where their little bodies lay under plastic, hooked up to monitors, their lungs moving as machines ensured their lungs would breathe and liquid running into their veins made sure they kept on living. Every time a doctor walked up to us I felt like I was dying, just a little. Every time the phone rang my heart would drop. My world was torn and I was trapped in a nightmare. If they survived, the doctors said, they would stay in the hospital for months.

I stood on the brink, ready to jump into one of two deep pools. Because I could no longer stay where I was and remain sane I could feel my heart falling either into a deep resentment for what God had allowed or a faith that would challenge me to see each moment as a gift.

I stood on that brink far too long, building up walls, trying not to have to take responsibility for anything.

But then I jumped.

Suddenly a face obscured by plastic tubing was beautiful. The eyes that blinked out at me from below an IV line were precious. And those girls that scared me more than death itself became my daughters.

I fell deep deep into a love that will never break.

God gave me this. He gave me the courage to take a chance on a broken heart. He gave me the strength to step forward when fear was holding me in place. He showed me how to laugh during times of grief and smile even when disaster seems eminent.

And today I’m holding my girls again. My arms wrap around their growing bodies, devoid of IV lines with lungs that nearly hold their own in the world. I know, as surely as if it were a palpable, touchable thing, that grace is real. That miracles happen.

Newborn photos by Falling Star Photography

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Idols.....Really?!

10/27/2013

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I had no idea. I'm very careful about this, so very careful. After all, it is the most important commandment to love God with all your heart and all your mind and all your soul and to have no other idols before Him.

Oh, but I did. The Devil crept in sneakily and placed a nasty little seed that grew and grew. And it seemed so benign at the time, it even felt like I must be a good person for feeling it. Do you know what it was? Guilt. Nasty-little-you-should-be-doing-better guilt.

Okay, my husband and I have been traveling abroad for years now. When I evaluate it objectively and pray about it, I always know that this is God's path for us. Sure, I remind myself that we won't always be skiing the Andes and scuba diving the Great Barrier Reef. At any moment life can change and take us in a different direction. It will be fine as long as we are careful to listen to God's voice.

But, even though I love my life, exhilarate with each beautiful experience and each precious life that touches us, here lately I've felt worry, doubt, and guilt cloud my heart. Because, there are people whom I love deeply who I'm not helping by being away from them. And so the evil thoughts grew. I stopped listening to God's voice and started praying for what I wanted. I wanted to fix my life so that all my ducks were in a row, everyone was happy, and I wasn't doing anything wrong. And if and whenever I quieted my fervent prayers long enough to hear His voice He kept telling me, "Your place is with your husband. You are where I want you to be." Over and over he would reassure me but my worry fought him, my guilt started to drown out his reassurances, and then came the horrid nightmares tormenting me even in my sleep.

Then, it happened. Yesterday, we were driving to church. The sun was shining on the surreal green hills of Tumbarumba, the little town where we are staying. I looked out the window and the beauty of it all took my breath away. Yet, running on the heals of that joy was a wave a guilt and those prayers started again. "God, show me how to help my loved ones. Create a path for me that will allow me to serve them. Please God." His reply came quietly, with peace.

You're place is with your husband. You are his helpmate. This is where I've placed you.

"Oh, but God, show me how to help my loved ones. Help me to help them."

And then came words brilliant, clear and chastising. And, so, so, simple.

I am your Master.

The words of my Heavenly Father--perfect in their simplicity. Those four words showed me how I tugged and pulled and rejected His will for me with every worry and guilt-filled thought and prayer. The well-being of my loved ones had become an object between me and God.

Ouch. And I think I even felt proud that I was thinking of loved ones and cared about them. How sneaky of the Devil to take a seed of guilt and make it grow into a valley of thorns between me and God.

So, I'm changing my prayers. I'm changing my thoughts. I'm slowly clearing away the thorns and that means I must let God have the well-being and happiness of my family. I'm putting them in His capable hands. I belong to God and He will use me as He will.

My heart sings an old Hymn this Monday morning, "Have thine own way, Lord. Have thine own way. You are the potter. I am the clay. Mold me and make me, after thy will. 'Till I am waiting, yielded and still."

I can't wait to call my parents and tell them how much I love them. Now I can say it without feeling guilty. I can call my siblings and tell them how beautiful and amazing are their lives...they don't need me. God has them. God loves them. He's watching over us all.

Have thine own way, Lord! Have thine own way! Thou art the potter, I am the clay. Mold me and make me after thy will, while I am waiting, yielded and still.
Have thine own way, Lord! Have thine own way! Search me and try me, Savior today! Whiter than snow, Lord, wash me just now, as in thy presence humbly I bow.
Have thine own way, Lord! Have thine own way! Wounded and weary, help me I pray! Power, all power, surely is thine! Touch me and heal me, Savior divine!
Have thine own way, Lord! Have thine own way! Hold o'er my being absolute sway. Fill with thy Spirit till all shall see Christ only, always, living in me!
Have Thine Own Way, Lord
Adelaide A. Pollard, 1862-1934

Photo by Walter Stoneburner

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Pain to Relate

9/27/2013

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A dear friend once unloaded on me, confessed his pain and his many problems. He came to me for comfort and advice and my inadequacy to the situation was horribly upsetting. He'd been involved in things that I'd only read about in books and watched on TV. I offered words like, "You're going to be fine." "God loves you." "I care about you." "You can get through this." But I could tell by the look in his eyes that those words were like putting band-aids on a lethal wound.

I prayed. I asked God to show me what I could do, what I could say, and His answer hurt me. He said I could do nothing. I could only pray for my friend, and show him how God's love never gives up.

What do we do when someone we care about has a problem that we cannot relate to? Sometimes it feels like unless I've been there, unless I've felt the same pain, I cannot completely connect with the torment they go through. I can feel sympathy, but I feel lacking in true empathy. And, often my advice is not what they need and not what they are looking for.

Many months later that same friend came back to me. He'd found God. With God's strength the demons had been defeated and hope found. And he told me something soul-wrenching. He told me he'd decided to be at peace with everything he'd been through, all the bad choices he'd made, and all the evil he'd allowed into his life. He said, that because he'd been through it all he could help others find their way out of their own horror.

It was a moment I will never forget. This man had decided to be thankful for the years of hurt in his life, because it would help him relate to others in need.

I stopped and took stock of my own hurt, pain, hardships, and imperfections and realized that God in all His Goodness could use everything about me for the good of others, if I let Him. Just like my friend, I need to let God have ALL OF ME. I need to have peace with the past and realize that it can't be changed, but that God can use it to guide others to healing.

God, guide us. I know there are things we go through that hurt, sometimes they hurt simply remembering them and we are burned by our shame and sadness. Help us to find peace giving those things to You, letting You use them. For we know that others are still struggling to find their way out of darkness and we dearly long to bring them into Your light.

Photo by Garland Cannon

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Confessions of a Lost Day

9/4/2013

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I was going to confess, to one and all, that I had a horrible case of the "blahs". Not the blues. The blah's. The I-don't-want-to-think-about-anything-or-do-anything blah's. Gross! Right? Then, I decided not to write about the blahs at all. If I did then everyone would know about the lazy, no-good-done, gray-skied day. And I couldn't do it, because I couldn't stand the thought of seeming less perfect to a single person out there. I'd been slothful, unproductive, and had given in to a fatigue that hadn't been born of hard work or hardship.

How selfish of me. It occurred to me later that admitting our faults is one of the most important feats we can do. I can admit my transgressions, my imperfections and let God help me grow. I can confess them and find sisters and brothers with the same struggles, desperate to find someone help them battle away fears. I can admit to not being perfect, because my change and growth is ongoing until God takes me home.

A dear friend of mine said she gave up on her faith because of happiness. She had bought in to the belief of salvation, saw peace in her own life as she accepted Christ, and then watched in bewilderment as the level of happiness in her life plateaued at a dismal level. She looked around, desperate for answers, for a Christian brother or sister to reach out and say, "It's ok. There is still more to learn, more of your life to give to Christ." but instead all she saw were the perfectly happy faces in pews at church. Feeling like she'd missed some critical element or simply was unfit for whatever gifts of peace were given to those following Christ, she left the church. Thankfully, she returned years later, but for her they will always feel like lost years when she did not have a precious walk with our loving Father.

There is a time for strength, but also a time to be humble. Please, God, show me to be humble. I admit yesterday was horribly unproductive, the house was messy, and I spent hours staring out my window (and at Facebook). The clouds were gone when I woke up this morning and I greeted my tasks with fervor and energy making up for lost time the day before. But, that day of the blah's happened and I gave in to more than I should. Thank goodness God is not done with me yet. Next time I intend on fighting away those gray skies. :)

Photo by Elsie Esq.

So, to my Christian Brothers and Sisters, how would you recommend one to take on the fight against the blahs?

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Lost

7/13/2013

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There might be nothing scarier than watching someone you love forget about God. I was talking about this with a close friend of mine the other day. Someone we love, a woman from the generation before us, is going through a time of struggle. What we didn't understand was where God's voice in her life had gone. She used to be one of those people that read her Bible daily and her walk with God was sweet and intimate. Somewhere along the way she lost that connection and hasn't tried to get it back.

Why?

So much in her life has fallen apart. But it happened slowly like an abandoned home--wind and rain crumbling away the structure and eating away at the foundation.

You watch it happen to someone you love and you feel so powerless. You know, and they know, that God will help them rebuild everything that is precious, but they have to be the one to take that first step. Everyone around them is waiting with their hammers and fresh bricks and boards, eager to help them. But the home doesn't belong to the eager helpers and they can't step on that property without permission.

Why? How does this happen? Besides the fact that I must watch someone I love struggle so much, do you know what else scares me? The haunting possibility that somewhere down the road this might happen to me.

When I was talking about this to my friend she said it seemed our lives go through seasons. In the spring our walk with God is fresh and exciting. The summer sees growth and warmth fill our relationship with him. In the fall we look back at what kind of harvest those seeds of grace have brought to us. And then, sometimes a winter creeps in.

We empower the devil to bring the cold season into our life when we let the things of this world push God to the sideline. His voice in our heart becomes harder for us to hear. God is speaking to us just as loudly as ever, but our focus has fell to other things. We have to stop and retrain our hearts to listen.

I pray daily for that loved one of mine.
God still claims her as His child. There is always hope for Spring again and all the glory that follows.

I know that everything God does will endure forever; nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it.

Ecclesiastes 3:14

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Argentine Roses

6/12/2013

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“Consider how the wild flowers grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today, and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, how much more will he clothe you—you of little faith! And do not set your heart on what you will eat or drink; do not worry about it. For the pagan world runs after all such things, and your Father knows that you need them. But seek his kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well."
Luke 12:27-31

                I was going to run away. How? I didn’t know. We were living in the middle of Patagonia. Spring had finally announced itself. The weather was fair and the land was alive. But looking out my window I could only see the barren vastness of ground stretching before me like a dreary future. Everything that was wrong with my life teased and taunted the dreams I’d had before I’d come to Argentina.

                Leaving the United States and getting on a plane headed for the Southern Hemisphere I had imagined I was going to be Kathleen Turner in Romancing the Stone, taking off to South American and writing a legendary novel. Of course, I was leaving my sister, not going to save her; and my Michael Douglas was expecting me, had already did his best to make the ranch house cozy for his little wife.   The adventure was exciting at first—new people, new language, and new places. But then reality set in and painted the landscape gray. I saw people maybe once week and had trouble relating to all of them. My Spanish that I was so proud of turned out to be pretty embarrassing and made normal conversation difficult at best. And while we’d seen some beautiful land, I felt that I’d seen it all and now was ready to go home.

                My husband was busy those days. He had land that needed extreme TLC before it could hold livestock and he was there only in the evenings and mornings, his mind always on the fences he was going to build and the cattle he was going to buy. I was desperate. We didn’t even have Internet or a phone so whining to my friends and beloved family was out of the question. Even if had been a possibility, I didn’t want them worrying. In one word…I felt abandoned. I didn’t even have the heart to pray about it.

                Sunday came around and I broke out my Bible and tucked the chair next to the wood stove in my lonely weekly ritual. But I couldn’t focus on anything except the sadness and despair that filled me. Would I ever make friends? Could I actually write the novel that had wormed its way into my heart? And goodness, was I EVER going to have children? Those nasty worries had grew into terrifying fears for me.

                I heard the truck pull up and put down the Bible. Strangely, my man was home early. Time to plaster on a smile and pretend I was doing just swell. He came in with a grin and said, “Hey, you want to go for a drive?”

                I wanted to yell back, no. I don’t want to go for a drive. I want to crawl into a corner and mope. I want to be left alone. But I answered instead, “Sure.”

                He then gathered up a couple jars and my kitchen shears and I was too annoyed to ask him why. I got in the truck and he started driving down one of the dirt roads. We came over a hill and what I saw made me gasp.

                A glorious rose bush spread out like a massive hill next to the road. It looked extraordinary in the rocky, stubby countryside which was so dry that there was hardly any grass. My husband pulled over and smugly asked me if I was surprised. I was. I really was. As we gathered the roses for the jars, he told me what the neighbors had said about the bush. Apparently it had been planted about a hundred years ago at the original site for the ranch house, but when that house had been abandoned and had crumbled away to nothingness, the rosebush had thrived, alone, for over thirty years.

                And then it hit me. Who cared for all those glorious golden blooms? God did. I heard again the words written in the bible almost as if Someone gently whispered them in my ears. “Consider how the wild flowers grow…not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, …how much more will he clothe you—you of little faith!”

                I felt shamed by my lack of gratitude for God’s gentle protection of my daily life. I felt exultant that all I needed to do was turn and ask him to care for me. If he nurtured these roses, on this nearly deserted road, in a land that was only sparsely populated…couldn’t I trust him to care for me too?

                Hope bloomed within me and I felt a surge of peace blow the blues triumphantly away. It was a turning point for me—a huge one in my life that I will never forget. I hope someone somewhere sees those golden flowers and recognizes the magnificence of our Gentle Protector, our loving God.

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Miracles Happen Everyday

The Victory

Courage to Fall in Love With My Premature Babies

Idols.....Really?!

Pain to Relate

Confessions of a Lost Day

Lost

Argentine Roses

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