Finding Your Way Out

 Edna St. Vincent Millay

The critical issue many face is trying to survive the next episode of depression or mania.  Somehow I think that cohabiting with something that is trying to kill you is especially disturbing.  Depression is my mortal enemy and here I am, giving in and actually allowing it to destroy me. How crazy is that?

Some of us get absorbed into a dark melancholy. We instinctively carry despair and despondency wherever we go. It’s hard, but I really believe it’s crucial for afflicted believers to begin to worship again (and again, and again).

I’m totally convinced that the Holy Spirit absorbs much of the venom Himself.

When my depression slumbers, life proceeds fairly well.  I can play with my kids, and be a good husband, friend, and neighbor.  Everything seems quiet and normal.  But when the dragon awakes, watch out, there’s going to be ‘hell to pay.’ 

There were many terrible, dark days that I simply couldn’t get out of bed. I was plagued with awful, dark thoughts. Meds didn’t seem to help me. I felt completely lost.

Depression might strike at any time, and exactly when, you can never be too sure.

“How will I handle it next time? Will I be in shape for Christmas, or will I lose it again this year? I just don’t know.” That’s the depressive way. But you know, the Holy Spirit ministers yet, and He will touch my heart again. He gently cares for the depressed.

2 Corinthians 7:6, AMP

My wife and I were missionaries in Mexico for almost three years.  We lived in a “burnt out” and very small trailer, with very sporadic electricity, and no running water. We had a 55-gallon drum for our drinking water, and we tried our best to avoid the mosquito larvae. And part of that time we had to park on the slanted slopes of a dormant volcano.

Sometimes it feels like that, I’m just waiting for the next eruption.

I am glad that God decided to intervene in my life.  Without question, I need Him to watch over me. I have to believe that He will keep rescuing me over and over. As a believer in Jesus, I know he has put his hands on me.  He shields me from the dragon. 

And I have to believe that He protects me from the worst of it. 

Dancing With Bruises

ballerina stretching
Photo by Beto Franklin on Pexels.com

It seems like bruises are part of our life.

Dancers are some of the most talented people I know. Their gracefulness can be seen both on and off the stage. A dancer’s training is far from easy. But by choosing to become dancers they have made a decision to absorb pain.

Their toes and feet are blistered and bruised; they take constant abuse. Some live with chronic tendonitis. Their feet bleed sometimes, and pain is their constant companion, but they still choose to dance.

Two things to consider.

  • They choose to dance. Dancers must operate with an iron will and an elegant grace. I suppose that is why they can dance the way they do. They have painfully blended the two.
  • The scars and bruises often become “badges of honor.” They would rather dance in pain, than not dance at all.

I once heard someone describe depression as having a mental bruise. I understand this. It makes sense.

As one prone to depression, I know what it is like to bury myself in my bed for weeks at a time. My own mental bruise was simply more than I could take. There was a sensation of sinking into blackness, a sense of total and complete despair. I felt lost and completely alone.

I prayed. I groaned, and I prayed again. Things weren’t going well.

dancer-feet

My sense of being totally lost in sad, dark thoughts was beyond comprehension. Dear reader, this was something quite real, and you must become aware of these things. Some of your friends are suffering, and it is often a hellish and desperate depression.

We would never say that diabetics are that way because of the enemy. The dark one will surely exploit it, but I think you give him far too much credit if you suggest he was able to initiate it. I don’t think Satan has the spiritual “voltage.”

I refuse to hide my mental bruises from those who share my pain. I will make the choice to dance. I’m bruised, but I will try to ignore the pain. I would exult in my God, walk in His love, and “leaping with joy like calves let out to pasture” (Malachi 4:2.)

“A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out, till he has brought justice through to victory.”

Isaiah 42:3

The great pastor/evangelist Charles Spurgeon once spoke about his own personal battle with depression. Read this quote slowly and deeply:

 “I find myself frequently depressed – perhaps more so than any other person here. And I find no better cure for that depression than to trust in the Lord with all my heart, and seek to realize afresh the power of the peace-speaking blood of Jesus, and His infinite love in dying upon the cross to put away all my transgressions.”

Charles Spurgeon

Hope in My Pocket


It was a long cold winter that year. I felt sure it would never end. The sun finally emerged one day, but it was still a bit cool so I pulled out my favorite yellow spring jacket. I reached into the pocket and to my surprise I found a $20 bill. I must have known it was there at one time because I most likely put it there. But it had been a long winter, a long time since it was warm enough to wear that jacket. Even though I didn’t know it, that $20 bill was there all along just waiting for me to find it again.

Sometimes hope is like that $20 bill, hiding in your pocket.

We have it and we know it, but in the long hard winters of life we forget about it. The winter can be so long and so cold that we lose all memory of hope. But even though we forget, hope is there all along just waiting for us to find it again.

I struggled a long time with the pain of fibromyalgia.

I had no hope that I would feel well. God reminded me to fear not for hope was still there.

I despaired for five years because of underemployment. I had little hope of securing and being able to keep a full-time job. God reminded me to fear not for hope was still there.

I felt despondent for what seemed like forever over the loss of my mother. And later my father. I had no hope of feeling joy again. God reminded me to fear not for hope was still there.

I traveled the long road of despair and depression, stemming from trauma to bitter to forget. For over a decade I was certain I would be broken forever. God reminded me to fear not for hope was still there.

Recently, I have been in anguish over the state of our world, the corruption and greed, the violence and sickness, that seem to rule the day. Is there any hope for a better world? God reminds us to fear not for hope is still here.

Romans 5:3-5 NLT.

We may forget our hope in the long cold winters of life, but our hope—our God—is still here with us. Some of what we hope for we will not see until we reach heaven. But some of what we hope for is sitting in the pocket of our yellow spring jacket waiting for us to find it again.

Trying to Find a Sound Mind

“For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.

2 Timothy 1:7

When you’re profoundly depressed issues like taking a hot shower and eating something seem impossible. I’m embarrassed to say I once went 34 days with a shower. I laid in bed pretty much unable to function. I lost 60 lbs.

I suppose that is the insidious truth about chronic depression, I know it well. God seems far, far away. Life doesn’t matter anymore. I am way beyond ‘salvageable.’ I obviously don’t say it, but I feel deep-down like I’m destined for God’s scrap yard of failed souls.

Just a word here about Satan’s battle for our soul.

He’s a boxer who almost always attacks our vulnerabilities and weaknesses. He finds an open cut, and pounds it over and over.

 

He is evil far beyond human comprehension. His schemes and plots are his attempt to destroy me and to extend his darkness.

Scripture tells us that the devil is conquered. Using God’s weapons (Ephesians 6:10-18) we can protect ourselves from his evil intentions. But that war is still demanding and it’s a real challenge at times. Especially for us.

But yet there is much I can do.

Yes, it’s true–life does seem impossible at times. Depression, if not confronted biblically, will slowly devour us. It deceives and cripples. There is nothing quite like it; some people tell you it will pass, and that you’ll see the sun again, but they don’t get it. Sometimes it seems to be the worst advice ever given.

Please understand that afflicted souls are special to God.

And that alone truly comforts me. It seems like there is an invisible tether that holds from completely dropping off the edge. When I pray–it is often desperate and brief. (More like a quiet scream for help.) There are no frills and no eloquence, but I know I’m being heard by Him who guards my soul.

People, for the most part, don’t always understand and are of little help. I must admit that my own attitude about this can be less than stellar. I want to shout, “unless you have been lost in this particular section of hell yourself, perhaps it’s best if you just shut up.” (I don’t really say this mind you, but I’m terribly tempted to.)

Try to speak honestly to the Lord as often as you can.

Learn to listen to His voice. I read the Psalms–they give me a spiritual ears so that I can hear Him. I find a voice that can speak to God. Reading the Psalms imparts things that I desperately need.

That “sound mind” promised in 2 Timothy 1:7 needs to be believed. You must activate it by faith. Even a faith that falters and is weak. But like a shield, you need to lift it up to defend yourself.

  John Henry Newman