Only Still Waters Ripple

My days and my season are quiet. I’ve moved my family and spent the past month creating a home of comfort, support, and safety for them. The pictures are hung, furniture placed, and food is in the pantry. If I were to do nothing else from this day forward, my home is lovely, inviting, and cozy.

Now what?

There is a quiet in this home I have not known before—a stillness begging to be absorbed. Like so many I know, my mind and physical body rage against stillness. Stillness in my mind is equated with uselessness, laziness, and lack of purpose, drive, and achievement.

Yet here I am. Feeling forced to be still for lack of no other choice. My Jesus is faithful to meet me here. I am never alone. This morning, in my reading, He gave me this promise and this challenge:

“The Lord will fulfill His purpose for me. Psalm 138:8……What a blessing to lose our own strength, wisdom, plans, and desires and to be where every ounce of our being becomes like a peaceful Sea of Galilee under the omnipotent feet of Jesus!” (Cowan, Streams in the Desert, pg. 345, 1997.)

The Lord WILL fulfill His purpose for me. In my mind’s eye, the word will is bold-faced and in all caps every time I read that verse. It’s as if the Lord is stamping His promise into my soul to keep the fires of hope alive. He does see me, exactly where I am. He is working His purposes even in this stillness. He has a plan for my life He will fulfill. My Jesus wants me to cling to Him and wait and not lose hope.

He is Lord of the insignificant too. What I often view as meaningless, He is already weaving into the plan of eternity. I hear Him whisper in the quiet, “Trust Me.” If it wasn’t so quiet in my life right now, I wonder if I would hear Him so clearly?

Then the challenge! To consider it a blessing to be given a clean slate, to be stripped of my strength, wisdom, plans, and desires?!?! I’m not sure I’m there yet, but I can tell you the process is painful. To wake up every day with only the day before you, trusting God to fill it as He sees fit, unable to use the gifts He’s given except in the small realm of the four walls where you generally just exist. Every fiber of my being rages and strives, and I inwardly scream at the Lord, “Give me more! There must be more I can do for You! There must be more You want me to accomplish!” Only to be answered by the quiet stillness of this home, this season, this space in time, and my Jesus’ abiding presence.

You see, my soul is not a peaceful Sea of Galilee…yet. Lucky for me, my Jesus walks on the water in the middle of the storms of life as well, and He brings the peace with Him. I do want my life to be a peaceful sea for His feet to tread. I want His every step on my life to ripple as far as the eye can see, so that when people encounter my life, they can’t help but be touched by the ripple effect of His feet walking across my deep waters.

Only still waters ripple.

“Father, forgive me for raging against the stillness You have given. Make my life as still as it needs to be for You to ripple across the surface, for all who encounter me, to encounter You.”

Forgiven, Not Perfect

There’s a misperception about Christ-followers that we are perfect people with perfect lives. That joy flows from our pores; unicorns and rainbows our constant companions. Even as a Christian, I often feel I have failed to represent Jesus well when these are not my realities or outlooks on life. But that’s not truth. Truth is I am a broken woman even after 35 years of following Jesus. I live in a broken and hurting world, and I am just as affected by the marching beat of its sin as the next person.

The difference is I choose to look to Jesus to save me—not myself, a job, a calling, a passion, or another person. Even in pursuit of Him, I fail.

Truthfully, I haven’t spent much time in God’s Word these past few weeks, not with the regularity that saved me and kept me sane during quarantine, not daily. Since the move, I’ve been low, down, fighting feelings of uselessness, worthlessness, and meaninglessness. I know all these feelings can be combated with time in God’s Word, allowing Him to fill my heart and mind, but the depression begs me to sleep.

It beckons me to stay in bed and pretend another day doesn’t need my presence a little while longer. It is a sneaky, difficult foe to fight. The worship music I play around the house is a soothing reminder of my Jesus keeping the darkness at bay.

I always wonder why I allow myself to fall into this trap. Why don’t I make time to fellowship with the Lord? Why do I allow myself to neglect time with Him when I know it only helps and never hurts? When I reflect, I come up with three deeply honest answers…

One, I silently, secretly blame God for putting me in this season, in this waiting room. In response, I think I can “punish” Him by withdrawing my fellowship. What a fool, I can be in my own pride. As if the Creator can be punished by the created. The truth is I only punish myself because fellowship with Him is the breath I breathe, the very air in my lungs. (Job 33:4) Not to mention, what a petty, vindictive way to treat the Man who wants nothing but the best for me; Who’s sacrificed everything to prove His love for me and asked only for my trust in return.

Second, I’m tired. I’m sad. I’m in the process of healing. It takes time to recover. It takes energy—heart, mind, body, and soul—to recuperate from a hard hit. Big life changes are hard hits. Even the ones you see coming, the ones for which you think you’ve prepared, still hurt on impact. My Jesus knows this, and He gives grace to the weary. I may not be reading His Word the way I know I should, but I also know He’s pouring His grace out over me and into my life. I can feel it when I close my eyes and give thanks for the small things. He never leaves me.

Third, like most people I know in life, I hate admitting when I’m wrong. There are days I willingly choose not to engage in God’s Word. I choose television, tasks, chores, phone calls, word games, internet scrolling, shopping, sleep, or even exercise, but I won’t choose time with my Jesus. Because I am stubborn, and I know meeting with Him requires a humbled heart willing to confess my sins and ask for forgiveness. It requires a willingness to let go of what I want in life, so I can receive what He wants to give. Sometimes, my stubborn, prideful heart just wants to hold on to what I want a little while longer. Yet, I cannot receive more of Him while also holding on with both hands to what I want.

Right now, when I do read my Bible, I’m reading through Acts. This past week there was one verse in the chapter that has held my mind’s eye ever since, even on the days I’ve chosen not to engage in His Word.

Acts 3:19: “Therefore repent and return, so that your sins may be wiped away, in order that times of refreshing may come from the presence of the Lord.”

Isn’t my Jesus precious? Isn’t He gracious and good? When I read this verse, when it replays in my mind, it is not the voice of a sidewalk preacher. It is the voice of the Lover of my Soul pleading with me to come home and be with Him. Not begging as if He needs me but pleading out of love and concern because only He knows what is best for me, and He wants me to choose what’s best. He wants me to choose Him. To repent of my pride and foolishness and stubbornness, and simply return to His side where He promises my weary, hurting, healing heart, mind, and soul will be refreshed by His presence.

This friends, this makes all the difference. Christ-followers aren’t perfect; they are forgiven, and when we’re doing it well, when we’re living in the freedom of that forgiveness, there is a peace and joy and love that flows from the Holy Spirit dwelling with us. Emmanuel, God with us. You see Christians mess up just as much and just as badly as anyone else in this world, sometimes worse. But we’ve learned the art of admitting/confessing our mistakes, owning them, asking for forgiveness, and moving forward with another clean slate in the eyes of our God because of the shed blood of Christ. His mercies are new every morning and great is His faithfulness to His children (Lamentations 3:22-23)!

“Father, forgive me for my childishness. Forgive me for thinking I could punish You, Creator of the Universe. Forgive me for leaning into my weariness instead of leaning into You. Forgive me for my pride. Thank You for always being with me. Thank You that You never leave or forsake me no matter how often I leave and forsake You. Thank You for the promise of refreshing in Your presence. I’m here, Lord, with open hands. Fill me with more of You.”

Count Your Blessings

This blog is both old and new. I started writing it years ago I think, but today it hits fresh as I commit to this practice once more. Challenged by a friend to join her in being grateful, I then combed through my writings to find this—a reminder of where I once was, and where I am again, and how God gently reminds us to be filled by Him, His Word, His promises, His commands. In this season of emptiness, but being filled, I need this discipline. I’m asking the Lord to give me eyes to see the things for which I can be grateful.

 

So, I've started counting my blessings—again—and literally. I've taken to the simple task of making a list of 5-10 things every day for which I'm grateful. Lists of gratefulness, lists of gifts, lists of blessings. Sometimes I jot them quickly at the beginning of my day and sometimes at the end. I even find myself speaking them out loud in my car sometimes, "I am grateful for...."

 

And once again, I'm blown away by the change this simple discipline is making in my life.

 

You see, we talk about the knowledge of the things we know. We know we have things for which to be grateful. We know we are blessed. Our head acknowledges this, but does our heart feel it? If you want to feel a thought, we all inevitably must put action to it. The Bible calls it obedience (James 1:22). His Word says to give thanks, over and over again in scripture. 1 Thessalonians 5:18 actually says it is God’s will that we do so in everything! The thoughts in my head are only that...thoughts. God knows them, but Satan doesn't, your family doesn't, sometimes even we ourselves are not cognizant of them until they have flesh and bones, until they are words written on a page or given the breath of life by being spoken out loud. 

 

Give thanks. Give is an action, not a passive thought. Give of your time by making the list. Give of your energy by saying the words out loud. Give simply but give. Obey. Even when you don't want to, especially if you don't want to. And when you can't give thanks, when life hurts too much and you can't see a single gift to count, ask a friend what they see in your life and give someone else the gift of being a blessing to you in your darkest need.

 

I have been in dark places. Sat in dark pits of my heart and mind. I chose to quest for joy some time ago. I chose to treasure hunt for joy because I love Jesus, and He says joy is a fruit of His Spirit which I know resides within me (Galatians 5:22), so I have a right to joy, my life in Christ produces the byproduct of joy, not just for others to experience, but for myself as well.  If I believe this to be true, then I need to know what joy is to experience it in my life. I need to know how God defines joy, how He sees it, how He gifts it, and how I can recognize it in my own life.

 

It is a quest for sure, maybe a lifelong one. Psalm 16:11 has proven to be truth time and time again: I have found joy to be God's presence. Anywhere, anything where you can actively acknowledge, see, proclaim the presence of the Lord, there is joy. I find Him in His creation, so I take long walks on the beach and could stare at the ocean for hours. (Well, this was a favorite. I’m trusting God to fill this area as well with something new.) I find His presence in small blessings throughout my day, but to appreciate all those blessings, I need to write them down, to capture the thought, to make it captive to daylight and pen and paper and reality (2 Corinthians 10:5). 

 

Counting God's gifts releases joy from a spiritual plane into our earthly one. I need this in my life right now. I need the power of the Spirit to be fresh wind and fresh fire in my soul here, now, in this physical world. I want the Spirit Himself to fill my sails and propel me forward into where God is leading next, so I will begin with the simplest of disciplines. I will give thanks.

 

Thank You, Father, that I know Georgia is where You alone have led us.

Thank You that I don’t have to second guess this decision.

Thank You for gifting us a home that is just the right size.

Thank You for a husband who sees me and our family in our pain and seeks to serve You first and us second.

Thank You for children who love You, Father, who are rooted firmly in Your truth.

Thank You for the school You built in California that prepared them to be light in Georgia.

Thank You for the truth of Your Word that is an anchor to the soul.

Thank You for being with me when I seek Your presence.

Thank You for the gift of Your only Son, so I can experience the gift of Your very presence with me every day.

Thank You for the blue of my pool in the backyard that reminds me of the ocean.

Thank You for the towering trees of green wrapping this home in beauty.

Thank You for white paint and daylight light bulbs to brighten a space.

Thank You for sunlight that filters through the shade to enlighten dark spaces adding beauty, warmth, and shine as it does so.

Thank You for all the ways Your creation declares Your glory, Lord (Psalm 19:1). May I be a reflection of You as well.

 

 

Getting Comfortable with Uncomfortable

I can feel the rumblings of a new beginning. I’ve been here before. I am resistant. That’s the problem with getting comfortable in life.

Seven years ago, when I was alone and uncomfortable in life, I walked the California beaches alone and prayed desperately for God to meet me and to bring friends into my life. He answered far above and beyond what I could have hoped or imagined.

In time, life got good, comfortable. I stopped praying to meet new people. I stopped praying for God use to me because I was being used daily within the circle of people He had already given. In some ways, I stopped needing Him because He had provided all that I had trusted Him to provide.

That’s not a bad place to be! If I’ve learned anything, I want to recognize and enjoy the good gifts of the Lord—every day. I want to be grateful for His blessings and answered prayers while also always seeking Him for more. Not more things or people or experiences, but more of Himself, more of what He wants for my life. That’s what you stop doing as much when life gets comfortable or predictable even. You forget Jesus is always calling you to more of Himself.

Don’t you think God knows this? He knows that change is good for us. It feeds our souls. It stretches and strengthens us in ways we cannot orchestrate for ourselves. I truly believe if we ever get too comfortable and slow the pace of seeking His face, He will gift change to break the spell of comfort. We can seek change for ourselves willingly, or we will be given change unexpectedly. We can accept this is what is best, or we can fight tooth and nail against the changing tide. Change is inevitable in life, much like death. To refuse to acknowledge the presence of either in this life is foolishness.

And much like death, change must be grieved. Anger, denial, sadness, acceptance—these are all part of the process of change. Our culture doesn’t like the emotions of anger, denial, and sadness. It frowns upon their presence. We don’t know how to sit and just be with people who are angry, in denial, or sad, so we often leave them alone until they’ve reached acceptance. When they’ve had time to accept is when it’s safe to reach out. Until they’ve reached acceptance, investing in them means weathering hurt feelings, irrational outbursts, frustrating mindsets, and tears—so many tears.

Yet, those are the people I treasure! The ones who lean in and take nothing personally when “attacked” because they’re wise enough to know there’s more going on under the surface than themselves. They stay. They connect. They seek the ones who can’t seek for themselves right now.

Isn’t that what Jesus did? He went to the people hurting and seeking and always met them right where they were. He leaned in and got dirty and sat with them in their homes. He listened to their cries, spoke with them in the dark, and gently showed them truth. He gave them the gift of Himself—His presence, His attention, His truth, His time, His acceptance of their shortcomings. He spoke most harshly to those who would judge these in their anger, denial, and sadness.

My life just got flipped, turned upside down, and I’ve been taking a minute to process here in Georgia. I’m back to the lonely days of just me and Jesus. I’m back to seeking His company first. I probably should have never stopped. I’m soaking in my time with just Him because I’ve learned it’s during this hard season of quiet stillness and waiting, when Jesus sits with you that the enormity of His presence fills and stretches the heart slowly. For me, He uses this time to not just allow wounds to rest and heal but to strengthen the muscles of my heart I will need to move forward, to enlarge and make space in me for what He will provide to fill.

It’s uncomfortable to be stretched, sometimes even painful. But like I said, I’ve been here before. I trust the process a little bit more this time around. I know these quiet days won’t last. God will fill them in His time in ways He sees best; I need only wait and watch and be ready.

“So, Father, fill me with You. Fill all of me. Stretch me with Your great abiding presence. I will wait. I will wait for You to move first, and where You go, I will go because I know now, You’ve already walked the path ahead of me, and You know what I need today to be ready for tomorrow. So, I trust You bottle all my tears, Lord. Not one of them is shed in secret or in vain. Thank You for valuing and loving me enough to change me, to mold me into Your unique creation. Thank You that even in the pain of the grief of change, You are with me. I am never alone.”

Further In and Further Up

At the end of the Last Battle by C.S. Lewis, as the world of Narnia is ending, a magnificent door is opened to Aslan’s land and all who enter gain a renewed strength and vigor and joy. As they begin to run faster and faster with no effort or strain or difficulty, Aslan encourages them with these words, “Further in and further up! Further in and further up!”

Those words ring in my ears as we begin to close the final chapter of our California book. My Jesus has opened a new door in Georgia, and I can hear His encouragement, I feel His presence by my side, and while I am not taking my steps daily without much effort, every movement forward feels like trudging through a muddy mire, difficult, tedious and laden with sadness, still I hear Him gently whisper, “Keep going. Further in and further up.” And in that encouragement, my soul stirs with small sparks of hope. There is more ahead and more beyond.

Onward and upward. The way through the muck and mire and mud of life is always further in and further up, forward and higher ground. I find myself re-reading and meditating on Psalm 121 through these difficult days. A psalm of ascent, nonetheless. How fitting.

Psalm 121 (NIV)

A song of ascents.

¹ I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
    where does my help come from?
² My help comes from the Lord,
    the Maker of heaven and earth.

³ He will not let your foot slip—
    he who watches over you will not slumber;
⁴ indeed, he who watches over Israel
    will neither slumber nor sleep.

⁵ The Lord watches over you—
    the Lord is your shade at your right hand;
⁶ the sun will not harm you by day,
    nor the moon by night.

⁷ The Lord will keep you from all harm—
    he will watch over your life;
⁸ the Lord will watch over your coming and going
    both now and forevermore.

As I read this psalm, I realize the traveler is not ascending…yet. They lift their eyes because the ascent is ahead. Onward and upward, further in and further up. They are probably still in the valley, maybe the valley of the shadow of death. They must keep going and go through what lies ahead, but their help comes from the Lord where they lift their eyes to focus.

This is where I am. Resolute in lifting my eyes daily to Whom my help comes from. The tears will fall, and the steps are hard, but I am determined to go further in and further up with my Jesus on the path He has charted. Not once has He left my side. Never once have I ever walked alone.

Maybe you too find yourself in the muck and mire and mud of life. The steps are hard and sticky. Lift your eyes. Set your gaze ahead. Further in and further up. The valley and the bog will have an end, but until they do there is always more of Jesus to know. Dive further into Him, and He will lead you further up. He makes the journey worthwhile. He gives it meaning.

I’m going by the upper road, for that still holds the sun,

I’m climbing through night’s pastures where the starry rivers run:

If you should think to seek me in my old dark abode,

You’ll find this writing on the door, “(S)he’s on the Upper Road.”

–selection from Streams in the Desert, July 2. (Emphasis mine)

We're Moving--What It Looks Like to Follow

In December we got the phone call that made it official. Summer of 2021, our family would move back to Georgia.

We had known for over a year this was the direction we might be heading. We had talked about it in brief conversations, always putting it off for another day or month until we just couldn’t put it off any longer.

But that phone call made it very real and very permanent. This chapter is closing for our family and a new one is about to begin.

And before the well-meaning love and excitement of friends and family from the east coast begins to pour in, I need you all to know, I love you, but I don’t want to leave California.

A piece of my heart will always call Georgia home. It’s where the seeds of my faith, beliefs, and family values were planted, watered, and grown.  

But California is where my soul has sung a song I didn’t know I could sing. I have found an intimacy with my Jesus, my husband, my children, and my friendships I didn’t know was possible.

To leave the life we have built here is an act of pure, submitted obedience to how we feel the Lord is leading both Joey and I in our prayers and conversations with the Lord. We go where our God sends us, no questions asked, just trust.

It was the story of the sending of Abraham that moved us out here (Genesis 12), and it is the story of Abraham sacrificing Isaac moving me back (Genesis 22).

Because I am not the same person returning as I was when I left. Seven years of my highest highs and lowest lows, of relying on my family of four, of learning to depend upon strangers who became family, of self-reflection and therapy and stretching myself—seven years of talking to God first and more because sometimes He was the only One around to listen. I am not who I was when I left, and my soul longs to stay. The calling of Abraham to sacrifice his promised heir and beloved son feels very relatable with this move. I feel I am being asked to sacrifice all the promises God fulfilled of my own dreams here in California, trusting He knows best and has better plans ahead.

I wanted California to be my Promised Land. I wanted to put down roots here and bask in the beauty of its coastlines, the wonder of the ocean, and majesty of the mountains for all my days. To live here is to have access to adventure and exploration every weekend for the rest of your life. On my down days, my low days, riding waves in the frigid ocean is refreshing, renewing, and rejuvenating. In the chill of the water, the weight of the world washes away, and I’m left like a child with the thrill of the moment right in front of me. I am fully present. Salt, wave, ocean, sunset, bonfire, my children playing, my framily laughing—fully present in the gifts of God in my life. Soaking them all into my being like the sunshine that is always present. Never wishing to be somewhere else.

I love my Peach State home, and in the fall, I will relish the crisp temperatures, the need for fuzzy sweaters, and the sound of leaves rustling. In the spring, I will smile at cherry blossoms and how the world comes alive with green. I will reconnect with family and find joy in the journey of high school for my children, but I’m not sure I will ever not wish to be somewhere else.

Part of me prays that’s not true, that the ache of leaving will fade, and part of me prays I can carry the weight of wanting because the people in California I will want to be with are that dear to me. For them to cease being a part of my life, feels like a death I cannot bear.

There is not a day that passes I don’t shed at least one small tear over saying goodbye, over last experiences here on the west coast, over a chapter in a book that is ending, and you just wish it weren’t. It was that good. It is that good. I’d reread it again and again.  

But there is a peace that surpasses all understanding (Philippians 4:6). A peace that only comes from my Jesus Who abides with me daily. We already have a home. The Lord quite literally handed us the perfect house on a silver platter in the middle of downtown Marietta paying below appraisal. If that’s not a modern-day parting of the Red Sea in today’s real estate climate, I don’t know what is. The Lord has given us a peace and a path for sending our kids to Marietta City Schools for education next year. This will be their first experience with public school, and I covet your prayers for them and for me. Again, another choice covered in supernatural peace, shrouded in its own layers of the unknown.

It’s difficult to describe the inner tug-of-war inside my mind, but my soul is at peace. I rest assured God will not lead me anywhere He has not already been Himself, nor somewhere He will not go with me.

We are not told much about Abraham’s emotions, thoughts, or reactions as he made that trek to Mount Moriah with Isaac. Was he angry at God? Did he curse and mumble under his breath as he cut the wood for the sacrifice of his son? Did tears of great grief and fear fall from his eyes as his aged hands shakily packed the knife that would take his son? Did he set his course with eyes fixed full of hope knowing His God was true, no matter the cost? We don’t know.

And I think we don’t know because it doesn’t matter. Abraham’s emotions, reasons and thoughts were all secondary to his obedience. In the end, how he got to the point of obedience was not as important as the actual act of walking by faith and loving nothing on this earth more than he loved God.

I want that kind of faith and trust in Jesus as my legacy. I have screamed and wept and hoped also on this journey to leave California, but in the end, what will matter, what does matter, is our family will obey and follow in faith where the Lord leads, no matter the cost. I have no reason to believe my Jesus will not provide every step of the journey, one moment at a time. He has already gone before us. He has already made smooth so many rocky paths. He has remained true and so must I.

Like so many stories in the Bible, Abraham’s is not just a story, it’s an example to follow. It’s the instructions to life we so desperately seek, crave, and beg God to give. He already has. He’s given us all we need for life and godliness in the scriptures and the Holy Spirit, all made possible by the death and resurrection of his only begotten, beloved Son (2 Peter 1:3, 2 Timothy 3:16). Maybe one of the things I love most about my Jesus is He never asks me to walk the path of an experience He does not already know intimately Himself (Hebrews 4:15). The details may look different, but the emotions of the heart are the same. He knows what it takes to do what He asks from first-hand experience.

Why would I not follow? How could I ever think I have a better plan or better way? Where He goes, I go. His people will be my people, and His land my land (Ruth 1:16). ‘Til death we unite. To live is Christ and to die is gain (Philippians 1:21). The older I get, the longer I follow, the more that phrase makes sense.

What do you choose to follow so passionately you willingly sacrifice all that is most dear to you? Is it worth it? My Jesus is always worth it.

Own Your Story

Three years have passed since I first penned the following words. Three years. I don’t live in this dark space as much as often anymore, but I still do the work to keep the darkness at bay. Every day.

Someone reading this needs to hear these honest words. I know I’m not alone. I know depression threatens the life force of so many in our culture—another weapon of Satan’s to deaden our souls. Yet when cast at the feet of Jesus, He has used it as a tool to soften and sharpen me at the same time. In Jesus’ hands, my struggles with depression have grown me, matured me, and drawn me closer to Him. He is my True Savior in every way.

So read these words with grace and compassion for those you may know who also struggle. For those who battle silently, maybe even yourself…...

 

 “I live inside a cage my mind has built. I’m not sure when the cage started to form. I could point to early signs of anxiety in middle school, so one could blame hormones and puberty. I could point to an OCD like ambition in school, a need for perfectionism that I’m sure docked years off my life as I lived utterly stressed until I graduated Summa Cum Laude from college. Those words look nice on a diploma now, but they carry no weight, no meaning--just a reminder that I lost sight of life going on around me earlier than some.

I got married soon after and discovered I was equally good at analyzing myself and my husband as I was my schoolteachers and assignments. Living life became a subject to analyze and respond accordingly in order to pass. No wonder when the unexpected adult disappointments in life began to pile up, I was emotionally unprepared to fail. And failure took its toll.

I failed. Often. Over and over again. I became keenly aware and scarred by every failure.

If someone reading this hears one thing in this message, hear me say I desperately want to be rid of the negative, fatalistic, dream-killing attitude I have toward life sometimes. I WANT to be my biggest cheerleader because I’m everyone else’s. I desperately desire for my feelings to match the good actions and choices I choose to make in life. I’ve prayed for relief, for healing from this mind curse. I’ve begged God to increase my faith, so that doubt and second guessing and paranoia wouldn’t cloud my judgement. That my energy wouldn’t be sucked away from inward mind battles--battles spent capturing every thought, all the time, 24/7.

And so far, God has only answered all my prayers with a therapist, some anti-depressants, and now a psychiatrist referral. How did this happen? Why is this happening? Is this who I’ve always been? I don’t think so. In my mind’s eye, I may have been stressed for most of my life, but I was happy. I think I was. Was I? Depression makes you doubt everything about yourself. It skews reality, casting long dark shadows over the brightest memories, and promising nothing but rain clouds on the horizon.

And so, I take the meds, and I make and keep the appointments, but I grieve for the person I use to be so many years ago. I grieve the loss and dampening of her drive and spirit. I grieve because she had a great life and good years surrounded by good people. I grieve because I’ve prayed for her to be returned to me, and my answer is therapists, drugs, and a psychiatrist.

And I’m angry. Angry that this is the answer to my prayers. Angry that the mind God gave me is being given this weight to carry, this thorn in the flesh. We all have our “thing” I’m told, and I’m seething mad that mine is depression. 

So, I guess I’ve hopped around all over the stages of grief over this topic for many, many years now. The only stage I’ve never landed in is acceptance. How do I accept that my children will grow up with a depressed mother? How do I accept that my husband may never have the bride of his youth again? He deserves so much better. How do I accept that this disease of the mind will bleed into and taint every relationship I choose to make from here on out in my life? How do I not crawl into a hole and give up? How do I ever regain my energy for life when it’s being spent daily on managing my mind? How do I accept this new reality?

I don’t know.

My favorite devotion, Streams in the Desert, says, “Unbelief continually asks, ‘How can this be possible?’ It is always full of ‘how’s’, yet faith needs only one great answer to even ten thousand ‘how’s’. That answer is--GOD!” 

God. Jesus. The Bible.

Such simple answers to all the difficult questions. I used to be ok with these answers. I used to trust them unwaveringly. The core of me still does, but life has taken its toll. Unexplainable, unfathomable tragedies have left their doubts embedded deep in my faith. Oh, me of little faith. “Lord, increase my faith and help me to believe again with the fervor of my youth.” All these realities I confess and lay before the feet of my Jesus. I pray these prayers and hope and look for signs of healing.

Acceptance looks like, maybe, that I’m not supposed to be healed. I will be helped, never alone, never forsaken, never devalued in the sight of my King, but never healed. Oh, me of little faith? I don’t know. I don’t think so. Not this time. I think acceptance looks like being able to admit I have chronic depression and not just resign myself to a life of managing it but choose to commit myself to a life of managing it. Instead of being depression’s hapless victim, I must trust that my God is bigger, claim His victory over my life, and walk like I am more than a conqueror in Christ Jesus my Lord (Romans 8:31-39), gaze shifted high and fixed on the eyes of my Jesus who loves me with an undying, unchangeable, relentless love. He will not fail me though I will fail Him.

My mind may churn and spin, but Jesus is not chaos. He is a Strong Refuge, an Anchor, a Rock, and He is mighty to save (Zephaniah 3:17). He makes me lie down in green pastures and leads me beside still waters. (Psalm 23)

My outlook on life may weigh heavy with what is bleak, but Jesus is Light in the darkness (John 1:4-5). He is Hope (1 Peter 1:3-6). His yoke is easy and burden light compared to going it alone without Him (Matthew 11:28-30). When I walk through the valleys of deaths in all forms in this life, His rod and staff comfort and guide me.

My body grows weak from this physical fight, but my Jesus is Strong. He is the embodiment of all Strength. He will give me the gift of Himself to help me bear up under that which is too much for me to bear alone. He will give me the wings of the eagle to soar (Isaiah 40:31).

All these truths I know, but do not feel. That doesn’t make them lies.

Acceptance looks like choosing joy instead of feeling joy. When I figure out what that looks like practically, I’ll let you know.

Acceptance looks like me owning this part of my story and being willing to share it, instead of hiding in the shame of the stigma.

Accepting this new reality is scary and hard, and maybe I won’t. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be better. Yet acceptance knows that is a lie. There is no “better” when it comes to depression, there is managed. The question isn’t, ‘Do I feel better today?’, the question now becomes, ‘Am I managing well today?’ 

Accepting this new reality means not getting offended when people close to me ask if I’ve been taking my medication. Accountability and support are vital for anyone who is sick.

Acceptance looks like owning this as part of my story, but not letting it define who I am in Christ.”

 

…… And this is the path I have traveled. Will travel. For three years, I have taken a pill every morning when I put on my deodorant. For three years I’ve check in with a therapist at minimum once a month. I exercise regularly. I watch what I eat. I know my triggers and the signs of an impending crash. I can ask for solitude, and I schedule self-care and sabbath.

But most importantly of all—of all the work, of all the treatments—I spend time with my Jesus. Every day in some way. He is crucial to my mental health. He is the foundation making all the other treatments effective. They are all necessary, but He is essential. Without Him at the foundation of it all, the treatments fail in my own strength. They are not enough because without the source of His power in my life, I am not enough. Anyone trying to convince themselves otherwise is sadly mistaken and foolishly misled.

Today, I don't feel healed from depression, but I am at peace with how the Lord has chosen to help me. He may choose to heal me completely one day because He can, but if He doesn't, His grace is sufficient for today (2 Corinthians 12:9). I'm not angry anymore about popping a pill every day. I'm not ashamed either. Acceptance is still a work in progress. Finding joy and feeling it still a journey, but one I don't walk alone. Never alone (Matthew 28:20).

We are a world surrounded by embattled hearts and minds. Tread lightly. Recognize the rock of judgement heavy in your hand before you throw it. And maybe more importantly for some, remember to give yourself the grace you give to others so well.

How will you tap into the Source of acceptance and ownership of your thorns in the flesh? Your hard things? Today, how will you show grace toward someone who’s trying to reach their point of acceptance and ownership? How can you be Jesus or give Jesus to someone today, even if that someone is yourself?