There are so many things that I want to put down here that I don't even know where to start.
I want to begin by saying that what I write may be too much for some to read. It's going to be painful. I read sites like The Pioneer Woman and I wish so, so much that I were more like that. She is so full of love for life, and her life in particular. She is just one example, and there are others that I could point out, but the main thing is that I'm not like that.
Instead, I struggle. I struggle with being who I am, with the way that I feel, with being a wife, with being a mother, with making meals, with getting the laundry put away. All of these things are shared struggles...I am not alone in feeling overwhelmed or like it's just too much at times. I know that. But what most bloggers share is only a piece of their lives. That's fine, and good even. Here's the thing: I want to blog. I want to be writing, recording our life together, keeping a journal that we can look back on and remember. But I don't want to blog about these days. I don't have anything positive to say when I'm in the middle of a bout with depression. I look at our blog and want desperately to share something valuable, or funny, or poignant, or wise...but lately I have had a hard time seeing any of those things in our day-to-day moments, until some time has passed and sometimes I can look back and say,"Oh, things weren't as bad as I thought and there were some fun times."
Some days are bad, worse than others. I don't want to get out of bed. Some days I don't, and Mike is forced to take on all the kids and the daily stuff, as well as try to do his job. Of course, these days are even worse in my head since I not only feel the I-don't-want-to-get-up-and-have-this-day but also the guilt that comes from shirking all responsibilities and leaving my family to fend for themselves. It's a heavy weight, and as I'm lying under it I can even tell myself,"Just throw it off! You can do it!"
But I can't. Or I won't. Honestly, I don't know which one it is most of the time. It can make me feel extra crazy, to be able to talk to myself like a rational person in my head, like two people having a discussion!
I've just had some days like that. And the guilt and the anger and the sadness and the defensiveness all contrive to make me my own worst enemy. I imagine that the world would be better off if I weren't in it.
There is the really painful part. The truth is there are times when that outrageous statement, that breaks my heart to hear other people say they feel or know people who feel, seems like it makes so much sense.
I am seeing a counselor and she knows I have these thoughts; she has recommended that I go to a psychiatrist for an evaluation to check if my depression might be chemical and might respond well to medication. I really don't want to get on medication. I had a bad experience before and there are so many side effects. I really want to beat this using other methods. Something I have been contemplating the last couple of days is the correlation between sugar and depression. I have read the tiniest bit about that, but what I've read rings quite true. And at this point cutting out sugar is about more than breaking a bad habit, it's kicking an addiction.
When I'm in a good spot I think,"If I can break this addiction and get serious about exercise, and really give it a chance to have some effect, then maybe I can get to a point where things are not just manageable, but joyful." I know it's a long shot, but I also know that God is on my side...he's changed people before, why not me?
There has been a series at our church the last four weeks called Loving The City. We've had guest preachers each week in our 11:05 service (the contemporary service) who have shared about different ministries and what it looks like to be the hands and feet of Jesus in urban Dallas. Their stories have all been very moving, and convicting, too, because they are totally right. Scripture calls us to love and serve those who are hurting in this world, those considered the least. In fact, when we are ministering to those who are broken, needy, hungry, naked, we are ministering to the Lord himself. He identifies himself with the part of humanity that I often have a hard time thinking about. I can't imagine opening up my home to the homeless. There are parts of the Bible that hurt me, because I think,"I can't do what he's asking."
Just so it doesn't seem like I'm being flippant here, I want to say I'm crying. I hate saying these things about myself, admitting to others how selfish I am. But it is true. We are all selfish, you know? And this is one area that cuts deep for me, since I believe that Jesus gave his life for me. What am I willing to give for him?
The guest preacher today was Mike Fechner, the President/Founder of H.I.S. BridgeBuilders here in Dallas. His message was powerful. Of all the sermons from the last month, this one was the one that pierced the most, cut the most deep, and wreaked havoc in general in my heart. He began by telling us a little about himself; he was a quick talker, funny and quite engaging. Then all of a sudden you realized that he was telling you something completely serious...18 months ago he was diagnosed with lung cancer, stage four, metastasized. He was given about 18 months to live. If you could have heard the stories he told. If you could have heard the joy in his voice. Don't get me wrong, there was heartbreak, too, in some ways. The reality of an imminent and certainly untimely death is painful even for the most joyful of those who know their destiny is eternity. His wife was there as well as one son and his wife, and an adopted son of sorts. He spoke of how he was able to continue kingdom work, because God wasn't through with him here, yet. And when it was time for him to go, he would go, but not until then. He spoke of one experience in L.A. He had just come through an unsuccessful surgery, for the removal of his cancer. (I imagine a bit of time passed between the surgery and this next part.) He was driving with some of his good friends who had come to be support through the surgery, and I think they were also there doing some ministry (a multi-tasker, for sure!). They were, oh, I know! They had been at a museum and he was losing his mind because it was all looking the same, and he just needed to get out of this place and wanted to get out to an area where he could talk to someone who needed help. He wanted to get out and get to the needy. So, he was driving around and he and his friends ended up in a very poor area of L.A., and did indeed get to meet up with some men who were hurting. In fact, he spoke at length with a drug dealer and the head of a prostitution ring, and found out that the men in this area were looking for help. Women and children were offered a way out, but not the men. Mike promised that he would be back, if they promised to pray for him. And they did, right there. He believes that he's here today because of those prayers. God still has work for him to do, not just here, but in L.A.
(I think I got that story right, and you can hear his entire sermon online; you have to download it. I have no idea what that means, or how to do it, but if you do and are so inclined I recommend it. It was a good message.)
He told us about his experiences here in Dallas, working in the city, in the very different urban arena than where I live. Or have ever lived. He said that his own life experience with cancer gives him the opportunity to look anyone in the face, anywhere in the world, whether in downtown Dallas, or the wealthiest of the wealthy in Europe, and to tell them that there is hope and life in Jesus Christ. He delights in telling his doctor, who is not a Christian, that he (Mike) is not worried about himself, but rather is concerned with knowing whether or not he (the doctor) will believe in his heart and confess with his tongue that Christ is his savior. He likes to tell him, upon hearing that his condition is terminal, that it is, instead, eternal. He loves the fact that the survival rate of this particular type of cancer is 1%.
Irreverently, I'm sure, it makes me think of when Lloyd Christmas asks Mary Swanson if there is any chance that they could be together and she tells him the chances aren't good. He asks,"You mean, not good like one out of a hundred?" Her response is,"I'd say more like one out of a million." He pauses for a second and with great hope says,"So, you're tellin' me there's a chance! Yeah!" Oh, to be an optimist!
Back to relevant and more godly things...one other thing he said that will stick with me is,"When Jesus is all you have, Jesus is all you need." My Mike and I have talked about that, like after he came back from Africa, and we talked about the joy that the people there have, in spite of their lack of things. A lot of the time, here where we have a lot, I think we are either so distracted that we don't realize we have the need, or we are so taken care of that we don't realize we have the need.
We are all so sick, though. Our hearts are crying out for something to fill and complete them. Our spouses or significant others can't do it. Our kids can't do it. Not jobs, financial success or even ministries can do it. There is only one thing that can make us whole. One person who can make us whole. I am not ashamed to say it; his name is Jesus Christ.
I can't say that I always feel whole, and the truth is that I won't, not until he comes back to renew all things. But it's so certain that it's as good as done. Isn't that a beautiful image though? He is going to make all things new! Oh, my heart can't wait.
My hips, either, but that's another post for another time.
Getting back to the sermon today...there were moments when I thought I was going to lose it, just burst into great sobs right there in the middle of the service. Sometimes it was because what he shared was so moving and heartbreaking. And sometimes it was because I felt so far from what he was feeling, the joy he has in knowing, serving, loving, and being loved by his Lord and Savior. While he was talking about living life today, and then even going so far as to say something along the lines of,"If you are hurting, then find someone else who is hurting and minister to them...you will be ministered to and healed yourself," I was sitting there struggling with my thoughts of worthlessness, and feelings of wanting to be gone out of this world.
I don't understand where these things come from...when I or anyone else looks at my life what is seen is near perfect. Not the state of my house, for sure, but I have a great home, in a fantastic neighborhood, with a husband who loves me and kids who are amazing. We are all healthy, my parents are alive, my in-laws are alive and they all love us tremendously. I know the Gospel, and in my head I know I am loved more than I can imagine. And yet, there is this inexplicable sadness.
So, as I was sitting there I felt like this epic battle was going on in my heart and my head. I'm not sure if they were fighting together against a common enemy or if they were battling one another. Maybe both. But I felt a sense of knowing...knowing what is right and true. Knowing that I have children who are watching me and learning from me. Knowing that I have a future and it is not just that eternal one, but here and now and tomorrow and the day after that. Knowing that that future involves laundry and dishes and cleaning toilets and teaching my children about the Lord and maybe even getting involved somehow with a ministry in our city. And knowing that if my days are about washing clothes and making meals and sewing and reading the Bible with my kids, then I do it for God's glory.
And that is beyond valuable in his eyes.
I am not sure where I want this post to go from here. I've been up, down, and in every direction. I think that the final thing is that I'm left feeling hopeful. I've said this before, but I can't seem to get away from that hope. I am grateful for that. I want to be able to look back one day and read this and say to myself,"Look where you've come from! Look at what you are saved from!" Despair is an ugly thing and a powerful thing, too. But it's not the most powerful. My God has taken drug dealers and made them evangelists (that would be the adopted son I spoke of above), he has taken murderers and made them apostles (that would be Paul), he can take this stay-at-home mom who struggles with that black cloud called depression and make her full of joy. I believe that is true.
Maybe you are someone who has heard me say that before and just wants to shake your head sadly and say,"Christina, get on meds," or,"Aren't you tired of saying the same thing over and over and ending up back where you started, in a pit?" Maybe I just sound like I'm on some manic high and right now things are looking up. For all I know, there is a little bit of truth to that. But, at the same time, that is where I am. And the words keep coming to me, that in his hands is where I am. There is hope for those who have no hope. There is joy for those who mourn. And just when I feel like I am at the very lowest point of low points, I am reminded, again and again, actually, of these things.
God is great. And he cares about those with needs, whether the need be food, clothes, rescue from physical danger, or despair. He has purposes in this world, and for a long time I have felt purposeless. I couldn't see that my purpose might lie in the day-to-day things that I do in our home, and I couldn't see myself doing something like ministering in the city. I want to start with our home. I want to reach out from there, hopefully with all of us. That feels like a long way off, and there is still a lot of work to do in my heart. But that is something Mike said today, too.
During his sermon he asked us to look at the person beside us and tell them that they were the best thing God ever made. Then he asked us to say,"And I'm so glad he's still working on you!" or something like that. It gave everyone a good laugh, but really it's true and comforting. God is still working. His promises are not failing, and they never will.
Finally, as if I needed another reminder, it came from the book I was reading to Michaela tonight. It's a book I've read to her before, and she has read herself, probably three times. But, she wanted me to read it to her recently, so we've been working through it for a while. I read the final chapter of The Silver Chair (C.S. Lewis) tonight. This is what I read:
"I wish I was at home," said Jill.
Eustace nodded, saying nothing, and bit his lip.
"I have come," said a deep voice behind them. They turned and saw the Lion himself, so bright and real and strong that everything else began at once to look pale and shadowy compared with him. And in less time than it takes to breathe Jill forgot about the dead King of Narnia and remembered only how she had made Eustace fall over the cliff, and how she had helped to muff nearly all the signs, and about all the snappings and quarrellings. And she wanted to say,"I'm sorry," but she could not speak. Then the Lion drew them towards him with his eyes, and bent down and touched their pale faces with his tongue, and said:
"Think of that no more. I will not always be scolding. You have done the work for which I sent you into Narnia."
"Please, Aslan," said Jill. "May we go home now?"
"Yes. I have come to bring you Home," said Aslan....
And tomorrow is a new day. And I will get up and start a load of laundry first thing.
With his help.
Monday, November 29, 2010 at 10:06PM 
