
Ten Tips for a Christian With Depression


Gentleness means recognizing that the world around us is fragile, especially in the lives of other people. It is recognizing our own capacity to do harm, and yet choosing rather to be tender, soft-spoken, soft-hearted, and careful.
To be careful means that you are becoming aware.
Perhaps this idea of becoming careful brings us closest to the idea. People who know exactly their own flaws become the most gentle of human beings. They are aware and now live for others, showing deep-seated care for even the “least.” We need people like this to become our elders and pastors.
Their authority looks wonderfully dressed in gentleness. Perhaps that kindness is far more important than preaching ability or administrative prowess? The best pastors I have known are those who are aware of others and who are therefore gentle and careful when touching another person’s heart and soul.
Jesus is gentle, just as much as He is strong, and wise and bold.
You could say He was always gentle, even when He was bold and authoritative. Not once did Jesus show unkindness in His words or teaching or actions. Grasping this is the work of a lifetime. (Matthew 11:28-30.)
He was kind all the time, even when He was tired and hungry. And even when He confronted the hard-hearted Pharisees. Perhaps, when angered, it was directed at the sin which was destroying people. Maybe?
Matthew 12:20-21, NLT
A.W. Tozer
Martin Luther
Norman Bethune
Jerry Bridges

As we start to wrestle with our embedded issues, we suddenly realize that the battle is in largely inside. Maybe the last few days have been hard, and perhaps we sense a dark presence pressing; and we sometimes wonder if we’ll ever see the light again.
As a “born-again” believer, I can get deeply challenged by depression, I simply can’t understand any real life outside of my faith in Jesus. The Holy Spirit meets me, holds me, and speaks peaceful things to me. I’ve been promised things of wonder and of grace.
I’ve discovered that self-pity and discouragement are main ingredients into my excursions through bleakness and sadness. In my more profound journey’s into darkness, I find myself seeing the physical world around me literally drained of color. Everything around me is in “black and white.” (I have been told this is one of many symptoms of depression.)
I sometimes catch myself smiling, and I immediately stop and say, “Wait. I’m very depressed. I can’t be seen smiling, or enjoying a walk on the beach.” Often we choose to act in ways that reinforces our illness. We think we have to be a certain way, stand in another, or even walk around like we’re very gloomy people.
Depression is very real. Medication is mandated for many. But truthfully, I see there’s an perverse element of chosen melancholy. Our self-pity works hand-in-hand with our image and identity. It seems we have to be somebody, even if we have to be a crazy person. Weird, I know.
I imagine that this blog has been a challenge at times. I write these daily blogs out of my own attitudes, and issues and problems. But there is a “Charlie Brown Depression,” the type where we feel like we must be inconsolable all the time. Just be aware. It’s real.
If while in the pit, and for some reason you think of something that’s funny, go ahead and smile, its okay. I’m learning that things are never as sad or grim as I think, nor are they rosy and joy saturated either. Be real. Be real to yourself. Walk in the truth. And if you should–take your meds, lol.
Jeremiah 29:11


Rick Warren
Nothing I can say will cause your pain to go away. Any words or counsel are nice but weak when applied to that grievous wound or disability. Fellow believers will want to guide you, they mean well. They love Jesus and their hearts are good. I know this.
But it can be like two Tylenol to a man with a broken leg.
I have friends who struggle with migraines and others with Lou Gehrig’s disease. A few friends have been incredibly injured, and a few others have impaired disabilities. Two or three have severe diabetes. One has a painful degenerative hip syndrome. Also, I have a dear elderly saint in her later stages of Alzheimer’s. One of my friends has cerebral palsy.
(Enough already?!)
I must tell you I also walk in chronic pain and am permanently disabled. My own discipleship hasn’t been easy. Pain has only shown me my need to invite His powerful presence of Jesus, and to become fully His. I’m learning this.
Gentleness is not an easily given gig– the lessons can be rude and hard and even with possible tears. Faith lifts the rough veil of this ugly circumstance and finds the merciful God beaming with love.
And we are taught the hard reality of human beings. Looking eye to eye we connect with people and grasp their struggling lives. We see their needs and want to alleviate pain. We want to serve and give and love, finally.
Love shows me how it should be done; and suddenly a profound mystery, I’m loving like Jesus! I’m doing what He would do. Our hearts swell at this revelation. We understand.
And our hearts will decide that issue. Is it real?
So few really understand and discern, and even fewer can help you. Love them all. Love Jesus. Stay broken, gentle, and faithful to Loving Father.
A few years ago some asked me if I had the faith to be healed, they challenge us, “where’s your faith, brother?”
If you had never known afflictions in your own life, how do you think that you can properly touch those ‘nail-scarred’ hands which Jesus meets you with? And the apostles, and all those martyrs from every generation in an unbroken line of suffering.
And what about their crosses?
Our own??