...only He can be in the game with us...

Sometimes in this world, God sends someone across our path who is in almost complete sympathy with our own hearts.  I have just such a friend.  We joke that we share a brain...

Lord willing, I will share more of the story of our friendship as time goes on and as I continue this blog.  And then it will make perfect sense why I often call her Anne, although that is not really her name...but for purposes of my stories here on this blog, "Anne" she will be. 

Not terribly long ago, I was having a rough day and, as I often do, called her up to add some sunshine to my day.  (And hers...  :)  )  And  in our chat, she said something that really stuck with me...it stemmed from a discussion about something else, but so fit with depression and other people’s understanding of it that I am still mulling it over.  In her situation, she was referring to someone who was able to make suggestions to her about things but was not in her shoes.  The gist of it was:

“It is like they are standing on the sidelines yelling instructions to someone (me) who is playing on the team that they are rooting for.  They can see you, watch you, tell you to “go, run the ball!”...but they are not in the game with you.” 

It was exactly what I was feeling.  Everyone around me--no matter how they love me or want to help--they are not in the game with me.  They are not in my head.  No one can do my job, as my kids’ mom.  As my husband’s wife.  This is not a job where they can replace me if I am not able to do well at it.  There is only one me.  No person can be in the game with me, no matter how much they love me or want to help.  They cannot be in my head, cannot feel the terrible fears that sometimes come in, cannot feel the blackness that sinks into me.  They can give my kids a ride somewhere, talk to me when I am lonely, or help me cook, but they cannot help me to be me.

Finally, unable to finish cleaning up the mess in my kitchen after my daughter‘s usual Sunday afternoon baking spree, (it was way more than one dish, and I was back to being able to only look at one dirty dish at a time) I sat down with my Bible.  I wanted to look up the story about Elijah, when he falls prey to depression and exhaustion after Mount Carmel.  The afternoon, as well as the dishes, looked insurmountable.  But what choice did I have?  Life must go on, whether I felt like dealing with it or not.  I wanted to go crawl under the bed with the dust bunnies.  But it was not possible.  Maybe in the story of Elijah, I could find something that I could take with me, something to help me through the afternoon.

I couldn’t remember where the story of Elijah was, but I came across the story of Hezekiah.  (2 Kings 18-20, 2 Chronicles 29-32)  King Hezekiah led the people in purifying the temple and turning back to God after a season of rebellion.  God protected Hezekiah and gave him miraculous deliverance from Sennacherib king of Assyria.  God prospered Hezekiah and the kingdom during Hezekiah’s reign.  When Hezekiah was “sick unto death” and pleaded with God for his life, God told him, “I have heard your prayer and seen your tears; I will heal you.” (2 Kings 20:5 NIV)  God granted him 15 more years of life.  But, in the account in Chronicles 32, it says that when “the envoys were sent by the rulers of Babylon to ask him about the miraculous sign (his healing) that had occurred in the land, God left him, to test him and to know everything that was in his heart.” (v. 31)  

 After I finished Hezekiah, I found the story of Elijah too (1 Kings 19).  When Elijah was tired and discouraged, God sent an angel to minister to him.  The angel brought him food; Elijah rested.  In the strength of that food, he went to Horeb, the mountain of God.  First God sent a great wind that tore the rocks and mountains apart, but God was not in the wind.  Then God sent and earthquake; but God was not in the earthquake.  Then a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire.  Then God came with a still, small voice.

I have been reading through the book of Job with the kids.  It is easy to look at Job’s three friends and say, “with friends like that, who needs enemies?”  It is easy, with the whole picture, to see how God was allowing Job to be tested in the trials he endured.  But Job could not see the whole picture.  He only knew that he felt as though God was punishing him, although what could it be for?  Job was human and imperfect; but he was a righteous man, a man of integrity before God.  He did not see how God was testing him to know what was in his heart.
There seemed to be a theme here.  Whether God is testing me, whether there is a heavenly battle going on that I have no glimpse of, I will not know this side of eternity.  It does not matter; I don‘t need to know now.  What matters is that I stand strong, and listen for His still, small voice.

So one thing at a time.  One more dirty dish, now clean.  After enough of them, they get done.  One more afternoon completed.  Fears and failures hang over my head, blocking out the goodness and beauty that I try to look for around me.  Pain squeezes tightly around my soul, so that i feel suffocated.  I can’t breathe; it takes much effort to focus on something else, something to distract me from it.  Each time it returns, I fight it with denial at first.  No, this can’t be...not again.  But as the darkness seeps into me again in spite of all the denial I can heave in its direction, I slowly accept that it is here to stay for a while.  I have to accept that this is a part of life.  In time, it will go away, but it will be back again.  When it does, i will fight to get normal things done; I will let some things undone.  But I will not give up. 

Sometimes, looking through the fog, it is hard to figure out how to go about standing strong and listening for the still, small voice.  But to do the next thing and not give up, that must be it.  And what a wonderful feeling it is when the blackness lifts.  When it does, I am so grateful for a clear mind.  Can anyone who has not endured the darkness be truly grateful for the sunshine?

I am slowly learning to accept my best as ok, and trying to not compare myself to others.  It is especially hard not to compare myself to others who, on the surface, seem to have challenges just as difficult as mine, or more so; but who seem to keep life more together. 

But I am not them, I am me.  Melancholy is a temperament, and it doesn‘t make me worthless.  How freeing.  I have inwardly criticized myself time and again, over the years, for things that were not right or wrong--they were just me.

So, I am learning to think differently--more objectively and rationally, I hope.  I finally don’t hate myself for things like shyness.   Even before the panic attacks, I have never liked to be in groups of people.  I try to be sociable, but usually end up somewhat glued to my husband or another friend I trust.  I watch for social cues, and at times, in spite of my best efforts, I still seem awkward because of the anxiety that grips me in groups of people.  It has improved, but will probably never completely go away. 

What comes across as “negativity” in someone who battles depression may be an unjust criticism.  How do we read someone’s mind?  Truly know their hearts?  We are not God.  In Mere Christianity, C. S. Lewis examines this question in the chapter, “Nice People or New Men?” 

“If you have sound nerves and intelligence and health and popularity and a good upbringing, you are likely to be quite satisfied with your character as it is.  ‘Why drag God into it?’ you may ask.  A certain level of good conduct comes fairly easily to you...Everyone says you are a nice chap and (between ourselves) you agree with them....Often people who have all these natural kinds of goodness cannot be brought to recognise their need for Christ at all until one day, the natural goodness lets them down and their self-satisfaction is shattered.  In other words, it is hard for those who are ‘rich’ in this sense to enter the Kingdom.  It is very different for the nasty people--the little, low, timid, warped, thin-blooded, lonely people, or the passionate, sensual, unbalanced people.  If they make any attempt at goodness at all, they learn, in double quick time, that they need help.  It is Christ or nothing for them.  It is taking up the cross and following--or else despair.  They are the lost sheep; He came specially to find them.  They are...the ‘poor’;  He blessed them.”

(C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity.  Copyright 1952, renewed 1980.)

What no one sees are the battles I fight with the blackness--battles to look for the good and the beauty around me.  It is the only way to fight the darkness.  It is Christ or nothing for me.  If I have failed at this task--the task of following Him, the task of holding the ‘negativity‘ at bay, it is because, in scaling a mountain, sometimes a foot will slip on a loose stone.  But the way to conquer a mountain is to put one foot in front of the other, and keep doing it.  So I do my best.  And i rest in the assurance that, where I have failed and come short, the blood of Christ covers all.

But no matter how the rest of the world looks at me, none of them are in the game with me.  The only one who is truly in the game with me, and can help me be me, is Jesus.  I can say with Christians through the ages, that “Christ liveth in me.” Though I am often but a poor reflection, the day will come when I will see Him face to face.  I know with a firm assurance that, in spite of how I feel, He is there and will never leave me. After all, He said “Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the age.”  David Livingstone, the missionary, referred to that promise as “the word of a Gentleman.”  And a gentleman keeps his word.
 
In the end of the 3-hour finale of MASH, (the 11-year TV saga of a Mobile Army Surgical Hospital in Korea during the Korean War), peace has been declared and the war is over.  The last two surgeons to leave the MASH unit are Hawkeye and B.J., two civilian doctors who were drafted into service and were forever bonded by the time shared and the tragedies they witnessed during their time in Korea.  Their friendship will never be the same--they are returning to the States; B.J. to his home in Mill Valley, California, while Hawkeye goes home to Maine.  During their last days at the MASH 4077th, B.J. repeatedly brushes off Hawkeye’s attempts to tell him how much their friendship has meant, denying that this is really goodbye.  But as they stand in front of the chopper that is waiting to carry Hawkeye away, he can’t avoid it anymore.  With tears in his eyes that are threatening to spill over, B.J.’s parting words to Hawkeye, as he hugs him, are, “I can’t imagine what this place would have been like if I hadn’t found you here.”

(Goodbye, Farewell, and Amen.  Directed by Alan Alda.  Written by Alan Alda, Karen Hall, Burt Metcalfe, John Rappaport, Thad Mumford, Dan Wilcox, David Pollock, Elias Davis.  Release date: February 28, 1983.)

I love this scene, although it is sad.  Because this is how I feel about Jesus--I can’t imagine what this world would have been if I hadn’t found Him here.  The best friends here on earth can still only cheer us on from the sidelines.  They live in other minds, other bodies, other houses, other states.  Only He can be right there in the game with us; and when we have invited Him in, He will be there to the end.I know that, whatever I have been through and whatever is in store for me down this road, it will all have been worth whatever it takes for Jesus to show me Himself and His love.  And someday I will get to hug Him in person and tell Him so.