Drowning in my tears

• Tears of regret for things I should have done but did not do, for things I did but should not have done, for things I did but could have done better
• Tears of sadness for the state of the world, for the hate and dehumanization I see every day on social media, for lost and damaged friendships, for friends and family who do not love Jesus
• Tears of frustration for my inability to calm myself and my lack of faith when things fall apart
• Tears of resentment towards my sisters who have hurt me and betrayed me,  shunned me, and have no responsibility or even desire to help us, and towards my brother for needing me to help him
• Tears of confusion with today's convoluted bureaucracies in education, health, and social services when those things should be simplified to allow equal access to all
• Tears of anger towards believers who spew hate at those who are different, especially nonbelievers clinging to sin, when instead believers should be loving them instead of pushing them away
• Tears of shame for my actions and words and thoughts that are anything but Christ-like
• Tears of hopelessness when I continue to hit wall after wall 
• Tears of anxiety when faced with more than three things to do a day
• Tears of grief over the loss of our parents, and the loss of my family

But then...

• Tears of thankfulness to my husband for his support and love even through hard times
• Tears of joy when I think of my beautiful daughters and the wonderful women they have become
• Tears of happiness every time one of my granddaughters calls me and wants to talk to me
• Tears of amazement over God's faithfulness in answering my prayers
• Tears of love for my husband as I lay in his arms every night
• Tears of pride for the children I tutor, children who work so hard to overcome their challenges
• Tears of wonder for the beauty and majesty surrounding me 
• Tears of joy for my salvation and assured place with God for eternity

 

 

 

Joy

Having joy is so much more than happiness. Happiness is fleeting, situational, fickle, and temporary. I used to search for happiness, for things and people and relationships to make me happy, and if I was not happy, I blamed it on circumstances or my past or the events of the day or whoever I was with, what side of the bed I got up on, how much I weighed, whether my hair was behaving, if I could pay all my bills on time, etc. In other words, happiness was a measure of meeting the world’s standards of success. Then I discovered Jesus, and formed an intimate relationship with Him, and I discovered how empty happiness is. I discovered joy. Joy in the midst of suffering, in the midst of pain, in the midst of loss, in the midst of, yes, betrayal. Joy during and after struggles. I was not always happy during these times, and still, believe it or not, there are many times I am not happy.  But I am joyful, FULL OF JOY, joy of the Lord, joy in my salvation, joy in knowing my future home is with Him, that I have a place with Him, that He has forgiven me, paid my debts, and gives me more grace. 

Am I always the perfect picture of a joyful Christian, focused forward on my Jesus, and not looking on my struggles? No, I am not. Sometimes I get wrapped up in that tunnel of self, and the trap of being a victim, the Eyore attitude of “woe is me, woe is me,” and I bemoan all my faults and struggles and pains and losses. Luckily though I have my husband and my friends in Christ and my church who snap me out of that, and my God who I go to daily, to remind me and to refocus me on my joy. My everlasting joy. 

Yesterday we drove to Pigeon Forge and drove through some tunnels on I-40, long tunnels, and the sign before the tunnel warns drivers to turn on headlights and remove sunglasses. Why? So they can see better in the darkness. But you are still driving in a dark tunnel closed in by concrete walls, and if it is a long tunnel you cannot even see the light at the end of it; I don’t know about you, but I hate tunnels and get claustrophobic in them and worry another car or truck is gong to hit the wall and ricochet into me, or I will never get out of the tunnel. I cannot see the end of it, the reality outside the tunnel. That is how I feel when I get trapped inside the tunnel vision of looking inward onto my hurts and struggles and pain—trapped, confused, no sense of direction. Even though I have lights on and have tried to clear my vision. 

The answer? Stay out of the tunnels. But if you do find yourself in one, and your feel yourself being sucked into that self-pity mode, smack yourself on the back of the head, open your bible, fall on your knees, and focus on Jesus. He is our everlasting joy. We are no good to others when we are wallowing in a tunnel of self-flagellation. But, when others see our joy in Christ, despite our trials, they will want all the more to find out what makes us so joyful, so they too can experience it. 

I have suffered from serious clinical depression nearly my entire life, yet I still have more joy than I can explain. Am I sad at times? Yes. Depressed? Yes. Unhappy? Yes. But, I am full of joy.

"Though the fig tree should not blossom,
nor fruit be on the vines,
the produce of the olive fail
and the fields yield no food,
the flock be cut off from the fold
and there be no herd in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the Lord;
I will take joy in the God of my salvation." Habakkuk 3:17-18

Being known

Knowing things isn’t the same as being known. Knowing myself, allowing others to know me, and learning to know God...these are struggles. Me? Sometimes I feel as if I am standing outside of myself, looking at me and listening to what’s coming out of my mouth, and I am scared and ashamed and worried. I don’t recognize this person who is crying because she is unable to adequately express what she’s feeling. She tries to get her point across but it backfires and soon the other person is running over her with their thoughts and opinions and distorted recollections of what she said or did. And then she is crying and stands there shouting, trying to be heard but she’s unable to hold it together. So she stands there with her fists balled up and clenched against her side, tears streaming down her face,  and she runs: to her room, the car, the bathroom. Anywhere to escape her  failure  to calmly and intelligently assert herself without offending, to be understood. No matter how many times this happens, she is incapable of preventing another occurrence; life and relationships float along that river smoothly, effortlessly, until  without warning, it happens again and she is helpless to stop it.  Good intentions and resolve fly out the window , and in no time she’s a blubbering mess. 

It doesn’t matter how many times this happens, or what she reads or how much she prays—these emotional maelstroms are unavoidable. Each meltdown leaves her feeling spent, useless, worthless, and wanting  to die; she is utterly, hopelessly doomed to forever repeat this scene. She knows no other way to face confrontation than to shut down and then run away. Counseling, prayer, introspection, even reaching back as far as she can remember to name it, face it, explain it—nothing helps. It’s part of her and each time this happens, it’s reinforced even more. She will never win an argument, or convince the other person she is right, so she gives up even trying.  

This is, and always has been, me. Not the face or persona I show. But me nonetheless. Friends, family, acquaintances all think they know the “real” me, but what they see, who they see, is just a facade, a mask, a fake, a show; sometimes a bit of me sneaks out, leaks out of the coveralls, peeks out the side, but it quickly gets shoved back in.  It reminds me of those play dough molds, the kind you push the play dough through and then mold it into shapes and sometimes the seams of the molds are not strong enough, so some of the dough squeezes out of the sides. Or, actually it’s like an fat lady wearing  a girdle to hold her rolls of overindulgence in to portray a slimmer figure, but some of that fat protrudes out of a ripped seam or over the top of the elastic. And there it is...the real truth.  Until it gets hurriedly stuffed back into its spandex torture chamber.  And we all know that’s futile.  

Today these feelings washed over me again, an emotional tsunami, making me question my salvation, not to mention my sanity. Or is it the other way around? I desperately want to forecast these storms, or at least know the catalyst so I can brace for it, but I may as well wish to weigh what my drivers license says. I do know our dear neighbors are moving, my dear daughter and son-in-law and grandkids went back overseas last week, I just finished my fifth St Baldricks fundraiser, my IDD brother is making life very challenging, and I’m having some health issues. I do know what to do: breathe. Pray. Lean on my creator. And rest in His wonderful grace. And spend time to KNOW Him.  

Now, if only I could actually turn that knowing into doing 

  

On Depression and Falling Apart

 

Today has been a rough day. And I cannot tell you why it has been a rough day or how this day is any different from yesterday. I have been crying, off and on, all day, since 9:00 this morning; it is 10:30 at night and I still feel like crying. My eyes are red and sore and dry, my head is killing me, and I basically feel like shit. The image above depicts fairly accurately how I feel right now, like pieces of me are being sucked away, sucked into nothingness. I cannot explain it, or rationalize it, or give anyone any concrete reasons for my sadness. Sadness...ha. What an understatement. Well-meaning people would say it is grief over losing my family, or caregiver burnout from watching my brother, or stress over the pandemic, the upcoming election, and the current sociocultural clashes. It is none of that. I am depressed. Deeply depressed. 

I cry over nothing

I cry over everything

I want to stop crying and that makes me cry even more

I am mad at myself for crying, for being weak

I am a Christian, a daughter of the King, and I still cry

I cry because I should know better than to cry

I should be calling on God

I cry because I call on God and I do not feel His presence

I cry even more

I want it to end, and I cry because I don't know if it will ever end

Depressed. Yes, you can say I am depressed.

I am surrounded by a huge, black void, a void that is sucking my soul out of my body. I say things I don't mean and hurt people I love, I withdraw into myself and have to force myself to get out of bed or go anywhere, and answering the phone is a monumental challenge--putting myself out there is debilitating, and exhausting. Many times, no, most times, I put on a happy face and smile, but the tears are always there, waiting to leak out as soon as someone asks me what is wrong. 

My only solace? Reading Genesis, specifically the narrative of creation. The garden of Eden was everything anyone could ever dream of; it was paradise. Man convened daily with God, without pain or sorrow or fear or death or sickness or work. But now? Yeah, ask anyone, even a non-Christian, and he will tell you we ain't in Eden anymore; we are surrounded with pain, heartbreak, and fear. So why does that give me comfort? Because I know that the craving, the awareness, the longing for a better world, a perfect world, one without fear and disappointment, is in my heart for a reason: to prod me to continue to yearn for that perfection, and to take comfort in that. This less-than-perfect existence of mine, this horrible depression, this pervasive sadness...it is all a reminder that perfection did once exist for mankind, and we will live it again. 

Something I read recently really struck a resonant chord: 

"We must remember that we are in a love story. And we will never appreciate or even desire the hope of our True Love if lesser loves don't disappoint. The piercing angst of disappointment in everything on this side of eternity creates a discontent with this world and pushes us to long for God Himself - and for the place where we will finally walk in the garden with Him again. Where we will finally have peace and security and eyes that no longer leak tears ... and hearts that are no longer broken? All of these places of longing and disappointment in our lives? They aren't proof that God is withholding good things from us. They're His way of leading us Home." (Lysa TerKeursrt, Proverbs 31 ministries)

I cannot say it any better than that. Sure, I am still broken, depressed, and sad to my very core. In a strange way, though, that helps me see more clearly how much better my eternal life will be, and makes me ever so joyful to know I am among the chosen.

Dealing with Social Anxiety

Last weekend my husband decided to have a social gathering for Labor Day; he went all out making slow-cooked pulled pork, his famous baked beans, and cole slaw; he then invited some neighbors and friends. When he initially told me about it the week before, I was on board, and let him take over the planning and inviting. But, when the day of the party arrived, I began to panic, feeling those all too familiar sensations: rapid heart rate, eyes welling up with tears, irritability, and an irresistible urge to run away, to escape, to avoid the event completely. It wasn't that I don't like company--I do--but in small, manageable numbers...like two. He had invited not one couple, not two, but three couples; not only did I not know one of the couples, all three couples also did not know each other, and there were some pretty strong outspoken personalities in the group, so of course I was concerned about everyone getting along and desperately wanted no one to say anything gauche. I was torn between being a helper, a wife, and a hostess, and giving in to my fear and anxiety. Needless to say, the closer the clock ticked to 4:00 pm, the more anxious I got, the more I simply wanted to do anything to avoid the impending social gathering. I could claim I had a  debilitating migraine, or perhaps I could just drive around for a few hours. Crying, irrational, and not sure what to do, I grabbed my gardening hat and tools and went to my one place of solace--my garden--where I weeded and watered and prayed and cried, all the while feeling ashamed for feeling so anxious. 

The couple I had never met arrived first...bearing trays of food and a vase of flowers, and wearing masks. They hailed me as I was bent over some particularly stubborn weeds...and I knew I had to suck it up and become the consummate host. I introduced myself, thanked them for the beautiful flowers, and ushered them into our home. I was stuck. The next three hours were a blur (yes, I realize that is an overused cliche, but they really were a blur). The food was wonderful, my husband worked his butt off (no pun intended), we ate outside, everyone got to know each other the way humans have gotten acquainted over the centuries: over good food. Everyone was talking to each other, folks laughed and listened, and believe it or not, yes I was talking as well; I just do not have a very good recollection of what the heck I talked about.  That is common for me in social situations--I panic ahead of time, and then during it I have some sort of out of body experience, like I am watching myself flounder. Next, the after effect of my social anxiety kicks in: I try to play back the videotape that is in my head, trying to recreate the afternoon, to ascertain if I did anything or said anything stupid or insensitive or hurtful. Did I laugh too hard or too long? Did I talk too much? Too little? Did I pay equal attention to all our guests? What about Alex? Shouldn't I have helped him more? Should I have put a tablecloth on the spare table we put on the back deck? In my effort to get to know the new couple, was I rude to my neighbors or my friends that I did know? Did anyone think it odd that my husband did all the food preparation and planning and all I did was move chairs around? Could anyone tell I was nervous? Or that I had cried less than ten minutes before they arrived? 

Are you exhausted yet? 

This is what I deal with for most social situations--not all, mind you, but most. Big gatherings where I can remain fairly anonymous are safe, as our small, intimate encounters with folks that I know, but going to my husband's work-related soirées was exhausting and beyond stressful. Speaking or teaching in front of groups, even extemporaneously, does not trigger any anxiety, but having to meet a new person at a coffee shop makes me want to run for the hills. Running a fundraiser attended by hundreds of people may exhaust me, but it doesn't scare me, yet cold-calling or visiting potential donors or participants and asking for donations is so frightening I would rather go buy all the raffle prizes myself and send emails and texts. Even more puzzling? I served in the military for 22 years, then as a military contractor for another decade, and for most of that was a subject matter expert, trainer, teacher, supervisor and mentor. Panic attacks and anxiety were always there; I just pushed them back or hid behind my characteristic defense mechanisms of sarcasm, humor, and wit (and, I am ashamed to say, sometimes with passive-aggressive comments). Since I've retired, though, I am far more aware (PAINFULLY aware!) of who I am as a highly sensitive person; I recognize that I do have social anxiety--as folks are apt to say in the vernacular of the day: it is what it is.

So while I may appear to be poised, in control, exuding confidence, and handling all matters of social nuances with ease, nothing could be farther from the truth. My self-assured exterior is a facade, masking my fear that others won't like me or believe me or listen to me. But I'm getting better...with the help of friends, counselors, my very understanding and patient husband, and the Holy Spirit; I know how I see myself, how I view my shortcomings and abilities. And I hold that view up to God's truth, and let His grace wash over me. 

And if you are also like me, do not lose hope. You are not alone.

Out of Sorts

Out of sorts...what a nice, polite euphemism for depression! Today I got up at 9 am, went back to bed at 10:30 and slept until 2:30. Out of sorts?

You know that feeling you get when you just don't feel like yourself? You know something is wrong, but you just cannot put your finger on it? That is how I have felt for the past two weeks, like there is this weight crushing down on me, making me tired and sad and short-tempered. I can't explain it. And I am not even sure I want to try to explain it. It's too damn exhausting. But I have a fairly good idea what it is...it's baaa--ack. I thought I had it beat, that maybe I had pushed it into a corner where it would stay and not bother me ever again. Ha. Now that's funny.

Well, not really funny, not in a ha ha ha way, but funny in a "you have got to be kidding me!" kind of way. Depression does not ever go away, not really. It is not a temporary sadness, or a let-down over not getting something you really want. Depression is pervasive, and as much a part of me as my freckles and my weird shaped toes. I can hide it, dress it up, learn to live with it, or push through it, but the darkness is always there, like a heavy fog just hovering over me, or seeping out under the door. Shit, I am running out of metaphors and similes.  It's so hard to explain the feeling, the overwhelming sense of not being like most folks. 

But do you know what is strange? As suffocating as depression is, I can pinpoint exactly what precipitates it, and, despite being in a very dark place, I see life more clearly than in any other frame of mind. Perhaps because depression is SO dark, and so overwhelming, all the trappings and bullshit and nonsense get stripped away--they just aren't necessary and do not matter at all. The result? A clarity of thought and discernment that, while crucial to my sanity, unfortunately, makes me more sarcastic and cynical than usual, more matter-of-fact and blunt than many would find comfortable, and, may I say, abrasive and abrupt in pointing out stupidity and group think.

So, why am I "out of sorts" now? Well, the short answer is, because our recent vacation got curtailed and hijacked by some stupid virus. But the real reason goes deeper than that; it involves betrayal, lawsuits, deaths of all our parents, the stress of managing estates and probate, taking on the caregiving again, best friend getting divorced, stepdaughter's marriage crumbling; dishonest, manipulative family members; worries about kids, home improvement projects, and just daily life. Which is why I needed a vacation. Here is where it gets "funny,"--our long-awaited, much anticipated, and greatly needed trip to Spain is ruined the day we arrive. We have to stay in the hotel, change our return flights, and come home 2 weeks early. Jet-lagged. Still. Back into full-time caregiving, with no respite this time because the special needs day services are on hold for health reasons. Back into managing two estates because sometimes family just sucks. Back into helping friends and kids navigate life's issues. Back to the tasks of finishing the garage and getting the RV ready to sell and finding a car for our daughter to use when she and her family come stateside this spring--correction, if they come stateside this spring.

You know what I am NOT depressed about, though? The coronavirus. Yes, it's a global pandemic, and yes, I take it seriously. I take health and safety and well-being of me and my family quite seriously. And yes, it is, at best, an inconvenience, and at worst, a huge wrench messing up the our lives, making us reschedule things, forcing us to get used to doing things differently, and it is frightening, and uncertain, and has created an era of uncertainty for work, payroll, health systems, school, holidays, events, and sports--this event has impacted every aspect of life in nearly every one of the 180 plus countries it has infected.

I may always feel the darkness, I may never rid myself of the specter of depression, and I may never be "normal."  

BUT, because I have Christ, I have hope. And though my earthly hopes and dreams may be crushed, and plans laid to waste, I hope in my life with Him through eternity.

Because I have Christ, I have joy. Sure, I may not look very joyful; in fact, I may look miserable. Don't confuse happiness with joy, though. We will always have unhappiness and sadness and death and uncertainty in the world.  But Christ is my joy.

Because I have Christ, I have faith that He will see us through this. He will see us THROUGH--through being the operative word.  We will not start into a situation or a problem or a crisis and get stuck in it. We will, by the grace and benevolence of God, get through it and, by definition, to the other side.

Because I have Christ, I KNOW God is in charge, God is in control, and nothing this world throws at me will make me believe otherwise.  Not even the coronavirus.

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)

Welcoming Grief and Sadness

I used to think Christians had all the answers, all the luck, great health, beautiful children, perpetual happiness.  I mean, regardless of what life handed them, there they were, ready to jump into a lion's den or hang upside down on a cross or shake hands with a leper.  Christians never got sad, did they? At least not for a long period of time, because they had eternity to be happy...and they had so many friends, and of course, they have God on their side, right? All that singing and clapping and hallelujah stuff....Christians are a bunch of happy campers. And they NEVER EVER stay sad for long. Right? So, as a Christian, if I am sad, I must be doing something wrong, right?

Wrong.  

Sadness and grief. These are powerful emotions, and normal reactions to human loss. God understands that--He created us, and our jumbled bag of emotions. Jesus, fully human, yet fully God, wept when Lazarus died. I know this, my head knows this, my soul knows this, yet I was struggling with welcoming my grief. But I am getting better at it. Because hiding my grief with false smiles, with busy-ness, with depression, behind facades of "I'm fine, how are you?s" was just too damn exhausting.  

Despite previous posts, I am overwhelmed with sadness, practically every day lately. While no one has died, I have lost most of my birth family--my mother, my sisters, my sisters 'families--even though they are still living.  I have no recourse to right the wrongs, no way to confront them, no court in which I may recover what I have lost. The damage--irreparable. The grief--immeasurable, and at times, nearly unbearable. Writing helps, reading helps, keeping busy helps, and yes, praying definitely helps lessen the sadness, but in truth, I do not want to escape the sadness.  I embrace it. I welcome it. I ache for it. Because in this deep, dark pool of sadness, my faith is tested, my soul is stripped completely bare. The proverbial rug has been ripped out from under my feet, and my world as i knew it has been flipped completely upside down. Yes, I have some constants of my life; I am not Job, after all. I have my husband, my home, my children and precious grandchildren, my dad and stepmother, my in-laws.  I am loved, I have friends, I have my health. But as anyone who suffers loss, whether through death, or divorce, or separation, will tell you, sadness is not about what you have that matters--it is what you have lost.

In the depth of that heart-wrenching loss, with everything topsy-turvy, my world upside down, nothing making any sense; when at a moment's notice I may just burst into tears while drinking a cup of coffee at the local bakery, or run out and sit in my car and sob uncontrollably for two hours in the freezing cold; when I feel like sleeping and never getting up, when I get irrationally angry at my husband...I welcome the grief, the sadness, the accompanying confusion, because it truly does make me see the tenets of my faith clearer. For now I MUST lean on everything I have believed up until now, the advice and counsel I have so freely given to others in their times of need.  When the bottom has fallen out of the boat, and you don't know how to swim anymore, the only option is to fall back on that life preserver that has been floating out there all along.  

I grab it. I hang on to it.  

Today it is the only thing keeping me afloat.