In early November, I went to California for a writers retreat. There were only four students and the woman leading the retreat. I learned so much and hung out with a few other writers. And yet, the poem below is what I wrote the first night after our opening session.
The next day I read it to one of my new writer friends, a woman who has been on this writing journey for a lot less time than I. She was touched because she had been feeling inadequate and that the rest of us were so much more accomplished than she was.
I love it when God allows me to remember the dark night of the soul in a way that brings cheer and blessing to others.
“The Christian life is not a constant high. I have my moments of deep discouragement. I have to go to God in prayer with tears in my eyes, and say, ‘O God, forgive me,’ or ‘Help me.'”
Billy Graham
Why so downcast, Oh my soul? I understand the psalmist's plea. Here I am with new friends of gold But feelings of sadness needle me.
Am I just a fraud pretending to be One who has something worthwhile to say? When truth be told, or a lie of old, Never will I point to God's way.
How I feel runs hot and cold; Now I am weak when once I was bold. Powerless and useless are words I hear Echoing deep in my mind as fear.
Wounds that run deep still bleed I know they're not true, never were. But still, still these words Oh Lord. You are the truth, the life, the way.
“I took Israel by the arm and taught them to walk. But they would not admit that I was the one who had healed them.”
Hosea 11:3
Early in my walk, over 40 years ago, I concluded that I would be able to acquire all the knowledge that I could ever want. I was on the short track, going up of course. It was a glorious thing, it took me some time to realize I was very ignorant of so much.
The Bible communicates truth, not always facts.
As I age, I start to understand that things are much more enigmatic and unfathomable than I ever dreamed they would be. It is a step of faith to accept the truth when there are still a lot of things that are still vague.
Take the mystery of healing for example:
“You say you have faith to be healed, but what about the faith to be sick?”
Mike Mason
That’s a penetrating question, indeed. “Why are some healed, and others are not? Why do I have eternal life, and my friend does not? Why should AIDS sweep through poor African villages when I live in a very comfortable suburb in the US?”
I have many other questions like this.
And I’m not making a whole lot of headway here. Reasons and facts are not there. Life becomes more mysterious and inscrutable. But there is a word we must know–it is the word “trust.” It is a faith that assists us through the landscape of challenging questions.
As a sometimes struggling, mentally ill Christian, many (even in my own church) create more questions for me. “Therapists, psychiatrists, and daily medications are really good, but do you really need them?” or “Did God create in you the need for lithium and Zoloft?” and ” How can you follow Jesus when you have all of these depression issues?”
And here’s a humdinger that stings, “Where is your joy?”
But it is precisely these issues that help me be a disciple. Someone who must trust.
I’ve been slowly learning you see. And my weaknesses are becoming my strengths. They lead me to exercise my feeble faith. I trust in Jesus; my faith helps me trust. I find it interesting to note that the Book of Psalms, for the most part, was written by “a broken believer” like David– a king and (also) a rascal.
These nebulous areas have only increased.
And ironically my trust has only grown. I have more questions than ever before, but my faith in him only gets stronger. I suppose I will never, ever be a gleefully upbeat, cheery person. But I am learning “to trust and obey, there is no other way…”
He himself has taken up the chore of teaching me to walk again. But just one thing, He wants me to keep trusting.
O Lord, my heart is not lifted up; my eyes are not raised too high; I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me. 2 But I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child is my soul within me.
Monotony can easily become an issue for many. I had been told to be on alert for it, but it seems like I’ve got to learn for myself.
With any chronic illness, there can be something tedious and routine about life. To have a physical or mental illness is acutely painful in many different ways. Afflicted people understand what I’m talking about. Pain can be intense and intrusive. Sometimes these things can become really depressing.
The sheer boredom of my illness can strangle my walk. It seems every day is the same and the foreseeable future holds little hope of it changing. Now I’m a reasonably sedate person. I don’t need a lot of excitement. (I like a good book and a cup of tea.) I’m not after adventure, but I don’t care too much for monotony either.
Brain-numbing existence is quite common for the afflicted.
Many people don’t understand this. Others do. And it’s not limited to us who struggle with illness. It’s seen in other people too. This brain-numbing life happens to many as well. Consider–
the single mom working as a secretary
the man mopping floors
the college grad frying burgers
the resident at the old folks’ home, every day is the same
These situations seem inescapable. We see ourselves locked into a situation where escape is not possible. We are consigned to do whatever our circumstances dictate. We’re all trapped. Pure and simple. We can find no meaning in our lives; we start to despair, “Will it ever be different?”
I believe the drabness of our lives can often be attributed to a lack of intimacy with the Lord Jesus. We are built for fellowship with God, and anything else is just “treading water.” Nothing satisfies, except Him present. I need Him desperately.
When I’m filled with hopelessness, I often find myself filling the emptiness with anything I can find. This usually leads to even more sadness and deadness inside. It’s a vicious cycle that destroys as easily as more gross and obvious sin.
When I ponder my hopelessness I feel like giving up. I simply don’t want to take another step into the doldrums of what my life has become. I despair that life will continue its suffering grind.
I must have joy in order to survive.
“The joy of the Lord is your strength” (Neh. 8:10). I don’t have to dwell in the grey drabness of hopelessness. My heart can find a reason to “sing to the Lord.”
“The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and I am helped. Therefore my heart celebrates, and I give thanks to him with my song.”
Psalm 28:7, CSB
The Psalms repeatedly tell me the incredible power of a life that sings.
The Holy Spirit understands our brokenness. Jesus is interceding for us at this very moment, and I can rise above this tedious mess I have made for myself. This is the only way out for me. Depression is a form of suffering.
I give it to Him. I take the strength and joy He gives.
1-2 What a beautiful home, God-of-the-Angel-Armies! I’ve always longed to live in a place like this, Always dreamed of a room in your house, where I could sing for joy to God-alive!
3-4 Birds find nooks and crannies in your house, sparrows and swallows make nests there. They lay their eggs and raise their young, singing their songs in the place where we worship. God-of-the-Angel-Armies! King! God! How blessed they are to live and sing there!
Psalm 84:1-4, Message
There are some things that leave an indelible mark, and they go very deep down into our souls. For me, one instance I remember staying at Simpson College on Silver Ave. in San Francisco in June 1986. The dorms were empty and I had a whole floor to myself. The campus was gorgeous; the roses were in full bloom.
I found a little “mom and pop” corner market nearby which had an awesome deli. Here I could buy cold cuts, some excellent braunschweiger, and freshly baked sourdough bread. I returned to my room to build my sandwich, and feast.
I remember that the windows were open and there was a beautiful breeze. Food, warm sun, flowers in bloom and the Holy Spirit was about to ‘plow’ into my life. It would be a holy collision.
It was simply a moment that I captured and savored. Everything seemed to coincide, it was magical in the best and holiest sense of the word. It was beautiful, that is all I can say. That time in that dorm room has become a crystalline moment that I will never forget. Right there, it seemed I fell in love, not with a girl, but with a moment in time and place. I knew I was on holy ground.
That nostalgia lays thick on the shoulders of the writer of Psalm 84. He remembers and savors those powerful memories of his visit to the temple. He was given something at that particular moment that would follow him for the rest of his life.
The beauty of that experience was inviolable and true and could never be duplicated. This treasure was his. As he aged he could tell his grandchildren, “I walked with God.” And really mean it.
I personally believe God gives us these holy moments, wrapped in wonder and awe. When the Holy Spirit deeply touches in this way you will never, ever be the same.
The psalmist has the same hunger for God.
These moments in the temple which are so blessed have also ‘ruined’ him. Often special times of God’s presence will result in a ‘sanctified’ dissatisfaction with the present status quo. Brennan Manning once said, “Those who have the disease called Jesus will never be cured.” You can easily apply it to these verses. God’s presence “ruins” us forever.
But when we finally make our way to Jesus, life takes on a special and curious wonder. When the rain finally comes to the barren desert, an explosion of life bursts out. In much the same way, our lives are ‘watered’ by Jesus. Things get very green and lush as we live in the Spirit. All of this is in contrast to our dry and desperate life without His presence.
I want to become hungry for His presence.
I so want to be in the center of wherever He is at. I admit that His grace and love has spoiled me. But the love of Jesus does this. Normal life seems to be nothing more than a boring journey into ‘black & white’, but somehow He turns it all into stunning color.
The psalmist practically begs to be returned to the temple. He wants to be there, more than anything else. It is now his true home. He will not be satisfied with anything less.
I say to the Lord, “You are my Lord. Apart from you, I have nothing good.”
Broken Believers 