Grownups are Silly!

Today was very fun, but very confusing.  Mommy said today is Easter, and then she dressed me in a very beautiful dress that poofed out and made me look like a cupcake.  Then we went upstairs and I ran around the house telling everyone "happy Easter!" and then, well, it got REALLY crazy!  First, Mommy gave me a basket with lots of candy and books and toys and stickers in it; she said it was from Teppy.  But Teppy is not here--she is far away near our old house that Daddy got rid of.  So how did all this stuff come here but Teppy is not here?  Then Mommy gave me more things from her--books, toys, and stamps--AND a card and a present from Daddy.  She read the card to me and said Daddy wrote it.  But Daddy is in the military and is at work in Spain.  Why didn't Daddy just bring the card here himself?  And then, she gave me a bag with a big stuffed animal that looks like a pig-unicorn, and a new book, and said those were both from Great Grandma Sheila--who ALSO is not here.  I mean, I like getting all these cool things and presents and stuff, but why can't these people just come themselves instead of making Mommy give it all to me?  

Anyway, next we went to church and everyone sang and stood up and sat down a lot.  I got bored and wanted to play, so Mommy took me to the play room where there were some other kids.  I wasn't even in play clothes, either!  Then after a while, Mommy came back and got me, and we went to ANOTHER big room, where all the kids got pretty buckets.  And guess what happened next?  We all went outside in the wet grass with our dressy clothes on, and the grownups came out and watched us run around in the grass. The bigger kids were picking things up and putting them in their buckets, so I started looking for things to put in my bucket, too.  There were colored plastic eggs all over the place!  I could tell there was something in the eggs, and I wanted to open it, but Mommy said, "No No just find more eggs!"  Well, I filled up my bucket all the way to the TOP!  And then a nice lady gave me a GIANT egg filled with things.  I was very excited and wanted to open all the eggs, but Mommy told me not until after my nap.  Sigh.  

When we got home, I ate some lunch, and took my nap, and when I woke up, I wanted to play with all my new toys and books, and I wanted to check out all those eggs.   Nope.  The grownups took me outside and said to look for MORE plastic eggs!  There were eggs on the porch, in the yard, and in the garden--and when I shook them I could hear stuff inside each one.  I was so so happy and wanted to open them all up!  So we went inside and then Mommy said we were going to have a fun time opening them, and she put two bags on the table.  She told me to open eggs, and to put any candy in one bag, and then the empty egg in another bag.  Some eggs had money in them, but most of them had toys or candy in them.  But I could not play with or eat any of it, so what was the point?  We got it all organized and separated, and then I had to leave it all there and go eat ham and green beans.  I just wanted candy.  But I did get some ice cream after dinner!  

After dinner I played with some things and did stamps and colored, but I especially liked this cool bouncy ball that when I throwed it, it would bounce all over the place and on the table and off the walls and it was hard to guess where it would end up.  That was a fun game.    Then it was time to count down to calm down and go to bed.  I was not tired.  I just wanted to play with my eggs and eat all that candy.  Nope, not happening says Mommy.  So, I went potty and brushed my teeth and went to bed, but I got Grandma to come down and sing to me a bunch of times.  

So, here is what I learned today--Easter is a day for dressing up and church and presents and candy, and the grownups hide eggs for the kids to find, and they get all happy when kids find the eggs.  Kids get to run around and around and do all this fun work finding the eggs (it is not hard because the adults just put them out in the open and the eggs are bright colors so it is super easy to find them!).   They also put things in the eggs, but they don't let you eat any of it.  And then they pile all the candy and stuff in a big bag and they put it up where kids cannot reach it.  Why don't the grownups just put the eggs in our basket instead of hiding them?  And why do they buy candy we aren't allowed to eat??!?

But hey, I am finding out that grownups do a lot of silly things, and a lot of it makes no sense to me.  But I know one thing for sure....

My grownups LOVE me!

On God's Grace and Report Cards

Remember when you were a kid and you got your report card?  And you had to take it home and get your parents to sign it?  The teacher would hand out envelopes with your name on the top, and in it was this thin piece of paper (sometimes white, sometimes blue), containing all your subjects for the year, your behavior, your social adaptability, and, gulp, comments from the teacher, and next to each subject was a handwritten letter or number denoting how you fared that report period.  Sometimes it would just be an "S" for satisfactory, or "N" for needs improvement; later on, the grades would change to a scale--1 through 4, or A through F--a scale rating you on your performance compared to the rest of the class.  School was always easy for me, so anything less than an A+ would make my knees knock as I handed the report card over to my father to review--he knew my capabilities, and held me to a high standard.  I would bask in his praise, and vow to work as hard as I could to maintain those straight As, or eliminate anything less than perfection.  

Report cards and grading scales permeate our daily life--sports teams and cheerleader squads are denoted as "A" or "B" teams, and everything from stocks, insurance, food, movies and construction materials are rated and graded.  Little wonder we humans grade ourselves.   The problem with grading ourselves, though, is we grade ourselves on our human scale, in human terms.  No, let's be more specific, more on point--I grade MYSELF.  Constantly.  I compare my actions, my thoughts, my responses, pretty much everything, to the WORLD's standard of what is acceptable.  And then, even if I use the correct yardstick to measure myself, i.e. the Bible, I look at myself through some distorted lenses and see myself how I was, before I became a new creation in Christ.  I am perpetually trying to improve, to get the best grade, to bring home that report card of all As, but I always fall short.  I fail...sometimes a little, sometimes miserably...but I can guarantee you, I will always fail. I will always fall short.  

I go to my God in prayer, in supplication, in a panic sometimes, holding out my report card for the day, or the week, or my lifetime, and I am ashamed.   Instead of all As, all I see is my failures--Ds and Fs and lots of checkmarks for "needing improvement."  I am despondent.   I will never be good enough to spend eternity with Him.  

Except for God's grace.  

Because almost 2000 years ago, on Good Friday, God sent His Son, Jesus Christ, to the cross, holding  all our report cards.  All of our sins, our well meaning intentions, our failures, our paltry attempts at holiness, all of it...loaded on the cross, in the thorns that pierced his brow, the stripes he bore.  He took it ALL, and covered us with HIS grace, HIS perfection, HIS report card of straight As.

And THAT, my friend, is what God sees when we look up at him and he looks back at us.  He sees the perfection that is His Son, because Christ took our sins, and, get this, SEPARATED himself from His Father, because God cannot even look at sin.  He redeemed us, we are justified, and report cards just do not matter any more.  

What an awesome, awe-inspiring feeling!  To know for certain that God sees only His perfect Son when He sees me.  What a beautiful thing, this amazing grace.  That saved a wretch like me.

"For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God."  (2 Corinthians 5:21)

P.S.  Thanks, Brian, for putting this analogy in my head!   

Fighting the Darkness

I honestly cannot remember a time when I felt happy and normal and completely content. Sure, there are flashes of light and joy—indescribable joy—as well as heartbreaking sorrow and loss.  Moments of clarity, of oneness with the rest of humanity, and elation that the darkness has lifted, a hope it was just a phase, a temporary downturn. And then, predictably, the darkness and panic and hopelessness all come crashing down on top of me, smothering me, threatening to steal all hope. This is my daily battle--fighting the blackness, the darkness, of depression.  

Depression--not melancholy, or feeling blue, or being in a bad mood, or having a bad day--although all these can (and do) accompany depression. No, depression is like being poised precariously on the edge of a precipice of a yawning abyss that threatens to pull you into it, to make you part of it and obliterate any sense of worth.  It is always there, always waiting, demanding vigilance and a keen sense of alertness to avoid succumbing to its pull.  And, as if that is not hard enough to deal with, there is an overwhelming sense of aloneness, an intractable feeling of helplessness, and the knowledge that no one will ever understand, ever.  And I am not exaggerating in the least when I say I recall feeling this way, no, being this way, since I was three or four.  All my memories from childhood  up to the present are blurry and shaded by the specter of depression--it has been a familiar, constant companion for my entire life.  It is as much a part of me as my blue eyes, or my freckles.  And while I have at times ignored it, embraced it, treated it, or cursed it, it nevertheless is always, always there.  

Yes, I am a Christian, and yes, I know that means I am assured a place in heaven, for eternity.  The funny thing is, though, being a Christian and being depressed are not mutually exclusive states of being.   Sometimes I am a Christian suffering from clinical depression, other times I am just plain depressed and glad to be a Christian, but never EVER am I depressed because I am a Christian, or a Christian because I am depressed.  And maybe that makes no sense--the point I am trying to make is that one is not the cause of the other, nor is one the solution to the other.   Sure, being self-centered and doubting of my own intrinsic value is part and parcel of being human--I am flawed, I am imperfect, and I am always striving for a perfection I will never attain (at least not of my own accord, anyway).   

Do I realize every single human being feels small and insignificant at times? Yes.  Depression, though, doesn't lift or go away when something great happens--it just loosens its grip ever so slightly. For someone suffering from depression, insignificance is the norm, the expected. And, oddly enough, being depressed helps me understand even more clearly my need for salvation, and how hopelessly lost I am without God's grace. So, in a weird sort of way, being depressed insulates me from feeling superior, and guarantees I will never think I can make it on my own, and get to heaven on my own good deeds. But I can become mired in my sufferings, stuck in a rut of depression, and get so comfortable with the numbness and the feeling of hopelessness that I am no good to anyone, and definitely not giving glory to God.  

I have had a lot of time to ponder what it means to be depressed...and I mean a LOT of time. More often than not, I’m likely to be up way past midnight, trying my damndest to busy myself with enough mundane, mind numbing tasks so as to finally be unable to keep my eyes open. Then I crawl into bed, gingerly sliding under the covers next to my husband (and possibly one of our dogs), trying to claim enough space to not fall out of bed without waking anyone up.  Although there is the rare night when I go to bed first, and before 11 pm, most nights it is after 3 or 4 in the morning by the time I fall asleep.   Of course this means less than 4 hours of sleep; yet I persist in this crazy sleep deprivation cycle for weeks at a time, sneaking a nap or two when I can.  I wake up exhausted, groggy. As I  stumble through the first half hour, on goes my best “I got this!” armor and mask, and now I’m ready to carry on with all the world requires and expects, with no one the wiser.  

However, I also use all this late night "alone time" to conduct some serious introspection of my depression.  Taking apart my psyche, my soul, to examine them from every angle, trying to ascertain what, or who, caused me to be this way.  Is it an innate, genetic weakness? Was it brought about, or exacerbated, by my upbringing, i.e. can I blame someone for this?  Will I always need medication? Does anything really help?  What about my impact and my effect on my family, friends, and people I interact with on a daily basis? Can they see through my mask and peer into my craziness? Is it contagious, or infectious?  Should I hide it from everyone, or try to explain it to those close enough (and brave enough) to hear it?  Or is that just some distorted means of getting attention, or provide rationalization for bad behavior? Will they stop loving me? Will they run away?  AAAAHHHHHH!!  

After so many years of asking such unanswerable questions, I am finally okay with my condition, my illness, my state of mind. Notice I did not say I am happy with it...just that I am okay with it, and I have accepted it as, well, me.   I do not use it as a crutch (although I used to), I don't curl up and sleep for days (although I want to), I don't curse God for making me this way (although I have asked him "why me?" about a zillion times), and I do not have any intention of harming myself or others (although there are times when the blackness is so thick, so suffocating, that I briefly, silently, wish for death to come).  But then, I get through that ever-so-low spot, and I grow, I learn,  I pray, and I actually thank God for the strength to fight back the darkness. Because, someone suffering from depression has a unique opportunity to see the beauty of God's creation, the orderliness of a seemingly random and chaotic universe, much clearer than the Christian sailing through life nearly always smiling, handling occasional hiccups of drama and tragedy with appropriately measured emotions.  It's as if I have this eagle-eyed view of my own weaknesses, and of the human propensity for sin and evil. I don't expect an easier, less painful life just because I am one of God's chosen.  My only expectation is that warmth I feel within God's arms, the joy and relief of giving all sorrows and worries and tears to Him, and then resting, even basking, in the glow of Jesus' love.  

Perhaps all that sounds a bit crazy and over the top, maybe even spiritually trite, as if I am romanticizing clinical depression. But the longer I suffer from this horrible disease, the closer I get to Jesus. The more tears I cry, the more comfort I find in His Word, especially the Psalms. Pity and sympathy are not the goal here, or even desired--understanding and acceptance, and love, those are better than any pill, any balm.Unfortunately, many so-called Christians look at depression as a weakness in faith, as totally incongruent with being saved. How can someone who is saved, who will spend eternity in God's presence, how can that person be depressed?  Worse yet, how on earth can a Christian take the advice (and fill the prescription) of a doctor? I have been told I am weak, that I do not pray hard enough, or believe hard enough; I've been accused of not trying hard enough to "get over it," that I am harboring an evil spirit and may be possessed.  Even worse, Christians have informed me that my depression is punishment for past sins, and that by trusting the pills to help me, I have abandoned God.Yeah, no wonder I have changed churches and denominations so often. Disillusioned and disgusted, I would quit reaching out to fellow church goers and just withdraw inside myself, inside my faith.  

The result?  I lean on God more.  And I find peace and strength by leaning on Him.   Because I am NOT this way because of something I did, or something my parents did; I am how I am to allow God's grace to work in me, to display His grace to those I meet, to give hope to others who suffer, to simultaneously be a witness and a testimony to how fleeting this life is, but oh the great and permanent joy we will find in the next life.  Think of powerful Christian witnesses you have met or heard of or read about--Joni Erickson Tada, Bethany Hamilton, Steven Curtis Chapman, Amy Carmichael, Corrie Ten Boom--these suffered deformities, chronic pain and other thorns, as Paul put it.  

The trick, as always, is to focus on what God will do and has done and wait for Him to work His plan through us.  And not focus on our problem, or our pain.  



"As he passed by, he saw a man blind from birth.  And his disciples asked him, 'Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?'  Jesus answered, 'It was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be displayed in him.'" (John 9:1-3)