In Honor of the Struggling

Two years ago, I wrote a blog post about conquering depression, about Christ’s power to overcome such things. I bragged on my God and how He saved me from that crippling pain, how I hadn’t been on medication for three years, how despite life’s troubles depression hadn’t ‘won’ since I’d become a daughter of God.

But what about when it does?

I have been swallowed by the darkness these past two years. I’ve become more acquainted with madness than I’d ever been before I wrote that post. I’ve ached for death, cried out for God to just end it because in my fractured mind I truly could not see a reason not to. Jesus, forgive me for those times, those moments sitting alone in my car sobbing for death, for the days I drove, bleary-eyed, ready and willing to crash into the nearest tree if that meant release from the torment in my darkened mind. I was so lost. There are still days where my blood stops running, my mind fogs over and my heart goes cold, and no amount of sunlight can draw me from my damp cave. There are still days when the madness wins.

So what about those days? Am I not a daughter of God then? Is Jesus not winning then? Have I not believed enough? Am I too weak? Am I cursed? Will I always bow down to the darkness instead of my God?

I am sorry for my misleading thoughts two years ago. There is so much I don’t know. There is so much I don’t understand. Sometimes I talk like I do, and then two years pass, and I feel like a fool.

Me and God, we run circles around these questions. I beg Him to explain to me where my depression stops being physical and becomes spiritual. I beg Him to tell me if I’ve earned this sentence, have I done something to deserve it? I beg Him to show me how to beat it. Am I disappointing you every time I swallow back the pills? Does He look on me with saddened eyes, shaking His head, and say, “If only you believed a little more, child,”?

But the more I ask the more He answers with insight only a Savior burrowed deep inside my soul could know: All I’m really asking is for Him to draw a line in the sand, showing me where my fault begins and ends. Show me where my burden of guilt is, Lord, how much of this is a pile of shame I should haul onto my back?

And He won’t answer that question. He only holds me. He only lets me cry for hours, soak through His tunic, shake His body with my sobs. And He says nothing. The darkness comes and He waits beside me until it passes, does not cast a glance at me as if to say, “Why’d you let it come again?” I shudder at the monsters trying to make friends again and He takes my hand, gets between me and the gory-faced beasts. He comforts me until the fear leaves. Quiets me every time I say, “I’m sorry.”

I don’t know a lot of things. But I’m sure about a few. So here are some truths for anyone else who may need them as much as I do, in honor of World Mental Health Day. In honor of us.

  1. Jesus will not ever leave your side. Start picturing Him beside you when you’re walking and each step feels like a burden. He’s there. Start imagining Him in the passenger seat, driving with you as you sob to that song again. He’s there. Start remembering Him when you’re frozen on the couch, too lost in your thoughts to move a muscle. He’s sitting next to you. No matter how dark your thoughts get, how angry you are, or how many times you’ve pushed Him away. He promised never to leave you or forsake you. He won’t.
  2. It’s okay if you’re on medication for the rest of your life. Don’t let ANYONE tell you you’re less than, or weak, or not trying hard enough because you take medication. I’m still working through my anger on this subject, so personally my suggestion is to just punch them in the face. Alternatively, you can remind yourself that Jesus accepts murderers, rapists, cheaters, heathens, and hypocrites without batting an eye. He definitely accepts you, medications and all.
  3. This is not a punishment. In all honesty, I don’t know what it is. I don’t know why some of us have depression or anxiety or bipolar disorder or obsessive-compulsive disorder or eating disorders or any other mental health issue and others don’t. I do know it’s a result of sin in the world, just like any other illness. It’s not what God intended. But I really, truly do not believe it’s ever a punishment. The few occasions that Jesus was faced with a “why was this person born blind?” question, He never attributed it to any fault of their own. Jesus said that He came to give life and life to the full. He didn’t come to hand out depression sentences. Amen.
  4. You’re not alone. In addition to the fact that Jesus is always with you, you’re also surrounded by people who understand. Anxiety disorders alone affect 40 million adults in the United States age 18 and older. 40 million people. And I can tell you, as someone who participated in mental illness support groups, that regardless of what the illness is, the experiences are all very similar. Someone beside you on the bus knows how you feel. The person checking you out at the register has sobbed themselves to sleep. Your classmate could be your ally, if you let them. Also, if you’re reading this, it means that you now know me and have me to reach out to, too. When you feel horrible because you must be the only person thinking these “insane” thoughts, please know that this is not true. You’re not horrible. You’re human, like the rest of us.
  5. Which brings me to my last point: This is not your fault. We always want to blame someone, don’t we? And when the issue seems to be “all in our head” the only one to blame is ourselves. But no. Banish that belief right now. You didn’t ask for this. Stop looking for a line in the sand, because the answer is none of this is on you. You’re struggling. It’s not always easy to shower. It’s not always easy to keep up. It’s not always easy to want to keep breathing. And the statistics of mental illness prove that this is not uncommon. You didn’t cause this. Just like a cancer patient doesn’t will their tumors to grow, you didn’t forcibly develop your own mental illness. Put down the hatchet. Stop whipping yourself. You can’t blame yourself and try to heal at the same time. You’re just a broken human being living in a broken world. We all are. It’s okay. Admit when it’s too much. We’re all in this club together, and we need to stop treating it like Fight Club and start TALKING about it. Life is hard. Sometimes it’s harder than it should be, harder for some people than it is for others. But it’s no one’s fault. And you don’t have to take the burden of guilt, because it’s already been borne on the cross by Jesus two thousand years ago. Stop trying to pick it back up, and just breathe. That’s all that’s really expected of you. Just keep breathing. Everything else doesn’t matter.

I rambled. But someone needed to read this, and even if they didn’t, I needed to write it. My name is Carla Ramsey, and I have (several) mental illnesses that I battle all the time. It’s not my fault. I’m not alone. I take medication and that’s freakin’ fine. I’m still a child of God, and no one and no thing (not even the big bad depression monsters) can take that away from me. Jesus, my Jesus, will never leave me in the darkness, will never blame me for struggling with it. I’m safe to hurt, safe to cry, safe to struggle.

If you feel alone tonight, hold on to this scripture, which I recently rediscovered. Your pain is precious to God:

You keep track of all my sorrows.
You have collected all my tears in your bottle.
You have recorded each one in your book. Psalm 56:8

So, here it is. My amendment to the post from two years ago. It’s not perfect, just like its predecessor. I’m not perfect. And that’s okay, because my Jesus loves me even if all I ever manage to do is breathe.

 

Author’s note: I don’t disagree with any of the things I said in my old post, exactly. I just wanted to pour a little grace on top. 

If anyone is struggling, please do not hesitate to talk to someone. And if there’s no one in your life that you feel safe talking to, the people at these numbers are trained and happy to be a listening ear or a resource for help. God bless.
Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255
Crisis Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255

 

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How God Feels About You: A Reminder, Courtesy of Pixar

So last night I was watching Pixar’s Inside Out again (because sometimes you just want to make yourself cry, you know?) and I came to the scene where Joy and Bing Bong have just fallen into the Memory Dump. Everything has gone downhill. Joy and Sadness are both lost from “headquarters,” and without them, all Riley (our protagonist whose head we are inside of) can feel is Fear, Anger, and Disgust. She’s also missing her “core memories” which are what make Riley who she is. Without them, she is losing her love for family, friends, hockey, silliness, and honesty. She is losing herself. Because of this, Riley has just decided to run away from home. Joy knows this, but has no way to get back to headquarters to help save the girl they all love so dearly. Riley’s emotions are shutting down altogether, and she is becoming lost in a state of hopelessness and depression. In this moment, Joy is overwhelmed with the love she has for Riley and her desperate desire to help her.

Here is the scene, if you’ve never seen it:


As Joy picks up different memories of Riley, she recalls the special things about her that she loves so deeply. Looking at a little Riley coloring, she says, “Do you remember how she used to stick her tongue out when she was coloring?” And holding a memory of Riley telling silly stories, she earnestly adds, “I could listen to her stories all day.” Finally, looking at a memory of young Riley laughing joyfully and feeling overcome with sadness herself, Joy cries, “I just wanted Riley to be happy.”  

It struck me as I watched this scene that there are people in my life who feel this way about me. Chiefly my parents, but I know there are others too. Probably more than I realize. People who look at me and recall memories and feel love for me simply because of who I am, people who want joy for me. And then I was openly sobbing on my bed because I realized, God feels this way about me, too.

More than she represents anyone else in my life, Joy represents God in this scene. I picture Him, the Lord of all Creation, weeping over my heartbreak. I picture Him holding memories of a young Princess Jade and smiling sadly, because He just wants life for me. He just wants joy for me. God is holding little globes of my memories and whispering, “Do you remember how she always tried to catch lizards? She was so unafraid of the world.” He picks up another, “I could read her poetry all day—even the ones from middle school. She put so much life into them.” Another, “Her laugh is so full, so loud. I miss that sound.” He picks up a glowing blue memory and holds it to His chest. It’s me, a puddle on the floor, wracked with sorrow, crying out for someone to help me. And God loves me as deeply in that sad memory as He did in the joyful ones. He loves me for every single one. For every part of me, even the ugly memories that I’d rather forget. And He cries, “I hate it when she hurts,” He says, “I died so she’d have freedom and life. I just want her to have life.”

That’s real. That’s not make believe. That’s not a Disney movie. That is real life, happening right now. God feels that way about you right now.

God despairs for us. He feels pain over our pain. He aches for us to have joy and is jealous when we seek it elsewhere. God is looking at memories you can’t even remember anymore and loving you for them. He knows every single inch of your brain, has the blueprints memorized, can recall every single detail there is to know about you down to the number of atoms in your body and the amount of blood in your veins, and HE. LOVES. YOU. He knows you, and He loves you. And He desperately, desperately wants you to let Him save you.

Watch the video again. And this time, picture God instead of Joy, and you instead of Riley.

And believe it. It’s real.

Sitting in Sorrow

Author’s Note: Dedicated to my dear friend, James. Jesus is right beside you in this, my brother. I love you.

I love the band Flyleaf. They are unafraid to sing about raw pain in the light of their Christianity. They don’t pretend that sorrow doesn’t exist as a Christian, but instead describe Christ speaking into our grief.

I was listening to one such song, aptly titled ‘Sorrow’, when the following lyrics struck me deeply:

Sitting closer than my pain
He knew each tear before it came

Right now I am going through a period of time where I frequently find myself sobbing in my car at random intervals. I am unashamed to say it: I am suffering from massive mood swings. And because of this many of my days are knit with deep, intense sorrow; the battle against depression is being waged yet again. So when I heard these lyrics they echoed in my head, the question reverberating through me for days afterward, “How?” How could Jesus be closer than pain that felt etched into my very being?

So that Sunday, I decided to ask Him. Desperate and aching with helplessness for my life, the lives of my loved ones, the world at large—heavy with the darkness surrounding me—I reached out. The following is the prayer that I wrote to Christ in that moment, unedited in its rawness:

Jesus,

Do you really sit closer than my pain? You know what it looks like. You can describe it so much better than I can. It’s so large and monstrous. It looms over me, breathing down my neck and soaking me in fear and panic and uncertainty and anger and hatred and self-loathing and depression and lethargy and hopelessness and I can’t see passed the fog it surrounds me in. It’s black smoke, so thick it’s almost solid. Almost like a pitch black box that I have no way of getting out of. If it’s all around me, how can you be closer than it? I don’t understand… Are you in the pain, in the smoking darkness? Are you in me?

Where are you, Jesus? Make it clear to me.

I don’t want to question your presence. Reveal yourself to me. Where are you in the darkness? Please. I need to know I’m not alone here in this haunted place. Are you behind me, watching my back while I grope around helplessly? Are you a light that I just can’t see? Reveal yourself to me, Lord.

Are you closer than my pain? Get between it and me. I want to feel it and know it’s there. I don’t want to numb it; I just don’t want it to take me down like it has been. I’m pinned to the floor, heavy black smoke upon me, choking me. Get between us, Christ.

Help me. Help me. Help me.

I put my notebook down. I listened to the sermon, took fervent notes, the black smoke still on my back. Though I sat in a chair surrounded by Christians, what I pictured was a haunted house. Colorless. Whispering voices, staring eyes, hungry growls coming from every direction. No windows, no doors. Just a huge, putrid, decrepit house that I was hopelessly lost in. And no matter how quickly I ran, the heavy, daunting black smoke followed me, always at my heels. And in that moment it had caught me and I was pinned to the floor, tasting ragged carpet and being taunted at every angle by the voices, the eyes, the growls. The black smoke covered me until it seemed that maybe it was me—me and my pain, merging so that I would never be rid of it again. How could Christ be closer than a pain that felt like it was all around me and inside me?

After the sermon we took prayer requests from our small number of members. As we bowed our heads in prayer I folded my hands together, because I sat alone. But in that moment I felt a hand over my own, holding it as we began to pray. In my mind I lifted my head and saw Christ sitting to my right, smiling with tender eyes. I heard Him whisper, “I’m here. Silent tears slid down my cheeks as my brothers and sisters prayed on around me, unaware of my communion with Christ. In my head I stared at Him, eyes wide, and answered quietly, “You’re here?” I felt then the closest hug I had ever felt, the arms of my Savior surrounding me and pulling me into Him. I melted, sobbing, “You’re here.”

And suddenly I was in the haunted house again. It looked the same. The whispers and eyes and growls were all present, and the black smoke still sat over me, my body pressed to the floor with no power to move. But when I turned my head I saw, lying on the floor beside me, my God. My Savior. My Christ. He laid pressed low just as I was, under the weight of the black smoke just as I was, holding my hand in His own. At the sight of Him I sobbed, tears pouring over me, shaking with emotion. He whispered in the face of my pain, “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here, I’m right here.

Jesus squeezed my hand, the two of us together in my pain. I’m always here.

In my chair at church, frantically writing the experience in my notebook, I penned, “He’s already here. He’s in the pain with me. I’m not alone, I’m not alone, I’m not alone.”

The black smoke of my pain pressed down on me, fearing the power of my God. I cried, “Please don’t leave me!”

Christ answered, holding my hand tighter, silencing my fear, I never will.

All praise be to the God of Light. All praise be to Jesus Christ, who took the burden of our sin so that we would never be alone in our sorrow again.

He sits closer than our pain. He shares it.

For Those in Peril on the Sea

I’m weak today. Really weak. Been standing on a slippery rock attempting to hold strong against the powerful waves for twelve hours straight weak. On days like these I wonder how I’m taking this breath. Or this breath. Or this breath. How is the pain not catching my foot, tripping me off the rock and into the stormy sea, pummeling me until any hope of finding air again is lost? Sometimes I close my eyes and for a moment that sick feeling of falling slips over my mind and I lose my balance. The fear of falling into the water is as dangerous to me as the waves themselves.

If I get lost in this imagery for long enough, eventually Jesus comes. He doesn’t leave me alone there for long. I notice him coming towards me like a phantom across the fog of the sea. My eyes, which have been so mightily trained on monitoring my footing, become locked on his silhouette. After a few moments the beating drum of the waves fades out of my mind—I can see and think of nothing but the man approaching me, walking gently through the storm. I think he might be glowing, a faint shining hue encircling his body, like peace flowing out from his very soul. I blink, and somehow this doesn’t affect my balance.

Suddenly he’s beside me. His presence encapsulates me, eliminating any fear of the waves or the storm or my footing or my pain. I’m shaking; I don’t notice it, but he does. He takes me tenderly into an embrace and my body is flooded with the warmth of a sunny June afternoon laying in the grass when you’re six and the biggest question in your mind is, ‘What shape is that cloud?’ I close my eyes and collapse into his strength.

Tower in Ocean

When I open my eyes again we have risen high above the waves. The storm is a memory below us—I can see the creation of lightning as it hurls towards the sea, hear the resonance of the thunder in the distance. I am suddenly untouchable. My paltry, fragile rock has been transformed into a towering pillar, its foundation balanced and strong. Hundreds of feet stretch between me and the angry surf; no matter how hard it tries, it can no longer reach me. Jesus’ presence spans like a shield around me—I don’t understand it, but somewhere inside me is the knowledge that I can no longer fall. With him near the rain and wind and fog are unable to affect me. Instead I feel a welling fire within my belly, growing, growing, until it’s a roaring bonfire overtaking all the cold within me. My icy interior is melting. I am a little girl at Christmas, familiar blanket wrapped around me, sipping hot cocoa before the welcoming fireplace. Safe. Safe. Safe. Untouchable.

Jesus, my calm deliverer, quietly turns my attention to an image down below. Through the whistling rain and harrowing fog I see it: a frail girl, anxiously trapped on a slick rock. Even from my lofty position I can see her trembling; she is lost in the storm, weighed down by the reality that she will likely not survive this. She can’t take her eyes off the wet rock at her feet, so petrified that she might lose her footing and go crashing into the menacing current. Her fear has her so imprisoned that she doesn’t even notice the splendid, radiant man behind her. He is wrapped in white and his light vanquishes the surrounding mist, creating a glowing barrier around them. His hand is on her shoulder, ensuring that she cannot fall. Still quivering, she is unaware that she has nothing to be afraid of. He’s already there. She was never alone to begin with; all she had to do was look up.

The realization hits me suddenly, and if I weren’t so sure-footed on our pillar I might stumble off the rock. My chest aches with the knowledge—he was there, he was there, he was there—as the reality of what that means sinks over me. He heard the powerful sobs when no one else was watching; he saw the panicked fear trapped within my chest; he felt the uncertainty, the confusion, covering my mind in a thick fog that was impossible to get out of. He was there all along, waiting.

Storm

When I can muster the courage within myself, I look up at him again. I am sure he will look disappointed, wishing I had noticed him sooner. I want so desperately to hide my face, ashamed of my faithlessness and fear. But when I meet his eye, he is smiling. The world around us has transformed: the clouds have collapsed; the rain has dried up. Bright, powerful rays of sunshine pour down on us like honey, and for the first time I see it. When I’m staring into his face, really seeing him, there cannot be a storm. He destroys it.

In his face is light, and as long as I’m fixing my eyes on him the wicked lightning, the paralyzing rain, the panicking thunder, the ominous clouds—none of them exist. It is quiet.

How To Make Lemonade

I realize it’s been months and months and months since I last posted on here. I’m not going to make excuses, but I will say that the devil has been throwing everything he’s got at me and my marriage. It’s been a fun time. (Note: sarcasm.) But now I’m back and ready to share all my newfound wisdom with you guys, because what are you supposed to do when life gives you lemons? Make lemonadeand share the recipe.

So here is what I’ve learned in the past five months, in chronological order, so you can see precisely how I got the lemons and what I God did to make a thirst-quenching beverage out of them.

Lemonade_2

The first, and possibly hardest, truth that I’ve learned is one that God gave us thousands of years ago. Psalm 118:8 says, “It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in humans.” I always loved this verse because it validated my “I keep everyone at arms’ length” attitude, but I know now that I didn’t fully understand it. Because despite being apprehensive to trust people, I still chose them over God all the time. I chose to confide my feelings in my husband, to go to him with my hopes, dreams, joys, sorrows, and rely on him for comfort, peace, and love. I relied on everyone but God, and wanted to say that God was the only one I trusted. 1378381411-trustimagesmallWell, I’ll tell you what. At some point in your adult life (for me, just a few months in) everyone you think you can rely on and trust is going to let you down. You’re going to get smacked with the reality that humans suck and it isn’t better to trust them. This will likely crush you. This is a lemon (though a rather large one). It is the horrible truth that we all have to learn if we’re going to yearn for something greater than this world, if we’re going to truly want more than faulty human love. The good news is the first part of Psalm 118: we have a Lord to take refuge in when all the relationships we once trusted have become tornadoes.

My next lemon came alongside the first (it was a storm of lemons), but through sorrow and sweat was accompanied by the first piece of the recipe. To make a very long story impossibly short, my first “big girl” job out of college did not go as planned. The organization was in deep financial peril before I was even hired, and things quickly spiraled out of control shortly thereafter. I was not being paid for the work I was doing, and soon the love of money began to consume me. In a recent Bible class, the speaker brought up the prophet Jonah, and how he’d become outrageously angry and morose when God took away a plant whose shade he’d been resting in. Jonah loved this plant, which God had graciously given to him, more than the people he’d been called to prophesy to. And he felt indignant, justified in his anger when the plant was taken from him. in_greed_we_trustI did this with money. I cared more about getting what I “deserved” than paying attention to my marriage, and I let this need for success and monetary security drive me into a depression. In the aftermath of my mistakes, while standing in a pile of my regretful decisions, I found the first ingredient for lemonade: do not chase after worldly success. As college students and recent graduates, it is so easy to be swept up in the notion that we must go to school. We must do internships. We must build the perfect resume. We must find the perfect job. We must rise and create a life for ourselves, a career, a foundation. This is a trap, my friends. Life has no guarantees and we are not owed anything, and thinking that we are only leads to eventual hurt. There is a reason that Paul advises, “Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth.” (Colossians 3:2) and why the wise Solomon says, “He who loves money will not be satisfied with money, nor he who loves wealth with his income; this also is vanity.” (Ecclesiastes 5:10). If you want to find happiness and contentment in all things, don’t put your desires in a career and money. Don’t make that your first priority, and don’t let worry about it creep to the front of your mind. Is it going to get you to Heaven? Can you take it with you when you go? No? Then don’t put it in front of the God who died so you could have eternity.

In the midst of all of these difficult lessons, I’ll admit I lost my way. And not only that, I lost my identity. 00025400-drowningThe waves had caught me in their current and were pounding me so continuously that I forgot my own name, or why I mattered as a person. I forgot how to do anything but look inward, at my own pain, and because of that many things in my life suffered. The turning point came when the storm turned into a hurricane, and I was finally shaken awake. I looked around and saw only darkness. It was then that I finally cried out. I was the Israelites, who turned away from God, were conquered and made slaves, and waited until the last possible moment to cry out for their Lord. But oh, when I finally cried out… The God that answered was Power. He showed me only love, and gave me all the help I asked for. He gave me rest. He delivered answers to all my begging and showed me that He can heal anything. I finally understood prayer, and why we’re told to “pray without ceasing” (1 Thessalonians 5:17) and to “not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” (Philippians 4:6) The answer to most questions in any given Bible class is usually, “Pray more,” but the Bible says, “When you ask, you must believe and not doubt, because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind.” (James 1:6). prayer-on-my-knees42We can’t pray halfheartedly for God to help just to turn around and keep trying to fix it ourselves. That’s not prayer. It wasn’t until I was on my knees, out of options, out of tricks or plans or hope, pleading for God to take it all out of my hands that He did. I had to believe. I had to need Him more than anything else; I had to trust Him more than myself. I finally saw that I’m destructive, too, and my plans only turn to ruin, and finally when I truly wanted God to be in control of my life, He was. This is the best part of the recipe, because it gives so much freedom. Let the Creator be in control of your life, and suddenly you will feel light. “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28-30)

Once I started letting God take care of things, the storm quickly began to die down. And it wasn’t so much that my problems went away, but more so that I knew the Creator of the Universe was taking care of them (and me) and He would see me through. Now, this is where the first lemon, the big, juicy one, got put to good use. With my newly realized outlook on the world (people bad; God good) I stopped taking my problems to man. When my husband and I fought, I didn’t immediately run to my friends for solace. I begged God to intervene, to soften our hearts. When my fears crept up my chest, threatening to boil over, I didn’t call my mother for advice or turn to my husband for reassurance. I climbed into the lap of my Heavenly Father and let him soothe me and make me safe again. I started running to my Dad, my Savior, my King whenever I needed anything, becoming acquainted with His throne and comfortable in His arms. 12And before I knew it, something previously unimaginable to me occurred. The God of the Universe became my best friend. And trust me, I know that sounds cliché and super cheesy. I hear how it sounds when I say it. But I really don’t care, because my BFF can stop the rain for four years, hold the earth still, part seas and raise the dead. If your BFF can’t do those things, you should really consider who you’re taking your problems to first. Because take it from me, the results are much more life-giving when I seek help from the Lord of Heaven than anyone on the earth.

Ultimately, my last lesson is a summation of the whole journey. The apostle Paul, who had been beaten with rods, pelted with stones, shipwrecked three times, and imprisoned, boldly said, “I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.” (Philippians 4:11-12) and I think I may finally understand the secret. Through everything Paul was put through, somehow, amazingly, he survived it all. I can imagine him in prison, looking back on his life and thinking…how did I live through it all? How am I still here? contentment-1Surely Paul realized that he couldn’t have made it through so many trials and storms on his own. So it must have been God who carried him through floggings and beatings and shipwrecks, and if the Lord can do all of that, of course He’ll get Paul through prison, too. Of course He’s going to feed him, and make sure he has money and clothes and companionship. So what does Paul have to fear? What can mere man do to him? That was my ultimate lesson. God does provide. He carried me through the roughest storm, pulled me from the current, kept me breathing when I thought I had no breath left in my lungs. He protects me and cares for me through everything, and so why worry? Why fear? I am content no matter what life brings me, because I know the power of my Best Friend and the love He has for me. He is a God who saves and makes all things work for the good of those who love Him. (Romans 8:28). That is why Paul explains, “I can do all this through him who gives me strength.” (Philippians 4:13) “For your Father knows what you need before you ask Him.” (Matthew 6:8) and the beautiful truth is that He’s taking care of it all. And I am content knowing that.

As painful as the last half a year has been, I am so grateful for the storm. God made so much beauty from so much pain, and I can only hope and pray that I will be able to help someone else by sharing the recipe for God-made lemonade. If you don’t know God yet but would like to, please feel free to ask me any questions you may have. I promise, He’s been carrying you through your storms too.

“Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.  Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” James 1:4-5

“Keep your life free from love of money, and be content with what you have, for he has said, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” So we can confidently say, “The Lord is my helper; I will not fear; what can man do to me?” Hebrews 13:5-6

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Dawn is coming, open your eyes.

From The Inside Out

No matter who you are or what your story is, you will be touched by this movie. It was truly profound.

No matter who you are or what your story is, you will be touched by this movie. It was truly profound.

Just a quick disclaimer: If you haven’t seen Pixar’s Inside Out yet, you should. Whether you have kids or not, enjoy animated films or don’t, just go see it. I’ve done my best not to include spoilers in here, and if you haven’t seen the movie, you in no way need to in order to read this post. But, still—read this and then go watch it.

On the surface, Inside Out is just a fun kid’s movie about an 11-year-old girl named Riley and her five main emotions: Joy, Anger, Disgust, Fear, and Sadness. When Riley’s family moves from her hometown in Minnesota to San Francisco, her emotions go a little berserk. In the end, the movie is really about discovering what Sadness’s true function is, and it is played out so beautifully. However, as the movie continued and Sadness lost control of herself more and more, I began to see something else between the lines of this sweet children’s film. I saw a reflection of what my brain had looked like while suffering through depression. I saw Sadness touching everything I thought about; I saw Joy lost from headquarters, completely forgotten; and I saw a profound representation of what it had always felt like when my emotions seemed to simply shut down. And I’ll be honest with you…it was a little unsettling, all of those memories being brought back to the forefront of my mind.

She looks cute, but she brings a lot of true emotions out of you.

Through middle school, high school, and college, I suffered through seasons of depression. I remember coming home from school one day and collapsing on the floor of my bedroom. The lights still off, my backpack fallen on the floor beside me, I curled into a ball and began to sob so hard that I could barely breathe. In that moment, I couldn’t even think long enough to know the reason why I was crying. I just knew that everything I thought about had been touched by sadness, and it was so heavy that I couldn’t bear to even sit up or hardly breathe. I remember sitting on the floor of a car having an anxiety attack because my best friend had been grounded and I didn’t know what I would do if I was left alone with my thoughts for that long. I felt honest, out of control fear that if I didn’t have someone there to distract me, my sadness might swallow me whole. I remember staring at the ceiling each morning in my freshman year of college, willing myself to fall back asleep because I couldn’t find a single reason to get out of bed. It was years of this. It was years of being terrified of the month of February, because it was when my depression always seemed to win after I’d battled with it all winter long. For so much of my life, my depression defined who I was. It owned me. It was as if I had placed a label on my own forehead reading “BROKEN,” and I was absolutely, 100% convinced that no medicine, no person, nothing could ever heal me. I knew, with all certainty, that if I wanted a normal life that didn’t include months of feeling worthless, I was going to have to be on medication for the rest of my life.

I haven’t been on medication for three years. I’m not against medicating for depression—I understand that some of us have a chemical imbalance, and medication can help our brains remember how to work right. I just know now that there’s a hope beyond medication. A hope for healing. A hope for joy. A hope for a future that makes every day worth living.

Yes, Inside Out reminded me of my depression. But it also reminded me of how I overcame it. I went 19 years of my life in a cloud of darkness, unable to find anything to save me from it. It’s not a coincidence that when I gave my life over to God, that darkness finally started getting pierced by the light.

SadnessFlower

Finding God was like finding Joy, after she had been lost from Headquarters for so much of my life.

I was standing on a ledge, staring down at the emptiness below me, with the monster of my depression breathing down my back—and it wasn’t until I took that leap and let God carry me that my monster finally started to fade. I have still faced sadness at some points over the last three years. Life has beaten me down a few times. The difference now is that it’s not crippling. I’m not weighed down by these feelings of hopelessness anymore, because now I have a hope that can literally never be taken away. When I start thinking, “What’s the point?”; when I get overwhelmed by the enormity of life and the pain that comes with it; when I start to forget joy, I remember one simple truth: I am a daughter of the living God. Because if I don’t have a job, if I’ve lost all my friends, if I struggle in school, or hate my body, or can’t even remember who I am anymore—I am always a daughter of God. And that’s enough. That’s the point. I’m a daughter of God, and if I just keep fighting through this race, I will receive a great reward at the end. Let me show you.

Then I saw “a new heaven and a new earth,” for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away. He who was seated on the throne said, I am making everything new! Then he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.” He said to me: “It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without cost from the spring of the water of life.” – Revelation 21:1-6

That’s the point. That one day I will go there, and there will be no more death, or mourning, or crying, or pain. I will be made new. And in the meantime, I need to spend every moment inviting as many people as I can to come with me. But I know from personal experience that sometimes the pain is too much to focus on the future. Sometimes we need to be helped in this moment to be able to make it to the next. And Jesus Christ knew this, too, which is why he said:

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”Matthew 5:4

Crying

Just like Sadness, God knows that there is a time for crying and mourning.

Inside Out seemed to almost have been inspired by this verse, and it is such a relief to know that even Christ does not expect us to be filled with joy 24/7. Christ knows that there are times when we need to mourn, and He is here for us in those hours of pain. And if you need further proof that God is aware of our depression and can conquer it, turn to the Psalms. They are one of the best places to go to be reminded that God is with us even in our sadness.

Why, my soul, are you downcast?
Why so disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God,
for I will yet praise him,
my Savior and my God. – Psalm 42:5

He heals the brokenhearted
and binds up their wounds. – Psalm 147:3

And, finally, if these verses haven’t helped you feel a little more healed, there is a man that died for the sole purpose of our healing.

But he was pierced for our transgressions,
he was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was on him,
and by his wounds we are healed.Isaiah 53:5

“He himself bore our sins” in his body on the cross, so that we might die to sins and live for righteousness; “by his wounds you have been healed.” 1 Peter 2:24

ChristWon

Even if you feel like you can’t defeat your depression, know that Christ already has.

We’ve been healed! Jesus did not die on the cross so that I could walk around with a label on my head saying, “BROKEN.” He bore my sins to bring me peace, so that I could walk around with the label, “HEALED!” God knows about our depression. He knows that this world is ugly and hard—His son experienced it firsthand. And He didn’t leave us alone here to deal with it on our own. He gave us the Lord, Jesus Christ, so that we could be healed from all of these sorrows. So that we could one day go to the place where there is no mourning or crying or pain. This is why I haven’t been on medication for three years, and yet I haven’t felt depression “win” once throughout that time. Because Jesus won. He won.

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”John 16:33

Pixar did a beautiful job at explaining what depression looks like, from the inside out.

God did a beautiful job showing us that He can heal anything, from the inside out.

From the Inside Out, Lord
My soul cries out, “Lord!”