Saddling the Moose

About a year and a half ago, my youngest was diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. It’s not your garden variety OCD: no hand-washing, door-checking, thing-counting. In fact, because a year of therapy has had little effect on her symptoms, she just went in for some more extensive testing to confirm that the diagnosis is accurate. But all the mental health professionals she’s worked with seem to feel that’s a good name for what she’s experiencing, and it rings true to her.

It’s been a very interesting eighteen months learning how my daughter’s brain works. Essentially, the best we’ve figured out is, she is unable to make small decisions. Big decisions are not so much of a problem – where to go to college, what to major in . . . she’s confident on that.

But what to wear this morning . . . what to eat for breakfast . . . whether to eat breakfast . . . how much to eat for breakfast . . . how long to watch TV . . . whether to check the notifications on her phone . . . whether to answer that text . . . when to answer that text . . . how long to exercise . . . it’s 9am and I’m home all day today and there are fifty things I could do and ultimately need to do sometime (shower, school, walk dog, pray, sleep, laundry, clean, exercise, etc. etc.) so which of those fifty do I choose to do right at this moment . . . those decisions stymie her.

In the past, she dealt with this by setting up systems for herself. And frankly, she probably learned that behavior from me because that’s how I approach my daily tasks. But the systems became more and more complicated, and more and more rigid, and ultimately more and more illogical to the point where she is afraid to go that direction again for fear of enslaving herself once more with her own self-built structures.

So now, her go-to solution is to do what certain people tell her to do. But that, obviously, has its drawbacks. For one thing, anything I tell her to do now becomes a compulsion itself. I told her once to finish her biology worksheets, and in the next 36 hours (before I realized it), she completed two months’ worth of biology. The poor thing feels like she’s living out the “Ella Enchanted” story sometimes.

At the heart of this, it seems now, is the need for her to figure out how to narrow down choices and choose. It doesn’t sound difficult, does it? Do what you need to do first; then do what you want to do. But how do you know what you really need to do versus what you just think you need to do, or what someone else is trying to convince you that you need to do? And how do you know what you want to do?

That one made me do a double-take. She has relied on systems for her decision-making for so long that she does not even know what she wants. And when she does know what she wants, she can’t determine if she should feel free to do what she wants or if she should do the things she feels like she should do – because she’s not always sure if that is actually something she should do or just something she thinks she should do.

You see why our heads are spinning.

I’ve always said that our biggest faults are usually the flip sides of our greatest strengths. I think that principle applies here. She has been able to accomplish tremendous things in the past that we now  realize were the result of this “disorder”. There’s an amazing strength of will underlying all this that I’d love to see her harness.

In one therapy session, her counselor gave her a bunch of small figurines and asked her to create a picture that represented her OCD. She put herself on one side of a bridge with a giant moose standing in the middle of the bridge, preventing her from crossing. I told her that my hope for her is not just that she get the moose out of the way, but that she saddle that moose and make it carry her across.

We just need someone to show her how to become master of the moose.

What I Won't Take For Granted

Thankfulness is a spiritual discipline, and it's one I have a hard time cultivating in times like these when my sleep issues are at their worst. What's more, I've found that the term "thankful" has become too trite to be useful for me. Particularly in Christian circles, it seems (and for everyone once the month of November hits), we talk so much about being thankful that it almost becomes nothing more that a rote recitation.

I am reminding myself lately that there are things in my life that I must not take for granted -- things I have right now that I have not always had and will not always have, and I MUST make a point of appreciating their presence while I have them. Here are a few:

Hot Showers: Hubby and I are still entertaining the idea of living out of the country during retirement. And we learned during our week in Panama a few years ago that very few homes there have hot water for showers. Let me tell you, people: cold showers are such a miserable experience for me that I might rather just let myself stink. The vast majority of the time I take a shower anymore, I let myself feel the wonderful hot water on my body and take a minute to stand there and just flat out enjoy the feeling. A time may come when I will long for this, so I don't want to take it for granted now.

Breathing: When I get a cold, nine times out of ten, it settles in my chest, and I end up coughing for weeks -- many miserable, exhausting weeks. I avoid sick people like the plague because a cold just isn't a minor deal for me. I have caught myself many times, while lying in bed in the morning getting ready to get up, taking big, deep breaths and just loving the feeling of air flowing through my lungs smoothly. I know that at any time, I could be exposed to germs that will temporarily disrupt that. I make a point now to appreciate the times when I can breathe.

Being Able to See Enough to Read: My mother had macular degeneration. My eye doctor reminded me the other day that I should probably take some eye health supplements to head off the possibility of having similar problems. Macular degeneration manifests itself in blurry vision right at the center of where you focus, which means it makes it difficult and eventually impossible to read. I am a serious reader. Reading is integral to my life right now: I read books, magazines, student papers, scripts, online articles, emails, my own plethora of to-do lists . . . not being able to read would alter my life profoundly. I like my life. I want to be able to read. And since there's a chance I won't be able to someday, I treasure every day that I can now.

Being Able to Think Straight; My father had Alzeimer's disease. Since there seems to be a genetic component to that, I have always known that there was a possibility of my developing the disease as well. The older I get and the more my father's siblings become similarly debilitated, the more I think about that possible future for me. Someday, I may not be able to remember things or understand what people say to me or keep my own thoughts straight. I want to appreciate the ability to think while I have it.

My Daughters' Presence: This is a biggie. I have a twenty-year-old and a sixteen-year-old. The oldest could very well have chosen to go away to college but didn't. The youngest may very well make that choice in a couple years. I have never enjoyed my daughters more than I enjoy them right now: they are intelligent, caring, thoughtful, FUN young ladies, and wonder of wonders, they seem to enjoy spending time with hubby and me. I know I am blessed. I know someday they will have families and careers, and Mom and Dad will move down the priority list . . . which will be as it should be. So I welcome every moment I can have with them now and treasure up these times in my heart.


Someday, these blessings may be gone. And because I serve a loving and gracious God, I know when that time comes, there will be other blessings to appreciate. But I refuse to get to that day and realize I didn't appreciate what I had while I had it. No matter how crazy my days get . . . no matter how grouchy I am from sleep deprivation . . . no matter how discouraged I am about the direction of our nation . . . I must never, ever take God's gifts for granted.

Je Suis Elijah Under the Broom Bush

My pastor preached on 1 Kings 19 last Sunday -- the story of Elijah running away to Horeb after his big victory over the prophets of Baal (in chapter 18). This story has been a meaningful one in my life: God used it in the past to teach me about my depression.

You see, Elijah is depressed here. "He came to a broom bush, sat down under it and prayed that he might die." That's depression. And one of the first things to note here is that it came after a mountaintop moment . . . which is not uncommon. We should brace ourselves for a possible crash after a spiritual high, especially if we know we are naturally susceptible to such crashes.

But what's the first thing God does for him? He let him sleep. He let him sleep a lot. He slept, then he woke up to eat, then he slept again. I've learned that for me, a lot of my depression is connected to sleep deprivation. I'm TIRED. I need rest. Just getting a good nap usually helps my outlook significantly.

And what's the other thing God does for him right away? "All at once, an angel touched him and said, 'Get up and eat.'" He gave him food. The man had been running for his life and presumably had not stopped to get any nourishment. In fact, the angel fed him twice: sleep, eat, sleep, eat. Taking care of my body -- so important for my emotional health. Depression is a physiological thing to a great degree; it is profoundly influenced by maladies in my physical self. A change in diet often improves my emotional state.

Now, note what Elijah says in verse 10 when God asks him what's up:

"I have been very zealous for the LORD God Almighty. The Israelites have rejected your covenant, torn down your altars, and put your prophets to death with the sword. I am the only one left, and now they are trying to kill me, too."

Poor Elijah. It's all about him, isn't it? Now, in a sense this response is understandable in his situation, but if you keep reading, you notice that he makes this exact same speech again in verse 14. The man seems to be rehearsing this lament; he's got it down, memorized to the word, ready to spout to anyone who asks. Meditating on your laments will not pull you out of the doldrums.

So God does one of those awesome things that He did with Old Testament prophets that we often wish He would do with us: He came to Elijah, directly.

"Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper."

My pastor said on Sunday that the phrase "gentle whisper" is sometimes translated "the sound of silence." Often, I realize that my depression is exacerbated because I am paying so much attention to the storm and noise. God speaks in the sound of silence. I need to ignore the noise and listen to God in the silence.

So, what does God do next for Elijah? He gives him a job -- three people to go anoint in His name to take over important roles. In other words, stop moping around and do something productive, something for someone else.

Then He filled Elijah in on something he actually probably knew but just conveniently ignored in his self-pitying rambling: "Yet I reserve seven thousand in Israel -- all whose knees have not bowed down to Baal and whose mouths have not kissed him."

Elijah wasn't "the only one left" like he claimed. There were seven thousand more Israelites staying faithful to God . . . Elijah just wasn't paying attention to them. He went off into the wilderness, even leaving his servant behind, and pouted alone. Isolation increases depression. We were made to need each other.

One of the things about the Bible is that it doesn't idealize its heroes. Peter denies Christ, Moses kills a man, David commits adultery . . . we see the spiritual giants in their worst moments as well as their best. God needed us to see, first of all, that these were real people with real problems and failures, just like us. And He also needed us to see models for how to deal with these problems. When I'm under my broom bush, praying to die (which, praise Jesus, happens far less these days), I need to stop obsessing over my misery . . . get a good night's sleep . . . cut the sugar from my diet for a while . . . make a plan to get something productive done . . . and get out of the house and with some friends.

Don't tell me the stories of the Bible are not practical for our times.

Jesus and Girly Tea

There is a pile of little girly things on my living room floor right now. As in little things that are very girly.

We're babysitting a little girl this week, so my daughters got out their old toys. Mini Barbies . . . mini princesses, of every type . . . mini tea sets . . . mini vanities . . . mini carriages and horses . . . and there's probably a unicorn in there somewhere.

Oh, the memories.

I miss the little girly days. I mean, I miss my daughters being little girls, but it's more than that. I miss when I was able to get lost in their world for a moment and life was all tea parties and horse rides and ball gowns and hairdos.

Cheesy as they are, I kind of miss the old kiddie shows when the good guys were all beautiful and nice and got good things in the end and the bad guys were all ugly and obvious and got their come-uppance . . . or saw the light and switched sides.

Bad guys are not always ugly and obvious. Good guys do not always win, at least in this life.

Our world is so broken. Humanity is so broken.

It makes me tired.

I might have, at one time, said that it makes me depressed. But I have learned over years of dealing with my own particular brand of neurosis that many of my emotional problems are a result of mislabeling. I have physiological feelings in my body that mimic what we feel when we're sad, and if I label them as "sadness", then I start to think about things to be sad about and get genuinely sad.

I am sad about the state of humanity, but that's not what I feel at the moment. I feel tired. I know the end of the story for our world, and there is hope for the good guys, so my sadness is tempered. But I also know there's a long, difficult road still ahead before we get there, so my tiredness is magnified.

I'm tired of fighting ignorance. I'm tired of fighting selfishness. I'm tired of fighting self-righteousness. I'm tired of fighting inaccurate depictions from others of what the stinking fight is even about.

My sleep deprivation is also a cause of the fatigue, but it only exacerbates my soul fatigue. I'm ready for rest . . . even eternal rest.

I know there are some who find it morbid and disturbing to wish for heaven and the end of the world. But when you have confidence in the justice and grace of the One who holds the end in His hands, it starts to sound very inviting. I want the brokenness healed, and I know there's only one way this will happen.

Even so, come, Lord Jesus. I'm ready for a tea party with You . . . in a beautiful ball gown . . . as Your Beloved.

The Value of Theater Education

Goodness, it's been a while since I posted. But with good reason. The last two or three weeks have been dominated by Crystal Sea Drama Company's production of Seussical, which my daughter was in and with which I assisted the director. As my involvement in CSDC increases, this may become the new pattern for my blog: two or three weeks of silence toward the end of every show.

It has been a crazy couple weeks. But wonderful, also. And watching all these students -- about sixty overall between the cast and all the tech crew -- reminds me of why theater is such a valuable thing for kids to be involved with.

- They learn to be comfortable with public speaking. And to be good at it: good volume, comfortable pacing, expressive delivery. I think public speaking still ranks high on the lists of people's greatest fears -- it may even be number one. But almost everyone will have some occasion to speak to a group sometime in their lives (best man toasts? praying at church?), and you may as well feel comfortable at it.

- They interact in an intimate way with art and literature. There's much to be said about exposing your kids to art: taking them to museums and shows and concerts. But there's much MORE to be said for their being actually involved in the creation of art. To let them see the whole thing from the inside out. To engage in the act of creation, one of the ways we are made in the image of God.

I think every kid in the country reads a Shakespeare play at some point in their education, but how much more impactful would that be if they were actually performing it? It is drama, after all; it's meant to be performed, not read.

- They learn empathy. When you are in a play, you become another person. You have to think what they would think, feel what they would feel, react as they would react. No better way to step into another person's shoes and see life from their perspective. Such skills transfer into the real world. And such skills are more important than I can even express here.

- They learn to accept criticism and feedback with grace. Part of the rehearsal process is having the director give you feedback on your performance and learning to apply it. Without taking it personally. Without feeling like a failure. Without copping an attitude. Without resenting the critic. And that's something they will need to do for the rest of their lives.

- They learn teamwork. Those sixty kids I mentioned earlier? Only a handful of them were lead roles on the stage. Some of them had a multitude of little roles. Some of them ran spotlights. Some of them helped actors with quick costume changes. Some of them opened curtains at critical moments to make set changes go quickly so the pace of the play wasn't disrupted. Every single person was critical to the production. And the run of the show was a success because every single person took their part seriously and did it with excellence.

- They make great friends. When you spend this much time with people, you get close. You become a family. It's wonderful.


There's so much more. I'm so grateful for the time I spent in theater when I was young, and I'm so grateful for the opportunities my own children have had. If you're a parent, I urge you to find a play for your kiddos to get involved in. At least once.

And if you're a San Antonio parent, may I recommend you look into Crystal Sea Drama Company? They have a couple summer camps coming up. Well worth it.

Conquering My Fear. Kind Of.

Root canal.

Are you quaking in your boots? The term epitomizes a horrible experience – how many times have you heard someone say, "I'd rather have a root canal than blah blah blah . . . "

I've had some pretty awful dental experiences in my past. I have terrible memories of my mother holding me down in the dentist's office while they tried to pull three stubborn teeth that weren't coming out on their own. It took hours. They would get one out and we'd all take a break before starting in on the other. And the main problem was that nobody believed me when I said I could still feel all this!!

I finally got a dentist in Hutchinson who told me that when I get nervous, my adrenaline neutralizes the novocaine.  He had to give me two or three times as much as his other patients to keep me numb. Finally! Someone who believed me! He recommended, when I moved, that I never again settle for any dentist who wouldn't give me enough meds to really numb me.

And I haven't. Dr. Ringler empowered me. When my first dentist in New Jersey sat back disgusted at my continual yelps while he tried to drill in my mouth and said, "Well, just what exactly do you want me to DO for you?" I left and found another dentist. (I wish I'd said to him, "I want you to stop patronizing me like I'm a child who doesn't know the difference between pain and pressure!!" But I didn't have quite that much courage yet. Walking out was a big enough deal at the time.)

So, surely it's understandable how scared I was going to see an endodontist last week for a scan to see what needed to be done with tooth #21. And surely you can sympathize when he said "root canal and surgical procedure" . . . and that he could do the procedure right then . . . and I started to freak out internally.

Because I knew I should do it. It had to be done or I'd lose the tooth (which is an option I considered, believe me, but they said that would be even more painful and expensive). I was on spring break, so I had no reason not to just get it done immediately. If I waited, I would just work myself up into more of a panic about it. Better to get it over with.

But I started to cry when I told the endodontist to go ahead. And I was embarrassed at my tears. Forty-seven-year-old woman! The tears just came – I couldn't stop them. I couldn't believe how terrified I was of the potential pain.

The procedure ended up taking forty-five minutes longer than they said because an instrument broke off inside my mouth and they had trouble getting it out (good grief – that WOULD happen to me). Fortunately, I was on nitrous oxide and completely oblivious. Gotta love nitrous oxide.

The good news? I didn't even hurt the next morning. Hallelujah, Thine the glory.

The bad news? A week later, I'm hurting and my gums are swollen. Gotta call the endodontist about that. Ugh.

The worst news? My bill. Good grief.

Happy New Year??

And so, it's a new year.

Actually, I'm reminded that the idea that a brand new year starts on the date we designate as January 1^st is very manufactured. Other cultures and peoples have their new years starting on different dates. I suspect there may be cultures that make no recognition of the beginning of a new yearly cycle at all.

Nevertheless, it's a new year, the time when people decide to fix what's wrong with themselves.

I got way too much wrong with myself to fix in a year. Pshaw. Fuhget dat.

Our Sunday School teacher Aaron (I very much like our Sunday School teacher Aaron, by the way) encouraged us this morning to think of our New Year Resolutions list not as a "to-do" list, but as a "to-be" list. Of course, the distinction is minor, considering that being anything different requires doing some things different . . . however, I still like the distinction.

What is on my "to-be" list for 2016?

In 2016, I want to be healthy.

In 2016, I want to be productive.

In 2016, I want to be physically and emotionally present with the people I love.

But one goal that is NOT on my 2016 to-be list is to be happy. I'm not saying I want to be unhappy. Rather, I have learned as I've gotten old that when I aim for happy, I get nothing. Momentary elation, if I'm lucky, but I quickly fall back into drab melancholy. Happiness is not a goal; happiness is a by-product.

And it's not a by-product of being healthy or productive or present with the people I love . . . because I've been all of those things at various times in my life and was often still miserable deep-down, if I was honest with myself. The only times I can say I was every truly happy – or a better word would be joyful – is those fleeting moments when I accomplished the last thing on my to-be list.

In 2016, I want to be intimate with God.

As often as possible. As deeply as possible. Everything else that means anything or that satisfies my soul flows from that. So, I wish the same for the rest of you. Happy God-Filled New Year!

Looking for Joy in All the Right Places

At church yesterday, we lit the Advent candle of joy. Joy is my middle name. Literally, not figuratively . . . though I would gladly trade the literal for the figurative.

Joy seems so elusive to people. Happiness is not, although we think it is. Happiness is temporary and surface-level. I feel happy when I get to sleep in. I feel happy when the dog greets me enthusiastically at the door. I feel happy when my favorite Christmas song comes on the radio. I feel happy when I eat dark-chocolate-covered blueberries.

Joy is different. Joy is deeper. Joy is a condition of the heart, not a reaction to my circumstances. I've known people who profess to be joyful, Christians who claim to have "the joy of Christ" (or some churchy thing like that), whose daily attitudes show them up for liars. You can't have joy and grumble every time I see you about how hard your life is and how uncooperative your kids are and how inadequate your bank account is and how decrepit your body has become . . .

It occurred to me this past week (for some unknown reason) that an awful lot of us believe that our joy -- or at least our happiness, but probably our joy, as well -- is dependent on being able to do the things we want to do. Kids assume they'll be happy when they're adults and can do all the things they can't do when they're young. Adults assume they'll be happy when they're retired and can spend their days not working, but doing what they want. Poor people assume they'd be happy if they had enough money to not have to work so hard at a job they don't like. Rich people assume they'd be happy if they didn't have obligations to people to do things they don't enjoy doing.

I know that I would give my right arm for a day with no obligations of any kind, present or future, when I could spend my time on whatever appeals to me at that moment and not feel guilty doing so.

But I have enough sense to know that, although that might make me happy for the day, it would not make me joyful. Joy is different. Joy is deeper. Joy is a condition of the heart. Joy has nothing to do with doing what I want to do instead of what I have to do.

Joy, it seems, has more to do with doing the things I'm truly supposed to be doing as opposed to the things I think I should be doing or the things I think will make me happy. Doing those good works that "God prepared in advance" for me to do.

If God prepared some low-key, menial work for me to do, I will never find joy doing the grand and glorious work I prefer that gets me lots of attention and praise from the people who see me.

If God prepared some kids for me to nurture and raise, I will never find joy putting them in daycare every day and running off to a job, even if I love what I do, even if I am "changing lives" in my fabulous profession, even if I think being a stay-at-home mom will drive me crazy.

Joy comes from being exactly where God wants you, because God made you and knows how He made you and what you were made for. Because the joy comes not from what we're doing, but from the condition of our heart when we are so in love with God and so completely trusting of His love for us that we are willing to go to the lions if that's what He calls us to. When that relationship with God is completely right (which is a daily effort while we're here on earth, I think), our heart is right, and the joy comes.

This is not a revelation to most believers. We know this. The revelation comes in how poorly we are living what we profess to believe. If we believe that our joy is in our relationship to God, why do we continue to seek it in the praise of others? In the love of our family? In success at our careers? In dark-chocolate-covered blueberries? Why do we give little more than obligatory lip service to the one thing we were created for and then wonder and complain about the fact that we have no genuine joy in our lives?

Seek joy this week, friends -- in the only place it can ever be found.

My Social Justice Problem

I realized something in Sunday School yesterday that I'm not happy about. The word "justice" -- especially the phrase "social justice" -- when it is used by fellow Christians sets alarms off in my brain.

I'm not happy at that discovery. It shouldn't be so. And yet it is.

"Justice" is one of the attributes of God. God is just; even more, God IS justice. Our only conception of the idea of justice comes from God's interaction with us through the law. It's not like it's a cuss word or anything.

But it has seemed to become a buzzword for a certain segment of the Christian world, a segment that I have unfortunately often disagreed with on a variety of issues, issues that those brothers and sisters promoted in the name of "social justice." I sat yesterday and tried to pinpoint for myself again what all it was I disagreed with them on . . . and I had a hard time doing so. The biggest differences were political, I think. My social-justice-loving Christian friends seem to also want to use the government as a means to achieve this social justice, which I often question the wisdom of.

Ah . . . and now I think I remember the big culprit in this: Obamacare.

It was when Obamacare was being debated that I found myself mentally setting apart a camp of people (Christian and nonChristian) who seemed to be all about "social justice" and seemed to be getting it all wrong.

It went like this: As much as I am concerned about making good health care available to all who need it, I was very reluctant about Obamacare (and still am). Admittedly, the people on "my side" of the argument had not approached the problem which much sense of urgency, to their shame. But Obamacare didn't seem to be the answer. I saw too many problems with the proposed system. It just didn't seem to be the best way to do this; it seemed to be an emotional, rushed reaction to the problem.

But the real stunner was the reaction I got from social-justice-touting friends when I expressed my concerns. Rarely were those concerns addressed in a reasonable manner. I was called selfish. Completely uncompassionate. Unchristian. Clearly unchristian. I was told I obviously hated poor people. Obviously. I was called a spoiled rich girl who had never had to suffer in my life and so my opinion had no validity in this debate.

Yes. Those very things were said to me. Often implied, but sometimes directly and bluntly. And it hurt me and angered me.

And so, my social-justice-promoting Christian friends got put in a mental box in my mind: they are WRONG. They are wrong about me, they are wrong about Obamacare, they are wrong, wrong, wrong about so many, many things. It was an emotional reaction, and it kept me from seeing what they were right about.

Which, I imagine, is exactly what they did to me, too.

I still get alarms up when my Christian friends start talking "justice" too much . . . partly because I think in the fight for justice, they often forget the need for "justification" (as we eventually got to in our Sunday School lesson). And I acknowledge that in my corner, the pendulum often swings too far in one direction, too. But I was reminded yesterday of how past wounds and personal feelings can color our "theology" and make us haughty. And wrong.

God gave us emotions, and they motivate us to act, which is good. But even our emotions are fallen and cannot be trusted alone. The heart is deceitful above all things, Jeremiah tells us. We would all do well to remember that. I'm trying to, at least.

Not Really Anxious . . .

Uneasiness. Not really anxiety or fear . . . maybe stressed, but not on the extreme end. I just find myself with a general sense of uneasiness all of a sudden. Sometimes after I think of something I need to do, but sometimes it's just out of nowhere.

It's reminding me of my history with depression. Back when I was working on my master's in counseling, I read some studies that gave me insight into my own depression problems. You see, I would, sometimes out of nowhere, have this kind of blue feeling. (Our emotions, you know, are actually feelings, something we physically feel in our bodies.) I would feel down, my body would be dragging, my thinking would be slowed, and I would say to myself, "I'm depressed. Why am I depressed?"

Well, friends, if you start looking for reasons in your life to be depressed, you're bound to find one. I'm so unfulfilled in my work! My husband just doesn't understand me! You'll find something. So I would find something (or several somethings) and then obsess about that something until I had cranked that little blue feeling up into a full-blown depressive episode.

But I started to realize that those little blue feelings often had nothing to do with sadness really. There were all sorts of other reasons why my body would create those physical sensations that my brain interpreted as depression. As I've mentioned before, I'm a sugar/carb addict and have been for years; coming down off of a sugar high gives you that blue feeling. I've had sleep problems for most of my life, as many of you know; sleep deprivation most certainly slows your body down and gives you that blue feeling. I'm kind of right on the line between an introvert and an extravert, so too much time surrounded by people OR too much time isolated by myself can both lead to that blue feeling.

In other words, I had to train myself to think correctly about my body and my situation; just because my body feels this way doesn't mean I have a reason to be sad. I usually don't. And even when I do have a reason, that doesn't mean I have to be sad. I can choose to think differently.

I've been trying to apply this to my general uneasiness of late. Yes, I have a lot going on in my life. Yes, my workload has increased and I haven't yet been able to figure out how I'm going to manage that well for the long-term.

But I always do figure those things out. I have a good support system in my family, and nothing is out of control here. I have no reason to feel anxious. This is just my body being wonky.

Now, why my body is being wonky is a good question. My youngest has been having what looks to me like similar symptoms for a couple months. And my oldest has a long history of anxiety. I suppose there's possibly a chemical reason for this, too. (I've concluded that, for whatever reason, my depression setting is a bit lower than most; I start further down than the average Josie, so it's a shorter fall for me to get to the bottom of the pit. Maybe something similar is involved with the anxiety.)

So, this is the new frontier to explore in my family: what's causing this jitteriness inside? Because while I can manage this, my girls seem to struggle more than I, which breaks my heart. And we may as well do the Barney Fife thing and nip it -- nip it in the bud.

Self-Love Is the Default, Folks

The Bible tells us to love our neighbor as ourselves. That's a pretty good sound bite. Jesus himself said that if you do that and love the Lord with all your heart, soul, and mind, that sums up the entire law in a nutshell. 

But there is nothing simple about loving our neighbor as ourselves. There is not even anything simple in understanding what it means to love our neighbor as ourselves.

I've heard this biblical command used over and over to teach that we need to learn to love ourselves more. How can we love our neighbor as ourselves if we don't love ourselves? Because, you know, we are SO filled with self-hate. We don't like who we are; we just don't accept ourselves for how we are made.

Good heavens. Satan must be particularly proud of himself for that one: turning the second greatest command of God into an invitation to indulge the most basic and greatest of all sins -- pride. Yep, that was pretty brilliant. And what suckers we are to fall for it.

I can't think of a single place in the Word where we are instructed to grow in love for ourselves, to try to love ourselves, or to love ourselves at all. Rather, we are constantly being told to die to ourselves, to put God and others above ourselves. In Jesus' command here, he assumes that we love ourselves from the start – which seems like a reasonable assumption to me, having observed myself and a good number of human beings for several years now. Our problem is never that we think of ourselves more lowly than we ought. Quite the contrary.

I've been reading and re-reading C.S. Lewis' Mere Christianity during my nighttime devotions these days. (There's another brilliant one, C.S. Lewis. Not to compare him to Satan -- but yeah, brilliant.)  He talks about this self-love idea:

Do I think well of myself, think myself a nice chap? Well, I am afraid I sometimes do (and those are, no doubt, my worst moments) but that is not why I love myself. In fact it is the other way round: my self-love makes me think myself nice, but thinking myself nice is not why I love myself. . . . In my most clear-sighted moments not only do I not think myself a nice man, but I know that I am a very nasty one. I can look at some of the things I have done with horror and loathing.

So, the Self-Love contingency would say, "See? He can't like himself when he thinks he does horrible loathsome things. How could he?" But Lewis continues:

I remember Christian teachers telling me long ago that I must hate a bad man's actions, but not hate the bad man: or, as they would say, hate the sin but not the sinner. For a long time I used to think this a silly, straw-splitting distinction: how could you hate what a man did and not hate the man? But years later it occurred to me that there was one man to whom I had been doing this all my life--namely myself. However much I might dislike my own cowardice or conceit or greed, I went on loving myself. There had never been the slightest difficulty about it. In fact the very reason I loved myself, I was sorry to find that I was the sort of man who did those things.

Part of this has to do with our definition of love. If you think love has to do with fondness or affection, you might have trouble loving loathsome people. But love is not a feeling; it is an action. Love is acting in another's best interests. (Which, Lewis notes, is easier to do when we are fond of the person, so it still behooves us to try to develop some fondness for folks . . . but it's not a requirement to obey the command.) Even when I hate the things I do, I still act in my own best interests.

And even when I hate the actions and behaviors of my neighbor, I can still act in their best interests. I can love them. I can even have some affection for most of them, if I give it some effort. 

This love command of Jesus' -- it really requires more attention than we give it.

Giving My Doctors a Break

I have such mixed feelings about the medical community these days. On the one hand, I have genuine appreciation for people who dedicate their lives to caring for and healing the sick. I have friends who are nurses and I know how hard they work and how exhausting it is, physically and emotionally. I'm sure it's the same for doctors. I couldn't do what they do, and we desperately need people to do these things.

On the other hand, I find my dealings with the medical community to be consistently frustrating. Most of it is the "bureaucracy" around them, I suspect. It's probably a lot like public education. The required paperwork and red tape and hoops to jump through make it all an ineffective circus; if teachers could just TEACH, for crying out loud,

I have friends with medical problems that nobody seems to be able to find an answer for. And I've experienced some of this, too. In the five years we lived in Sioux City, I saw seven different physicians trying to find answers to my sleep problems and never did. My husband has some kind of sinus and drainage issue that doctors have been working on for years to no avail. My regular bronchitis I get with any cold -- no doctor can ever give me anything that makes it better.

It drives me insane sometimes that we can spend all the time and money and hassle and never get answers. First, we go through the necessary processes to get a diagnosis -- which may involve lab work (which takes time to get results from) and imaging (which you have to make an appointment for elsewhere for AND takes time to get results from), and we usually have to harass the doctor's office to find out if they've received those results and then make another appointment (which we pay for) to go over the results.

Then the doctor makes his hypothesis about what is actually wrong (because that's all a diagnosis is, really -- an educated guess based on the evidence in front of them) and suggests a possible treatment. Said treatment will involve prescriptions (to be picked up at another place, and often waited for) and behavioral modifications (snort this stuff up your nose three times a day) and will, of course, require time to see if it is working or not. Once we've established that it is NOT working (which seems to be the norm for us), then we have to make another appointment (which we again pay for) to have them come up with another possible treatment and go through the whole process again.

In the end, when nothing is working after several weeks of continued misery, we end up revisiting that hypothesis and judging whether it was incorrect in the first place . . . and coming up with a second hypothesis requiring a whole different set of treatment options . . . yada yada yada. SIGH.

I have to really fight the frustration I feel at my doctors. I like my doctors, usually. I particularly like my current primary doctor. But it is really tempting sometimes to feel like they either have no idea what they're doing, or aren't trying very hard, or perhaps are even stringing us along to keep us coming back to make more money off of our misery. (I don't think that often, but . . . )

However, as I said, I try to fight those frustrating feelings. The truth is, fixing a human body is not like fixing a machine. Machines are simple. If you know how a machine works, you can repair what is not working pretty easily. (And yet, how often have you found mechanic types who get stumped at what's wrong with, say, your car? Or your phone?)

The human body is NOT a simple machine, as much as we'd like to think so. Medical science learns more and more about how our bodies work every year, but there is still SO much they don't understand. But even if they knew everything about our physical workings, we are not just physical beings. We are spiritual beings. And our spiritual lives -- our thoughts, our beliefs, our emotions, our wills -- profoundly affect how our physical bodies function. I don't think medical science will ever be able to get a complete grasp on that, because science, by definition, is limited to what is observable.

So, it really shouldn't surprise me so much that doctors can't figure out why I don't sleep well. And I should stop expecting the answer to be as easy to find as a broken timing belt in a car engine. Even my car stumps my mechanic sometimes -- my body is an even greater mystery.

The Pastor, the Black Man, and My Father

The story came to me second- or third-hand, so the details may be wrong . . . but the details don't really matter.

In the latter years of my father's struggle with Alzheimer's, many of his old friends started coming to my mother sharing stories of how he had made a difference in their lives. One of them was our pastor, a godly, well-educated man who happened to have a very strong Southern accent.

Pastor shared how, when he first came to our little Southern Baptist church, there was an African-American man in the congregation (we'll call him "Bill") who clearly had a distinct dislike for him. Pastor didn't know why, although he had his suspicions. But he waited patiently, hoping to win him over in time.

Then the day came when Bill's wife didn't get a Sunday School teaching position she wanted. There was nothing malicious in the decision -- a decision Pastor had nothing to do with anyway. But Bill arrived at that evening's church service breathing violence, making threats, demanding to speak to the pastor alone in his office right now. Pastor agreed to speak with him, but only if my father was there, also. Bill agreed.

Once the office door was closed, Bill began to rage. You hate me . . .You did this . . . You did that . . You've always done this . . . You're a racist! . . . You're a hypocrite! . . . You hate me!!.

Pastor and my father sat quietly and let him vent. When he was finished and stood panting in front of them, there was a long pause. And then my father leaned over, looked the angry man directly in the eye, and said calmly and purposefully:

"Bill, you know that nothing you just said is true. You know Pastor is not a racist. You know he does not hate you. You know he loves you as a brother in Christ. Everything you just said is a lie . . . and you know it."

Bill looked at him for a minute. Then he looked at Pastor for a minute. Then he sat in his chair and began to weep. And the hour that followed was filled with old stories, old injustices, old hurts, and long overdue forgiveness and healing. The brotherly love I saw between these two men in all the years I grew up in that church never gave any indication of this rocky start in their relationship.

Praise God, He is Jehovah Rapha, the God Who Heals.

I am honored that God chose to speak love and truth through my father that night. And I wish there were more voices speaking this way to people today.

Yes, friends, you have been wronged. Your pain is legitimate. There has been injustice and there still is. But let's live in the truth.

Citizen, this police officer did not stop you just because you're black.

Friend, this neighbor does not hate you because you're a lesbian.

Son, this teacher does not call you out more because you're Latino.

Sister, this boss did not pass you over for that promotion because you're a woman.

Brother in Christ, this comment is not an attack on you because you're a Christian.

There has been injustice in the past . . . and there is injustice now and will be in the future. But that doesn't mean that THIS is injustice, or that everything is injustice. And it is no answer or solution to injustice to accuse other innocent people unjustly.

Be committed to truth. Walk and live in the light. If we want others to not make assumptions about us based on our "type," we must afford them the same courtesy.

Best Nugget of Wisdom

"If you were to give somebody your best nugget of wisdom, what would it be?"

The Pastor asked us that question to begin his sermon last Sunday, his introduction to a sermon series on the book of Proverbs. But he really shouldn't begin like that because then my mind started ruminating on that question and I wasn't listening to him very closely anymore.

My best nugget of wisdom. If I had one bit of advice to give the world.

Well, the number one nugget of wisdom would be to seek and know God. Period. Above all else. Not join the church, or do good things, or love everybody. KNOW GOD. Everything else falls into place after that.

But that's not what came to mind immediately last Sunday morning. The first best nugget of wisdom
that I fell upon in that moment was this:

Commit to live in truth.

Complete, absolute truth.

No more lies. No more hiding. No more deceit. No more sneaking around. No more masks. No more justifying the unjustifiable. TRUTH.

Be who you are, unashamedly. If you are ashamed of who you are, figure out if you should be ashamed and if so, change that. If you should not, own yourself as a beloved creation of God and learn to accept the child He made.

If you have done shameful things in the past, recognize that once you ask for forgiveness, God wipes that as far away as the east is from the west (I love that image) . . . and then God uses your experience to shape you into who he wants. OWN your failings as much as you own your successes. It's who you are, and it shows God's hand in your life. Perfect people are no testimony to God's grace -- broken people are.

Don't lie. To anyone. Don't hide things. If you are hiding something from someone, good heavens -- that should send off major alarms in your spirit. Why are you hiding this??? Be honest with yourself. I have heard the most ridiculous justifications for covering stuff up. I've known people who convinced themselves they were doing someone else a favor -- "protecting" them -- by deceiving them in the most unconscionable ways. Very rarely is there a good reason to lie to another person. 99 times out of 100, it is wrong. Stop thinking yours is that precious one in a hundred situation every time it's hard to tell the truth.

(If somebody is too weak emotionally to handle the truth, you are only contributing to their weakness by "protecting" them. Speak the truth in love -- help them grow in emotional strength. Someday you won't be able to protect them anymore.)

Stop lying to yourself. Really, that's the most remarkable thing: we tell ourselves things that we KNOW are not true -- and we believe ourselves!! Stop it. Just stop. Nothing is ever better in your life when you are denying the truth. Nothing.

And stop lying to God. You know He knows it all anyway, so it's a waste of time.

Once you stop putting a mask on for God and yourself, you stop needing to have it on for the world . . . and you will be AMAZED how much happier you will be. I promise you.

John called it "living in the light." Jesus said, "You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free." Those are heavy, heavy chains you are binding yourself up with. Throw them off, my friend. Live in truth.

The Gracious No

My girls are getting old enough and mature enough to make some insightful observations about me that I probably need to take to heart.

The other day, I was kind of whining about the fact that I expect to be asked if I would be willing to lead a BSF group next year. They're launching a new study about Revelation and are expecting a huge influx of "alumni" and new people, which will mean they need more group leaders.

I don't really want to be a group leader. It means meeting way early on Monday mornings, coming early on Tuesday nights, finding time during the week to make contact with my group members . . . all things that just sound like burdens and stressors right now on top of everything else I have going on (see my last post). But I know there will really be a need, so (I bemoaned to my daughters) I should probably do it.

That's when my daughter made this gentle, respectful, therapist-like remark: "You seem to think that whenever there is a need, it is your job to fill it." Her sister nodded sagely.

Well . . . uh . . . hmmm.

When you say it like that, it sounds like I have a problem. Of course there are needs out there that I'm not meant to fill. I actually have gotten pretty good at saying no to certain things. I learned long ago that, if a job entails my being in a room with a bunch of children on a regular basis, it is probably best for all involved that I not participate. A kid person, I am not.

And there are other jobs I am pretty useless at. Finding or making costumes would be one. I'm lucky to dress myself in the mornings -- I can't dress my actors.

So, I guess I have decided that when a job comes up that I can do, and especially if there's a real need, I have no excuse not to step up.

But my girls may be right that I don't need to take on every such job. Yes, BSF has meant a lot to me, and I would love to give back to the organization, but if I'm stretched too thin, I'm of no use to them or anyone else I am serving.

And the thing is, there really are other people who can serve as group leaders. Some of the other jobs I do require a more unique skill set that I happen to have. Fewer replacements for me are available.

So, I've been praying about this BSF thing. And praying differently than I usually do. I tell God, I really don't want to do this job out of obligation. If I'm going to do it, I want to do it with enthusiasm and passion -- my group members would deserve that from me. If He wants me to be a group leader, I'm asking him to make me excited about the idea, so I accept it because I want to do it. Otherwise, I'll graciously say no. At least, I think I'll say no. I'll try really hard to say no, anyway.

Darn it. I really thought I had this "Just Say No" thing down.

My Future With Dementia

Yesterday, a friend posted on FB a link to a news story about Alzheimer’s disease (which you can see here). The reporter experienced a simulation created to give you an idea of how life is for victims. It was fascinating to watch.

My father died in 2001 after a 21-year battle with Alzheimer’s. His three sisters have all been diagnosed now as well. (His three brothers haven’t shown any symptoms that I’m aware of.) Since there is a genetic component to this, I've known for quite a while that there’s a chance that I may be afflicted one of these days.

I think that should disturb me more than it does. Maybe if I watch more videos like this one, it will. And maybe as I get older (Dad was diagnosed in his mid-50s), it will. But right now, I surprisingly seem to take this in stride.

I've made it clear to my family that I want them to have no hesitations over putting me in a nursing home when it is time. Please do the work to be sure it’s a good nursing home (I may even do some care-shopping myself while I’m capable). And please keep an eye on me and visit me frequently. But don’t think you’re being heroic or loving by keeping me in your house when I reach the point of being dangerously debilitated. Put me where I’m safe and you’re safe, too.

I've also made it clear that I want them to appreciate the humor in the situation whenever they can. Seriously. I remember once visiting my dad in the common room of his care center when a fellow patient wandered into the room. She looked around curiously, and then announced loudly to everyone present, “I gotta pee!” And she dropped her sweatpants and undergarments to her ankles. The four care workers in the room came diving from their various corners, calling in unison, “Noooooo!!!!”

I tried SO hard to stifle my laughter. It was hilarious. Please don’t judge me – if that had been my dad, I would have laughed, too. It was funny, people! If I get to where I’m doing crazy stuff like that, I want my family to feel free to find some enjoyment in it. Life will be hard enough at that point; you gotta see the humor where you can.

The editor of World magazine once wrote about his mother's Alzheimer's experience. She had apparently had a miserable, difficult life and was generally a very unpleasant, miserable person to be around for most of it. Until she got dementia. Then she forgot all the old resentments and hurts -- every day was new and bright. He said her last three years of life were probably her happiest. Sometimes there is a blessing in forgetting.

I don't expect that to be me -- I don't think I have horrible resentments that will bring bliss when they are forgotten. But I have been making a point of trying to change my general mental state. What I have noticed about people as they age (including my parents) is that they don't really change in personality; they just lose their ability (or desire sometimes) to put on the mask that they are expected to wear in polite society. They say what they really think. They act how they really feel. They stop playing the "nice" game, and usually not by choice. 

This being the case, I want to be sure that I'm genuinely nice, that my thoughts and feelings are full of grace and love, so when my filter is gone, I'm not spouting venom to the world that serves to isolate me from the world. My best preparation for old age, I think, is submitting myself wholeheartedly to God changing me from the inside out, so I'm as much like Him as possible. 

Which, really, should be my goal in life anyway, right?

Thankful

A few years ago, it was The Thing on Facebook to post something that you are thankful for every day during the month of November. Everybody was doing it. I think only one of my friends is doing it with me this year. But I'm keeping it up because I think it's a good spiritual exercise. We aren't nearly grateful enough.

This year, however, it doesn't seem quite as easy to come up with stuff to post every morning. I'm not quite sure why. Might be because I'm working again, and my brain is more occupied and doesn't roam as easily. But I think it's more that my perspective has been changing. I'm still thankful to God, but for different things.

I'm still glad that my family and I are healthy and safe. But I'm thanking God for the struggles we have had over the year that remind me that my family is in His hands . . . that I am not as powerful as I think I am.

I'm glad when I have a good night of sleep. But I thank God for the nights that I can't sleep and I realize how helpless I am to take care of even my most basic needs . . . and I learn to depend on Him.

I'm glad that we have such conveniences and luxuries as television, internet, and cell phones. But I'm thankful to God for the conviction I get on a daily basis that I'm using these devices as an escape . . . that I have been put here on earth with actual people he intends me to interact with and have an influence on . . . and that my tendency to escape into these virtual worlds shows how un-Christlike I am at heart and how amazing it is that my Savior chooses to love me anyway.

I'm glad that I have a job I enjoy, that uses my gifts well, that makes me excited to work every day. But I thank God that I am reminded every day that anything good that happens in my classroom is not a result of my planning or my brilliance or my talents . . . it's a result of God working in these kids' lives . . . hopefully through me, but often despite me.

I'm glad that I am not experiencing the trials many others are facing today. But I thank God for the trials I AM facing . . . because I am increasingly more desirous of an intimate relationship with God than I am of an easy, comfortable life . . . and I know that God only allows the trials He does to build that desire and that relationship.

And I'm thankful for the little inklings of that desire in my life. Lord knows, it is not natural to me.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. May we all be truly thankful.

The Stuff Dreams (and Nightmares) Are Made Of

Have you ever heard of The Actor's Dream?

It's when an actor dreams of being on stage live before an audience and not having any idea of what he's supposed to be doing. No lines, no memory of any blocking . . . he has to ad-lib his way through a scene with other actors that are furious with him and an audience who clearly recognizes that he is a clueless idiot. There are variations on this, of course, but that's the gist of it.

I've had The Actor's Dream before. Awful. I also had The Bride's Dream frequently the year I was engaged. This is where it's time for me to walk down the aisle, and everything seems to be falling apart. I can't find my bouquet -- my dress is torn (or I'm still in my pajamas) -- the church is all wrong -- the music is out of control -- you get the idea.

And I had The New Mom's Dream when I was pregnant. That's when you're dreaming about taking care of your baby and suddenly remember that you have another baby -- one you've completely forgotten about for the last, oh, two months or so. And where is that baby? Is it starving somewhere in the house? You haven't heard it crying -- does that mean it's dead??

I hate these dreams.

But the one I have most commonly is The Teacher's Dream. Or The Student's Dream. Or sometimes a bizarre combination of both where I'm both teacher and student, not prepared for either scenario.

This morning, right before I woke up, I dreamt that I was teaching my Freshman Bible class. Of course, it wasn't in my usual room or with my usual students -- it never is in such dreams. But in particular, I had a new student, a young man whom I have had in class before (can't remember his name) who hates school and is an absolute troublemaker.

It all went downhill from there.

I completely lost control of my class. Students were coming in and out of the room without my even knowing it. Those still in the class were clearly playing me for their own amusement. I was yelling constantly -- CONSTANTLY. The clock said that class was over, and I had not accomplished a single thing, partly because I wasn't sure what I had intended to accomplish in that class today.

Horrible. Such nightmares make me appreciate my reality all the more.

The Freshman class I teach at Summit Christian Academy is a treasure. They are all great kids. The culture of the class is such that all the peer pressure in the room is toward responsibility, focus, and academic success, and yet they're still a lot of fun. I love these kids. (I love my 7th graders, too, but there is just something special about this class of Freshmen.)

Every day, I teach with the true sense that I am training warriors for the Kingdom. That these kids (the 7th graders, too) are going to be used by God in mighty ways in the future, and I am so privileged to be a part of preparing them for that. This is my Dream Job. The good kind of dream.

[On a side note: If you would feel so inclined, I would love if you would visit this website (click here) about our current school fund-raiser and make a contribution to help SCA meet its operating expenses this year. So my dream job can continue and these future warriors can be trained well.]

Busy, Stressed and Tired -- and Kidding Myself

I'm a Busy Person. By this, I mean that busy-ness is part of my identity, part of how I label myself. By extension, I am also a Stressed Person . . . and a Tired Person. And I'm sure I am a member of a vast company.

I've come by these labels legitimately. Even from high school, I got much too involved in things and had way too many tasks sitting on my plate. It has taken many years and much maturity to learn which tasks I'm good at and should say yes to, and which tasks I can bless this world with by saying an emphatic NO. But my BSF teaching leader made a little side comment last night that slapped me in the face.

[Isn't that how it often happens? You're listening to a speaker who has Points A, B, and C to communicate to you, but in the course of this communication, they make a passing remark that hits you square between the eyes and convicts you to the depths of your soul . . . and you very likely completely miss Points A, B, and C.]

I still self-identify as a Busy Person. But the reality is, I'm not that busy. Oh, I have plenty of things to do -- and I have more things I could be doing that aren't getting done -- but I'm certainly not rushing around all the time, with never a moment to sit and relax and think (as I have been at other

periods of my life). 

Yet, if someone were to ask me How my life is these days? (one of those dear friends who you know actually wants to know how life is and isn't just hoping for a pat, polite, small-talky response), I think my automatic response would be something to the effect of, "Oh, life's a little crazy, as always!" 

But my life is NOT a little crazy these days -- "as always." My life is pretty good these days. But it is my default mental state to think I'm Busy, Stressed, Tired Person. 

That was my slap in the face.

Because if my Busy-ness is merely a habit of thinking, is it possible my Stressed-ness and Tiredness are also? Is it possible, that, even when I have been genuinely busy, I could have born it all without stress and exhaustion if I had thought I could do so? 

Is it possible that, as the Bible teaches me, the Spirit really is my strength and He really does empower me to do all things He's called me to do if I relax and let Him do that? 

And is it possible . . . no, forget that. I am quite certain that I -- and probably many, many other women out there -- have nursed this self-image of a Busy, Stressed, Tired Person because there is, strangely enough, some female-induced peer pressure to do so. Because Busy, Stressed and Tired seems to also mean Productive. And Accomplished. And Worthwhile. And Someone Who Matters. 

We assume that being Someone Who Matters can't feel any other way.

But if scripture is to be believed, it not only can, but it should. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light, Jesus tells us. Is it possible that he's telling us the truth?

Sometimes Depression IS a Faith Issue

Okay, I write this post with a bit of trepidation, simply because I have found that many friends read my posts with some kind of glasses on seeing only what they want or expect to see. And if depression and anxiety and such are hot-button topics for you, and you read this way, you'll come away mad at me. So here's my request: please actually read my words, all of them, before you react.

I just read an article titled “4 Myths Christians Need to Stop Believing About Depression.” And I got a little annoyed. Here are the author's four myths:

- Depression is a faith issue.

- Depression can be prayed away.

- Depression isn't physical.

- Depression shouldn't be talked about.

So, here's the thing. The last one is absolutely a myth that should be done away with. The other three . . . maybe not so much.

The problem is that all emotional struggles (depression, anxiety, anger, etc.) are very complex. Our emotions are part of our “Soul,” the part of our Self that is the interaction of our spirit and our flesh. They are affected by both. They are not confined to one realm or the other.

So, is depression physical? I think it is always physical in that, in its essence, it is a physiological phenomenon. Our bodies physiologically slow down in order to process a loss perceived by our brain. But more often than not, its cause is not physical, and therefore its cure is not always physical.

Is depression a faith issue? Sometimes. Sometimes, our lack of faith causes us to perceive situations in our life as a loss or a threat, which triggers the physiological reaction leading to the feelings of depression, anxiety, or anger.

Can depression be prayed away? Sometimes. Depressive episodes are different in every person – and often different in even the same person at different times.

I've written about my own experiences with depression. Basically, what I've come to see about myself is that my body's default settings are just different than the average person – I start closer to the bottom of the depression pit than most, so it takes less of a push to get me there. But I've also learned that most of the triggers that push me are of my own mental making, and growing in my faith has eliminated most of them. So, for me, some of my depression IS a faith issue, and it CAN be prayed away.

But not all of it. I've been on medication before -- sometimes it wasn't a good thing, but sometimes it was. Sometimes it kept me from killing my children, a very good thing. But every person is different, and every depressive episode (or panic attack, or explosion of rage) in every person is different as well.

I just don't want to jump on the bandwagon of people comparing depression to diabetes or something. "You wouldn't hesitate to take medication for diabetes; why hesitate for your depression?" Because they are not always analogous phenomena. There is a difference. And it takes a great deal of wisdom to understand the nature of your own condition.

Just sayin'.