So I nearly cried during church this morning. I think it was for a couple of reasons.
There was a lot of stuff happening that had built to a climax and it just came together during one of the most refreshing worship services I’ve been to in a long time.
That service was at my church but was different than usual because the associate pastor, who was recently put in charge of structuring the worship service, preached today. In all honesty, this associate pastor is one of the main reasons that I stayed at my church. It was great to worship in the service he put together and then also hear him preach. And that last sentence might be the first time I’ve used ‘worship’ to describe something that I’ve done, rather than some nebulous concept.
What made this moment so encouraging and humbling was my past week. Earlier in the week, some hackers broke into the server that hosts The Brew, my online magazine, and did some royal technical damage (Here is what it looks like now). My friend, who takes care of the technical side of The Brew, told me that we might have to restart the magazine. This could mean that I would have to repost and re-enter all the articles and author profiles from the last ten months. We’d be pretty much starting over.
About the same time, my ’99 Hyundai Elantra decided to start overheating. I had some people from church check it out and we tried some small solutions to fix it, though they ultimately didn’t work. So I took my car, which has survived three 1,000-mile, cross country drives, in to the shop to get fixed. They told me that I needed a new water pump and thermostat. They also needed to replace my timing belt, which they said they had to replace after removing it (in order to replace the water pump). The boss at the Meineke store I took my car to told me that he would eat the cost of the belt (including the labor, which was over $70/hr) because he had already had to call me once to add on more parts/charges.
More than $600 later, my car was working, but I had to adjust my plans for a ‘mystery outing’ for the college group that I help out with. I cancelled the dinner I had planned and instead planned to go to a coffee house that had bad coffee but good live music. And for a while, I wasn’t sure anyone would come, because I hadn’t heard any response. I was almost ready to have no one show up and be ready to do something else that night.
But lo and behold, at the set time, they show up and we have a very cool night.
I got to thinking about all the problems that came up this week and the some of the wrong thoughts that came up. A good friend of mine kept calling throughout the week to see how I was doing because he knew of my past with depression. And then I realized how all the strife of this week could have crippled me or sent me into a depressive state. I could have thought that I was overwhelmed with all that was going wrong. I could have thought that I was stuck and helpless to do anything.
But what happened instead: people from my church were very willing to help me with my car. Guys from a church-less Bible study I go to kept checking on me to see how I was doing and offer encouragement. I saw how community works. I saw how the church should work. And I saw how car troubles or magazine glitches didn’t set me off like they could have.
So I guess that is rolling with the punches. Or maturing. Or getting even further down the road from things that could bring back depression.
And that is definitely something that warrants tears of joy.
Showing posts with label Depression. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Depression. Show all posts
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Monday, August 13, 2007
The Living Conflict; Soup Kitchen; Fellowship Church
I just posted new author Daniel Burnham's "The Living Conflict" on The Brew. It's a look at the continuous conflict for anyone who believes in Christ.
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There’s nothing like serving in a run-down, grimy soup kitchen to get your mind off your own depressed, narcissistic self.
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Fellowship Church in Grapevine, TX
Saturday night I went to this church with my friend Trent and his wife, Sarah. We do this periodically to see what all is out in the DFW area. We both have our own smaller churches that we’re committed to but enjoy experiencing other churches and then discussing them.
So we thought we’d tackle the mega-churches, which is why we went to Fellowship, perhaps the largest mega-church in DFW, or possibly Texas. Ed Young is the pastor, but he was on vacation this week. We’re all naturally cynical, having gone to Bible school and having experienced what we would consider to be ‘real’ church at our smaller congregations. We tried to be fair, but we couldn’t get away from being skeptics.
The best way to describe it may be to just write about some glimpses.
I visited the restroom and was treated to “Now is The Time” by Delirious? playing through speakers. I thought, it’d been a while since I heard them.
There were five Grapevine cops in and around the church, watching the crowds or directing traffic.
The kid’s wing of the church was a friggin’ amusement park, with a Sea World-lookin walkway, classrooms entrances that looked like rollercoaster waiting lines. There was a fifty-foot tall enchanted castle with a waterfall flowing down the middle. There was enough sensory overload to hook a kid, and drive them to bug their parents until the parents brought the kid back.
The worship service used only one familiar song, while the others seemed to be just ways for the worship team to perform. And did they ever. It was a slick production and impressive. At the beginning of the set, the worship leader, who looked like a mix between Prince and Seal, said, “Look around you at the beautiful people all around you.” This was the lead in to have everyone greet each other.
The spookiest part was as we were leaving, and had Silversun Pickups playing was we left the parking lot. A song played and the lyrics started off like this:
“So much for the light show
pissing on while pissing off
sucking in a smokescreen
selling of a loose knit dream”
It was hard to not compare the lyrics to what we had just experienced. That was trippy.
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There’s nothing like serving in a run-down, grimy soup kitchen to get your mind off your own depressed, narcissistic self.
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Fellowship Church in Grapevine, TX
Saturday night I went to this church with my friend Trent and his wife, Sarah. We do this periodically to see what all is out in the DFW area. We both have our own smaller churches that we’re committed to but enjoy experiencing other churches and then discussing them.
So we thought we’d tackle the mega-churches, which is why we went to Fellowship, perhaps the largest mega-church in DFW, or possibly Texas. Ed Young is the pastor, but he was on vacation this week. We’re all naturally cynical, having gone to Bible school and having experienced what we would consider to be ‘real’ church at our smaller congregations. We tried to be fair, but we couldn’t get away from being skeptics.
The best way to describe it may be to just write about some glimpses.
I visited the restroom and was treated to “Now is The Time” by Delirious? playing through speakers. I thought, it’d been a while since I heard them.
There were five Grapevine cops in and around the church, watching the crowds or directing traffic.
The kid’s wing of the church was a friggin’ amusement park, with a Sea World-lookin walkway, classrooms entrances that looked like rollercoaster waiting lines. There was a fifty-foot tall enchanted castle with a waterfall flowing down the middle. There was enough sensory overload to hook a kid, and drive them to bug their parents until the parents brought the kid back.
The worship service used only one familiar song, while the others seemed to be just ways for the worship team to perform. And did they ever. It was a slick production and impressive. At the beginning of the set, the worship leader, who looked like a mix between Prince and Seal, said, “Look around you at the beautiful people all around you.” This was the lead in to have everyone greet each other.
The spookiest part was as we were leaving, and had Silversun Pickups playing was we left the parking lot. A song played and the lyrics started off like this:
“So much for the light show
pissing on while pissing off
sucking in a smokescreen
selling of a loose knit dream”
It was hard to not compare the lyrics to what we had just experienced. That was trippy.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Cinematic Sex On The Brew; Hell At The Coffee Chain That. Shall Remain Nameless
To kick off the sex issue of The Brew is Trent Starnes' article "Cinematic Sex: The Build Up And Let Down". It'll help ground your expectations of sex in the real rather than reel world.
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Helplessness, Hopelessness and Hell at The Coffee Chain That Shall Remain Nameless
So I’m working at a mall location of The Coffee Chain That Shall Remain for two weeks. I was spared working either the night of July 3rd or at all on the 4th. But today, Saturday, I worked the opening shift, which became a fill-in/afternoon shift.
This particular store is always understaffed, unstable and undesirable. Something about the store stinks and many partners (as this Coffee Chain communistically calls its employees) have sniffed that stench and stay away. The store has burned through three store managers in its less than 12-month run (with one walking out in the middle of a shift) and is currently being run by a guy hired from outside the company, whose resume includes being some sort of manager for Wal-Mart (probably the second-most demonized company in America).
Located in a semi-hidden corner of the mall behind the entrance to an AMC Movie Theater, the store is a place of refuge from the busyness of the mall, states the store’s district manager during his pitch to recruit me for this failing store. There is only one supervisor to run shifts during the day; the store manager, who really is a nice guy, also runs shifts but neither he nor the sole supervisor can cover all the shifts.
Such is the environment that I have to work in for two weeks (the reason why has to do with me working over the aforementioned district manager and the store being at a close, convenient location). Shifts during the week were easier than expected, with much of the normal work getting done. But weekends is where partners can experience Hell on earth.
Friday night was survivable. We had enough people to handle the rushes of people coming and going from the movies. But the store seemed sadly understaffed all day Saturday. From around 2:45 p.m. until I left at 5:15, there was a nearly constant stream of people into the store. All that transpired during these 2.5 hours was the stuff of a barista’s nightmare: people keep coming into the store; all sorts of products run out; the café area is trashed; half of the customers don’t know what they ordered and wanted something different from what you put in front of them, etc.
I stayed an extra hour and 15 minutes because the night crew wouldn’t be able to take lunch breaks if I didn’t. During uncontrolled chaos of those two hours, I became helpless to fix the problems all around me (‘You’re out of napkins and iced coffee’; ‘I ordered a drink before that person…’). The Coffee Chain’s idea of legendary service was trampled to death by the high volume and the five of us working during that rush couldn’t change that.
Anyone getting their drink quickly or made correctly was hopeless. The people working were hopeless to fix anything since no other warm bodies were coming to help. There wasn’t time to step away from the espresso machine to fix any of the problems. There wasn’t any way to make the customers happy or to keep many of them from stepping out of line in frustration and leaving the store.
You just stop caring and trying to rush around so much. It’s hopeless that things will let up and you’re helpless to do anything but continue trotting on, doing what you can to appease whichever customer makes the most immediate fuss (‘I asked for a glass of water ten minutes ago!’).
And then I realized that this kind of resignation is a powerful and accurate description of depression. I won’t make all the connections for ya but give this whole thing another read with that in mind. And if you have no idea what depression is about, this should give you a glimpse.
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Helplessness, Hopelessness and Hell at The Coffee Chain That Shall Remain Nameless
So I’m working at a mall location of The Coffee Chain That Shall Remain for two weeks. I was spared working either the night of July 3rd or at all on the 4th. But today, Saturday, I worked the opening shift, which became a fill-in/afternoon shift.
This particular store is always understaffed, unstable and undesirable. Something about the store stinks and many partners (as this Coffee Chain communistically calls its employees) have sniffed that stench and stay away. The store has burned through three store managers in its less than 12-month run (with one walking out in the middle of a shift) and is currently being run by a guy hired from outside the company, whose resume includes being some sort of manager for Wal-Mart (probably the second-most demonized company in America).
Located in a semi-hidden corner of the mall behind the entrance to an AMC Movie Theater, the store is a place of refuge from the busyness of the mall, states the store’s district manager during his pitch to recruit me for this failing store. There is only one supervisor to run shifts during the day; the store manager, who really is a nice guy, also runs shifts but neither he nor the sole supervisor can cover all the shifts.
Such is the environment that I have to work in for two weeks (the reason why has to do with me working over the aforementioned district manager and the store being at a close, convenient location). Shifts during the week were easier than expected, with much of the normal work getting done. But weekends is where partners can experience Hell on earth.
Friday night was survivable. We had enough people to handle the rushes of people coming and going from the movies. But the store seemed sadly understaffed all day Saturday. From around 2:45 p.m. until I left at 5:15, there was a nearly constant stream of people into the store. All that transpired during these 2.5 hours was the stuff of a barista’s nightmare: people keep coming into the store; all sorts of products run out; the café area is trashed; half of the customers don’t know what they ordered and wanted something different from what you put in front of them, etc.
I stayed an extra hour and 15 minutes because the night crew wouldn’t be able to take lunch breaks if I didn’t. During uncontrolled chaos of those two hours, I became helpless to fix the problems all around me (‘You’re out of napkins and iced coffee’; ‘I ordered a drink before that person…’). The Coffee Chain’s idea of legendary service was trampled to death by the high volume and the five of us working during that rush couldn’t change that.
Anyone getting their drink quickly or made correctly was hopeless. The people working were hopeless to fix anything since no other warm bodies were coming to help. There wasn’t time to step away from the espresso machine to fix any of the problems. There wasn’t any way to make the customers happy or to keep many of them from stepping out of line in frustration and leaving the store.
You just stop caring and trying to rush around so much. It’s hopeless that things will let up and you’re helpless to do anything but continue trotting on, doing what you can to appease whichever customer makes the most immediate fuss (‘I asked for a glass of water ten minutes ago!’).
And then I realized that this kind of resignation is a powerful and accurate description of depression. I won’t make all the connections for ya but give this whole thing another read with that in mind. And if you have no idea what depression is about, this should give you a glimpse.
Monday, April 16, 2007
New Brew; YouTube Finds; Lent Results
NEW BREW
I just posted Dan Morgan's look at why people should change their vocabulary from Love to Lust on The Brew.
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YOUTUBE FINDS
Found some great stuff on YouTube last night.
Alanis Morrisette's cover of "My Humps." Hilarious.
MadTV skit of The Terminator meeting Jesus.
MadTV skit somehow putting Iraq together with Apple Computers. Pretty creative.
The best of Ralph Wiggum from The Simpsons.
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LENT RESULTS
So here’s what happened after my ‘no TV’ Lent.
I finished six books: To Own a Dragon, and Searching For God Knows What by Donald Miller; The Book Of The Dun Cow, and The Book Of Sorrows by Walter Wangerin, Jr.; Blessed Assurance by Randall Balmer; The Devil In The White City by Erik Larson.
I also got out of the habit of passively watching TV (spending most of a Sunday afternoon or a late night channel surfing). I watched the few shows I was truly into (Lost and The Office) but was left slightly wanting after each episode. Neither seemed as good as I remembered them being.
I might go so far as to say the desire to blow some time watching TV went away. Kind of like curing yourself of some bad habit or desire.
A friend told me he began reading Piper’s Future Grace. I read it back in college but was only looking for one certain thing during that time of life (some kind of relief from depression). But Piper’s idea of prizing the pleasure of God so much that you would loose the desire to cling to some lesser thing, say some sin or something, came back to me.
I feel like I kind of did this during the Lent season. It reminded me of how someone can take initiative to improve their faith, their spirituality or their relationship with God. I haven’t done that kind of thing in a while, though I now feel like I can.
So I’m going to re-read Grace and see what happens. Maybe it’ll be another step back into the faith that I’m re-entering.
I just posted Dan Morgan's look at why people should change their vocabulary from Love to Lust on The Brew.
----------------
YOUTUBE FINDS
Found some great stuff on YouTube last night.
Alanis Morrisette's cover of "My Humps." Hilarious.
MadTV skit of The Terminator meeting Jesus.
MadTV skit somehow putting Iraq together with Apple Computers. Pretty creative.
The best of Ralph Wiggum from The Simpsons.
--------------------------------
LENT RESULTS
So here’s what happened after my ‘no TV’ Lent.
I finished six books: To Own a Dragon, and Searching For God Knows What by Donald Miller; The Book Of The Dun Cow, and The Book Of Sorrows by Walter Wangerin, Jr.; Blessed Assurance by Randall Balmer; The Devil In The White City by Erik Larson.
I also got out of the habit of passively watching TV (spending most of a Sunday afternoon or a late night channel surfing). I watched the few shows I was truly into (Lost and The Office) but was left slightly wanting after each episode. Neither seemed as good as I remembered them being.
I might go so far as to say the desire to blow some time watching TV went away. Kind of like curing yourself of some bad habit or desire.
A friend told me he began reading Piper’s Future Grace. I read it back in college but was only looking for one certain thing during that time of life (some kind of relief from depression). But Piper’s idea of prizing the pleasure of God so much that you would loose the desire to cling to some lesser thing, say some sin or something, came back to me.
I feel like I kind of did this during the Lent season. It reminded me of how someone can take initiative to improve their faith, their spirituality or their relationship with God. I haven’t done that kind of thing in a while, though I now feel like I can.
So I’m going to re-read Grace and see what happens. Maybe it’ll be another step back into the faith that I’m re-entering.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Depression Series # 9 - Re-Entering The Faith
So this is the final article in my depression series ( got a little sidetracked this past weekend). But this article was originally published in the December issue of The Brew. This probably best describes where I'm at now.
Re-Entering The Faith (Dec. '06)
I recently began rereading a collection of Søren Kierkegaard’s spiritual writings, Provocations. To call it a breath of fresh air wouldn’t do justice to how much of a climax of sorts this has been for my faith.
I haven’t reached the top of some great mountain of affirmation in my faith or received from God an invigorating revelation that would plot out the rest of my life and service to him.
I’ve just realized that it’s probably safe to pick up my faith again after letting it go for a couple of years.
Like many others who struggle with some mental illness, I put my faith aside for a while in order to deal with the issues going on my life. I decided not to think through whether I was a pre-tribulation Calvinist or whether I was following God’s plan for my life. I was just going to exist for a while and see what happened.
After struggling with depression for years, I realized that my faith was part of the problem, and I took steps to fix the problem. Or, more accurately, I stopped taking steps forward in my faith.
There are a myriad of ways that a person’s faith plays a huge role in his or her struggles with depression, bi-polar and obsessive compulsive disorder, or any other of the hundreds of mental illness that exist. People can be imprisoned by an overactive sense of guilt or by a need to perform every task, sometimes repeatedly, perfectly. And some forms of faith only amplify these problems.
So for the last few years, I didn’t do anything to stand out or strive towards some new spiritual goal. I still attended church, but I pretty much sat in the back and didn’t attract too much attention. I didn’t talk to too many people about faith, Christ, spirituality, or, especially, theology. I avoided anything that would make me say or decide something definitive about my faith.
I’ve had many conversations with a professional counselor at a Christian college in Chicago about how he helped students, and employees of the college, to figure out how to fix their problems. In many cases, he suggested that maybe the people should leave the college. I couldn’t believe he suggested this until I realized how similar to the Church is to a Christian college, replete with all the same conflicts, sinners and issues. And then I saw the wisdom in that suggestion.
For some, letting go of their faith involves not attending church anywhere and stopping a relationship with God or even cutting all ties with Christianity. And why not? If someone’s faith is what is causing all the problems, then it would be masochistic to hold on to that which keeps hurting you.
I couldn’t do this, though. Even though my faith was a large part of my struggle with depression, I also knew that it was also, ironically, the solution to it. And the truly masochistic move would be to run away because I would always end in the same place, beaten down, broken and hurt. Nothing I would cling to could fix my depression or my disgust with American Christianity would ever really work or assuage my anger.
So years go by without any major actions or decisions in regards to my faith and things begin to get easier. Counseling helped me sort through issues and my church fed and nurtured me in spite of its apparent failures. The Bible began to make more sense to me; it guided and encouraged my faith. Prayer began to seem less like dropping a coin in a fountain.
My faith in the Church, and more importantly, in Christ’s power to heal and restore us, has grown more solid. I feel a little more comfortable talking about my faith, spirituality and even some theology because it has become more real during my time away from it.
So as I continue to read Kierkegaard, I can not only identify with the existential angst that he so eloquently put into words, but also the hope that faith can truly help fix my mental illness.
“Teach me, oh God, not to torture myself and not to make a martyr of myself in suffocating introspection, but to take a deep and wholesome breath of faith!”
- Søren Kierkegaard
Re-Entering The Faith (Dec. '06)
I recently began rereading a collection of Søren Kierkegaard’s spiritual writings, Provocations. To call it a breath of fresh air wouldn’t do justice to how much of a climax of sorts this has been for my faith.
I haven’t reached the top of some great mountain of affirmation in my faith or received from God an invigorating revelation that would plot out the rest of my life and service to him.
I’ve just realized that it’s probably safe to pick up my faith again after letting it go for a couple of years.
Like many others who struggle with some mental illness, I put my faith aside for a while in order to deal with the issues going on my life. I decided not to think through whether I was a pre-tribulation Calvinist or whether I was following God’s plan for my life. I was just going to exist for a while and see what happened.
After struggling with depression for years, I realized that my faith was part of the problem, and I took steps to fix the problem. Or, more accurately, I stopped taking steps forward in my faith.
There are a myriad of ways that a person’s faith plays a huge role in his or her struggles with depression, bi-polar and obsessive compulsive disorder, or any other of the hundreds of mental illness that exist. People can be imprisoned by an overactive sense of guilt or by a need to perform every task, sometimes repeatedly, perfectly. And some forms of faith only amplify these problems.
So for the last few years, I didn’t do anything to stand out or strive towards some new spiritual goal. I still attended church, but I pretty much sat in the back and didn’t attract too much attention. I didn’t talk to too many people about faith, Christ, spirituality, or, especially, theology. I avoided anything that would make me say or decide something definitive about my faith.
I’ve had many conversations with a professional counselor at a Christian college in Chicago about how he helped students, and employees of the college, to figure out how to fix their problems. In many cases, he suggested that maybe the people should leave the college. I couldn’t believe he suggested this until I realized how similar to the Church is to a Christian college, replete with all the same conflicts, sinners and issues. And then I saw the wisdom in that suggestion.
For some, letting go of their faith involves not attending church anywhere and stopping a relationship with God or even cutting all ties with Christianity. And why not? If someone’s faith is what is causing all the problems, then it would be masochistic to hold on to that which keeps hurting you.
I couldn’t do this, though. Even though my faith was a large part of my struggle with depression, I also knew that it was also, ironically, the solution to it. And the truly masochistic move would be to run away because I would always end in the same place, beaten down, broken and hurt. Nothing I would cling to could fix my depression or my disgust with American Christianity would ever really work or assuage my anger.
So years go by without any major actions or decisions in regards to my faith and things begin to get easier. Counseling helped me sort through issues and my church fed and nurtured me in spite of its apparent failures. The Bible began to make more sense to me; it guided and encouraged my faith. Prayer began to seem less like dropping a coin in a fountain.
My faith in the Church, and more importantly, in Christ’s power to heal and restore us, has grown more solid. I feel a little more comfortable talking about my faith, spirituality and even some theology because it has become more real during my time away from it.
So as I continue to read Kierkegaard, I can not only identify with the existential angst that he so eloquently put into words, but also the hope that faith can truly help fix my mental illness.
“Teach me, oh God, not to torture myself and not to make a martyr of myself in suffocating introspection, but to take a deep and wholesome breath of faith!”
- Søren Kierkegaard
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Flummoxed....
A friend of a friend of my little sister's called me tonight and started crying.
We had talked in the past because she struggled with depression and some other things.
She said she couldn't get a hold of someone else who she usually calls (She had been calling me throughout the week but I hadn't been able to return the call). She then told me she was thinking about killing herself.
I ended up talking to her for around a half hour and doing what I could. I told all these things she was thinking about doing might give her a high or numb her but they wouldn't really help her. I tried to reason with her about stuff that was stressing her out (like finals tomorrow) and how those things weren't as important as her mental health.
I gave her some healthy advice (Go to the emergency room) because I'm not a psychologist and I can only do so much for her. I told her this, but she even admitted to being stubborn and not listening to people trying to help her. (She'd been hospitalized before for some kind of mental illness and would 'never go back because being there made her go more crazy'.)
I told her that I didn't know what else I could do for her if she didn't listen to me. I can't help her like she needs. I told her to call me again if she needed to.
And here's where I'm at with it all: I don't know her well enough to know if this was for real or if it was just to get some attention. I tried not to get emotionally involved (something I'm guessing good counselors do) and stay calm and try to feel her out. I called my sister (someone she kind of knows and is in the geographical vicinity) to see if she knew of someone to check on this girl.
I'm thinking that maybe she wasn't for real. I did what I could to help her and then called others who might be able to help her better.
If you guys want to pray, her name is Shana and she's in Dayton, OH.
Anyone with counseling experience, what's you professional opinion?
We had talked in the past because she struggled with depression and some other things.
She said she couldn't get a hold of someone else who she usually calls (She had been calling me throughout the week but I hadn't been able to return the call). She then told me she was thinking about killing herself.
I ended up talking to her for around a half hour and doing what I could. I told all these things she was thinking about doing might give her a high or numb her but they wouldn't really help her. I tried to reason with her about stuff that was stressing her out (like finals tomorrow) and how those things weren't as important as her mental health.
I gave her some healthy advice (Go to the emergency room) because I'm not a psychologist and I can only do so much for her. I told her this, but she even admitted to being stubborn and not listening to people trying to help her. (She'd been hospitalized before for some kind of mental illness and would 'never go back because being there made her go more crazy'.)
I told her that I didn't know what else I could do for her if she didn't listen to me. I can't help her like she needs. I told her to call me again if she needed to.
And here's where I'm at with it all: I don't know her well enough to know if this was for real or if it was just to get some attention. I tried not to get emotionally involved (something I'm guessing good counselors do) and stay calm and try to feel her out. I called my sister (someone she kind of knows and is in the geographical vicinity) to see if she knew of someone to check on this girl.
I'm thinking that maybe she wasn't for real. I did what I could to help her and then called others who might be able to help her better.
If you guys want to pray, her name is Shana and she's in Dayton, OH.
Anyone with counseling experience, what's you professional opinion?
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Kierkegaard; Depression Series # 8 - Giving Up on Answers...
Kierkegaard on obedience:
"Oh God, teach me so deeply to understand myself that I may understand how utterly impossible it is to be satisfied with the mere fact that I am master of my own destiny, and that there is no satisfaction and joy and happiness for a person except obedience."
On Passion:
"Longing is the umbilical cord of the higher life."
"It is a great question whether those whom God cannot make mad have ever really existed for God."
"Authentic religion has to do with passion, with having passion. Sadly, there are thousands who take a little something out of religion, and then dispassionately "have religion."
- All quotes taken from Provocations ( a best of collection of Kierkegaard's spiritual writings.
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Depression Series # 8
Giving Up On Answers And Suspending Judgment
I finished God in the Dark by Os Guiness this week and was humbled and changed. Reading Guiness’ answer to the question of ‘Why, O Lord?’ put something into words that I had been struggling with for a while. It was an idea that helped me deal with the suicide of a friend a year and a half ago.
Clark Stacy killed himself in March of ’05 while I was still a crime reporter in Chicago. Two years prior at Moody, I was his resident assistant but kept up with him after I graduated. I was naturally shocked when I heard the news on my way to work the overnight shift.
During a lull around 2 a.m., I did what I could to corroborate the news. I found online the small newspaper in Tennessee that ran his obituary the day after the suicide. I instantly thought of what I could do to find out more. I could look up the local medical examiner, hospital, or sheriff’s office. A friend had called me to fill me in but any news story had to be corroborated. I had to get the facts myself.
An hour later, I realized that I wouldn’t be able to get any info. Why would anyone from small-town Tennessee talk to some small newswire reporter from Chicago? And if this was a suicide, no one would be talking about it anyway. I considered all the other roadblocks to getting information. I also considered my need to direct a sole reporter to best cover the city for the next 7 hours.
I stopped trying to find answers through reportorial means. Instead, for about two months I turned to the community that he and I used to be part of: Moody Bible Institute. I went to a sort of memorial chapel, talked to his friends still there and then listened to some crazy drama involving professors at MBI and Clark’s parents.
The man who counseled Clark at MBI was just as dumbfounded. I didn’t ask, but the counselor gave me his professional opinion (which I wasn’t going to ask about for obvious reasons). I felt privileged that he told me what he did but I still couldn’t figure out why it all happened.
More months went by and I gave up trying to find answers. My anger burned out and I knew that I would never have the answer that I wanted. I was just going to have to accept that and somewhere in the back of my head, try to accept that God was all that I was taught he was.
And then comes Guiness to tell me this:
“It is difficult to hold an impersonal universe personally responsible, and nothing less than personal responsibility will do. The only remaining option is to call God to the bar and charge him with the injustice of suffering that is otherwise inexplicable. Through doubt we can get even with God.”
So where does that leave me? What am I to do? Believe that God is good?
Guiness told me that “To suspend judgement on why something is happening is not the same as denying that something is happening. The former is faith, the latter is repression, which should have no part in the Christian faith.”
His idea is that you don’t know why but you can know why you trust God who knows why. You suspend judgment of God who knows why.
Guiness concludes by stating that all doubts about the Father are silenced in the Son, to which no suffering can be compared.
There’s not much to say after that.
"Oh God, teach me so deeply to understand myself that I may understand how utterly impossible it is to be satisfied with the mere fact that I am master of my own destiny, and that there is no satisfaction and joy and happiness for a person except obedience."
On Passion:
"Longing is the umbilical cord of the higher life."
"It is a great question whether those whom God cannot make mad have ever really existed for God."
"Authentic religion has to do with passion, with having passion. Sadly, there are thousands who take a little something out of religion, and then dispassionately "have religion."
- All quotes taken from Provocations ( a best of collection of Kierkegaard's spiritual writings.
-----------------------
Depression Series # 8
Giving Up On Answers And Suspending Judgment
I finished God in the Dark by Os Guiness this week and was humbled and changed. Reading Guiness’ answer to the question of ‘Why, O Lord?’ put something into words that I had been struggling with for a while. It was an idea that helped me deal with the suicide of a friend a year and a half ago.
Clark Stacy killed himself in March of ’05 while I was still a crime reporter in Chicago. Two years prior at Moody, I was his resident assistant but kept up with him after I graduated. I was naturally shocked when I heard the news on my way to work the overnight shift.
During a lull around 2 a.m., I did what I could to corroborate the news. I found online the small newspaper in Tennessee that ran his obituary the day after the suicide. I instantly thought of what I could do to find out more. I could look up the local medical examiner, hospital, or sheriff’s office. A friend had called me to fill me in but any news story had to be corroborated. I had to get the facts myself.
An hour later, I realized that I wouldn’t be able to get any info. Why would anyone from small-town Tennessee talk to some small newswire reporter from Chicago? And if this was a suicide, no one would be talking about it anyway. I considered all the other roadblocks to getting information. I also considered my need to direct a sole reporter to best cover the city for the next 7 hours.
I stopped trying to find answers through reportorial means. Instead, for about two months I turned to the community that he and I used to be part of: Moody Bible Institute. I went to a sort of memorial chapel, talked to his friends still there and then listened to some crazy drama involving professors at MBI and Clark’s parents.
The man who counseled Clark at MBI was just as dumbfounded. I didn’t ask, but the counselor gave me his professional opinion (which I wasn’t going to ask about for obvious reasons). I felt privileged that he told me what he did but I still couldn’t figure out why it all happened.
More months went by and I gave up trying to find answers. My anger burned out and I knew that I would never have the answer that I wanted. I was just going to have to accept that and somewhere in the back of my head, try to accept that God was all that I was taught he was.
And then comes Guiness to tell me this:
“It is difficult to hold an impersonal universe personally responsible, and nothing less than personal responsibility will do. The only remaining option is to call God to the bar and charge him with the injustice of suffering that is otherwise inexplicable. Through doubt we can get even with God.”
So where does that leave me? What am I to do? Believe that God is good?
Guiness told me that “To suspend judgement on why something is happening is not the same as denying that something is happening. The former is faith, the latter is repression, which should have no part in the Christian faith.”
His idea is that you don’t know why but you can know why you trust God who knows why. You suspend judgment of God who knows why.
Guiness concludes by stating that all doubts about the Father are silenced in the Son, to which no suffering can be compared.
There’s not much to say after that.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Chick-fil-A Vol. 2; New Brew; Depression Series # 7
Chick-fil-A Vol. 2
The aforementioned woman from the restaurant beside the coffee chain that shall remain nameless has been reported to have called the corporate office. The corporate office then called the local district manager of the coffee chain, who left an official sign stating that employees could no longer park in the next door lot.
This is the last fact that can be confirmed, though many rumors abound. Some say that the beef-less restaurant will refuse service to coffee chain employees (yet to be confirmed). Others have stated that woman/parking-lot-attendant has stickers/cards that she places on vehicles belonging to coffee employees or customers who park in the lot. The aforementioned Moroccans told said woman what they thought of her asking them to move their cars from the lot (it was said to have involved profanity). Coffee chain customers have been asked by woman while in coffee store or outside at the cafe tables to move their vehicles from the lot.
--------------------------
New Brew
I posted Dan's unromantic look at the Emergent/ing movement on The Brew. It may be a little bawdy for some, but check it out nonetheless.
------------------------------
Depression Series # 7
I wrote this essay recently after reading a great book by Os Guiness, God In The Dark. A great book for anyone who's dealt with doubt or depression.
Remembering
“In keep open lines to the past, the redeemed memory carries encouragement and conveys warnings and lessons to faith as faith is engaged in fighting at the front line of battle that is the present moment.”
-Os Guiness, God in the Dark.
This comes from the third chapter of Guiness’ book, entitled “Forgetting to Remember: Doubt from Ingratitude.” Reading this book has been revolutionary. What’s crazy is that I feel like (and sound like) I did almost eight years ago as I was starting my Bible school education. Every book was mind-shattering and life-altering.
I remember those days and look back fondly on them, though nowadays I’d say I’m very far from them. I don’t long for that pure milk of anything and gasp when some new truth is revealed to me. I more just long to continue on and not be dragged back into a depressed state that finds it’s cure in never-ending entertainment. God is still there and Christ has still saved me; I’m still redeemed and am being regenerated but I don’t quite feel like it. I’m accustoming myself to having feelings again and trying to sort them out after having turned them off.
I realized that my faith somehow keeps going, inspite of everything that I think would shatter it. My struggles with depression, although ongoing, aren’t as crippling as they once were. Five years after I began struggling with it, I see that life has gone on and I’v figured some things out. I’ve become one of those people I knew way back when who inspired me to keep going. I saw them in their darkest times but then later on, I also saw them able to get back to some kind of functioning faith. Somehow, they were able to deal with their depression or whatever other malady and move on. Time and their faith were able to help them grow.
I’ve more than survived the last five years and that’s something I try to remind myself of. I earned a bachelor’s degree and supported myself for going on three years. I was a freakin’ reporter for the Chicago Tribune for a year. Although I didn’t succeed at this and quit after a year, I didn’t let that send running home to Mom and Dad thinking that I couldn’t accomplish anything with my struggles with depression. And now I’ve up and moved to Texas to take a chance on starting a magazine. Who knows what’ll happen next.
The aforementioned woman from the restaurant beside the coffee chain that shall remain nameless has been reported to have called the corporate office. The corporate office then called the local district manager of the coffee chain, who left an official sign stating that employees could no longer park in the next door lot.
This is the last fact that can be confirmed, though many rumors abound. Some say that the beef-less restaurant will refuse service to coffee chain employees (yet to be confirmed). Others have stated that woman/parking-lot-attendant has stickers/cards that she places on vehicles belonging to coffee employees or customers who park in the lot. The aforementioned Moroccans told said woman what they thought of her asking them to move their cars from the lot (it was said to have involved profanity). Coffee chain customers have been asked by woman while in coffee store or outside at the cafe tables to move their vehicles from the lot.
--------------------------
New Brew
I posted Dan's unromantic look at the Emergent/ing movement on The Brew. It may be a little bawdy for some, but check it out nonetheless.
------------------------------
Depression Series # 7
I wrote this essay recently after reading a great book by Os Guiness, God In The Dark. A great book for anyone who's dealt with doubt or depression.
Remembering
“In keep open lines to the past, the redeemed memory carries encouragement and conveys warnings and lessons to faith as faith is engaged in fighting at the front line of battle that is the present moment.”
-Os Guiness, God in the Dark.
This comes from the third chapter of Guiness’ book, entitled “Forgetting to Remember: Doubt from Ingratitude.” Reading this book has been revolutionary. What’s crazy is that I feel like (and sound like) I did almost eight years ago as I was starting my Bible school education. Every book was mind-shattering and life-altering.
I remember those days and look back fondly on them, though nowadays I’d say I’m very far from them. I don’t long for that pure milk of anything and gasp when some new truth is revealed to me. I more just long to continue on and not be dragged back into a depressed state that finds it’s cure in never-ending entertainment. God is still there and Christ has still saved me; I’m still redeemed and am being regenerated but I don’t quite feel like it. I’m accustoming myself to having feelings again and trying to sort them out after having turned them off.
I realized that my faith somehow keeps going, inspite of everything that I think would shatter it. My struggles with depression, although ongoing, aren’t as crippling as they once were. Five years after I began struggling with it, I see that life has gone on and I’v figured some things out. I’ve become one of those people I knew way back when who inspired me to keep going. I saw them in their darkest times but then later on, I also saw them able to get back to some kind of functioning faith. Somehow, they were able to deal with their depression or whatever other malady and move on. Time and their faith were able to help them grow.
I’ve more than survived the last five years and that’s something I try to remind myself of. I earned a bachelor’s degree and supported myself for going on three years. I was a freakin’ reporter for the Chicago Tribune for a year. Although I didn’t succeed at this and quit after a year, I didn’t let that send running home to Mom and Dad thinking that I couldn’t accomplish anything with my struggles with depression. And now I’ve up and moved to Texas to take a chance on starting a magazine. Who knows what’ll happen next.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Depression Series # 6 - Adaptation
Here's something that is kind of about depression but is more about adaptation. I wrote this last winter while still in Chicago.
Adaptation
“The high for today will be about 42 degrees. It’s currently 41 and you’re listening to…” broadcast the radio station at around 4:15 a.m a few days ago. This was the beginning of January for Chicagoans; a mild streak of weather in what can often be the harshest season for this Midwest giant of a city. Business this week was back to booming at the coffee-chain-that-shall-remain nameless. More people were out and braving the Icelandic 40 degree temperatures and even buying frozen and iced drinks (much to the chagrin of my co-workers). People were enjoying the atypical weather.
But not two weeks earlier the city was crippled during the evening rush hour by a furious snow storm that unceremoniously dumped at least 8 inches of powder in about four hours. From about 4 p.m. on, blustery winds and blinding snow delayed commuters on their way home. Some driving home on the Eisenhower Expressway reported a four-hour commute that night. I drove downtown to pick up something from my store that night but ended up staying downtown because of the traffic and storm.
Like all who live in this great city, I had to adapt and change my plans for that night. I had planned on going back to my apartment on the northwest side and accomplishing some things that night. But an estimated three-hour tour home on Lake Shore Drive convinced me to stick it out where I was. So I decided to call some friends who were close by and catch a movie. It’s not like I would be going anywhere soon so I adapted to the situation.
Adaptation seems essential to anyone’s life, since nothing ever goes as planned (And even if it does, one must still adapt to things going better than planned). Your checking account is overdrawn; you have to adjust your spending and finagle a plan to correct your account. You figure out that the profession you studied in school is not necessarily what you can succeed at doing. God deals you some kind of malady that cripples your body, mind or confidence. So what do you do? You learn to adapt.
Why? I adapt because I’ve seen what happens to those who can’t. Some revert back to some remedial stage of life and take some dead end job that has no hint of challenging them. Or they give up on using the gifts that God has endowed them with and accept something lesser. Or sometimes they feel it better to take their own life. And while I can understand how someone could get to such a place in life, I am enraged when I see such a situation. I am enraged at God for letting such a thing happen and I am enraged for whatever other reason I can assign for a suicide. Even if I know that these reasons are nothing more than me grasping at straws to try understand something that is incomprehensible.
So many people I know get used to some kind of support system and rely completely on that system, whether they know it or not. And then when they graduate from that stage of life and move out of a certain environment, they feel like they’re drowning because they don’t know how to sustain themselves without that old environment. Sometimes the solution is to just keep treading water. Eventually, the person may be able to see their situation and learn a stroke that will help them to swim on to the next stage of life.
But sometimes the best adaptation to a situation is to stop treading water. Some people need to be brought to the end of their own ability and begin sinking down into the water. Getting to such a point leaves a person one option: hope that something outside of themselves can help save their life. As they sink further under the surface and the water seems to get darker, a person can look to God and pray for some miracle. And then the person begins to feel a strange sensation on the sides of their neck, much like Harry Potter while in an underwater game in the most current installment of that series.
Something begins growing out of their neck and they can’t help but suck in the water that is pressing all around them. Gills appear on their neck and then they open wide their mouths against all their instincts and fill their lungs with water. They slowly begin sucking in water and their lungs somehow grab the oxygen out of the water and keep it flowing through their veins.
An adaptation has occurred that enables a person to move on with their life to whatever new plans God has for them. They have survived what seemed an impossible situation and are amazed at the way God changed them for this new stage of life.
Adaptation
“The high for today will be about 42 degrees. It’s currently 41 and you’re listening to…” broadcast the radio station at around 4:15 a.m a few days ago. This was the beginning of January for Chicagoans; a mild streak of weather in what can often be the harshest season for this Midwest giant of a city. Business this week was back to booming at the coffee-chain-that-shall-remain nameless. More people were out and braving the Icelandic 40 degree temperatures and even buying frozen and iced drinks (much to the chagrin of my co-workers). People were enjoying the atypical weather.
But not two weeks earlier the city was crippled during the evening rush hour by a furious snow storm that unceremoniously dumped at least 8 inches of powder in about four hours. From about 4 p.m. on, blustery winds and blinding snow delayed commuters on their way home. Some driving home on the Eisenhower Expressway reported a four-hour commute that night. I drove downtown to pick up something from my store that night but ended up staying downtown because of the traffic and storm.
Like all who live in this great city, I had to adapt and change my plans for that night. I had planned on going back to my apartment on the northwest side and accomplishing some things that night. But an estimated three-hour tour home on Lake Shore Drive convinced me to stick it out where I was. So I decided to call some friends who were close by and catch a movie. It’s not like I would be going anywhere soon so I adapted to the situation.
Adaptation seems essential to anyone’s life, since nothing ever goes as planned (And even if it does, one must still adapt to things going better than planned). Your checking account is overdrawn; you have to adjust your spending and finagle a plan to correct your account. You figure out that the profession you studied in school is not necessarily what you can succeed at doing. God deals you some kind of malady that cripples your body, mind or confidence. So what do you do? You learn to adapt.
Why? I adapt because I’ve seen what happens to those who can’t. Some revert back to some remedial stage of life and take some dead end job that has no hint of challenging them. Or they give up on using the gifts that God has endowed them with and accept something lesser. Or sometimes they feel it better to take their own life. And while I can understand how someone could get to such a place in life, I am enraged when I see such a situation. I am enraged at God for letting such a thing happen and I am enraged for whatever other reason I can assign for a suicide. Even if I know that these reasons are nothing more than me grasping at straws to try understand something that is incomprehensible.
So many people I know get used to some kind of support system and rely completely on that system, whether they know it or not. And then when they graduate from that stage of life and move out of a certain environment, they feel like they’re drowning because they don’t know how to sustain themselves without that old environment. Sometimes the solution is to just keep treading water. Eventually, the person may be able to see their situation and learn a stroke that will help them to swim on to the next stage of life.
But sometimes the best adaptation to a situation is to stop treading water. Some people need to be brought to the end of their own ability and begin sinking down into the water. Getting to such a point leaves a person one option: hope that something outside of themselves can help save their life. As they sink further under the surface and the water seems to get darker, a person can look to God and pray for some miracle. And then the person begins to feel a strange sensation on the sides of their neck, much like Harry Potter while in an underwater game in the most current installment of that series.
Something begins growing out of their neck and they can’t help but suck in the water that is pressing all around them. Gills appear on their neck and then they open wide their mouths against all their instincts and fill their lungs with water. They slowly begin sucking in water and their lungs somehow grab the oxygen out of the water and keep it flowing through their veins.
An adaptation has occurred that enables a person to move on with their life to whatever new plans God has for them. They have survived what seemed an impossible situation and are amazed at the way God changed them for this new stage of life.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
New Brew link; Depression Series # 5: The Most Depressing CD You'll Ever Hear
A friend (Mabul) gave me this revealing article from Salon.com on Mark Driscoll, one of the leaders of the Emerging Church. Check it out on The Brew's Culture Tab.
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Here's a more musical side of my Depression Series; an article about a depressing mix CD that I made for myself.
Depression Series # 5: The Most Depressing CD You'll Ever Hear (2004)
As the compact disc ceases spinning in my second-hand stereo, the fog that seemed to have settled over my brain has somehow lifted. The depression that plagued me as that hour-long CD began has dissipated after listening to this sanctifying music. Something in that music escorted me out of the maze of self-centered thoughts and enabled me to see that there is an entire world outside of my own small experience that I was created to participate in.
The self-created compilation CD is a grouping of some of the most depressing music I have ever heard. And I thank God for it. Somehow, by creating a playlist of downer-type music, I was able to give a form to my depression and express what I could not quite put into words.
Aimee Mann begins the mix with three tracks of her breathy and weary voice from the "Magnolia" soundtrack. "One," "Save Me," and "Wise Up" speak from the other side of some wrenching emotional turmoil with pessimism and honesty that shines a light on whatever sorrows that may exist in my own life. By being able to step back and see hurt, angst and a reason for both, I can start to understand the darker feelings that lurk underneath my radar; the feelings that I might try to hide or ignore.
More songs on the CD are merely for atmosphere and tone, but encourage the mellow state of mind needed to identify issues I may be having. Gary Jules' remake of "Mad, Mad World," Jeff Buckley's "Halleluiah," and a healthy dose of Radiohead each help me to cry out that something is wrong and then take steps to do something about it. And just in case I'm in the mood, U2's "Numb" reassures me that other people know what it's like to feel a certain way.
Yet, the point of the CD is not to make you so depressed you become paralyzed with self-absorbed thoughts. I listen to such a compilation to express what's wrong and then do something about it. That's why interspersed in the mix are songs to help turn my thoughts back to the world outside my own private prison. This world is where Christ's supernatural power can reach into my natural world and fix the self-destructive thoughts.
A large portion of these songs come from Waterdeep's "Everyone's Beautiful" album, a rare find in the mostly superficial world of contemporary Christian music. This rarely-heard band honestly addresses sin, doubt and anger in "Confessions of a Broken Down Man" and the title track from the CD. "He Will Come," which follows the other two songs, serves as a reminder of what I can look forward to in the midst of the daily battle against the small frustrations or unrealistic expectations that could drag a person down.
Also on the CD are more expressions of pain but in the context of crying out to God and asking for help. Tracks such as the driving, industrial "Chronic" by Sarah Jahn and the raw, lamenting "One Lonely Visitor" by Chevelle help with the complexities of sorting through emotions and what we think we know about God. And an obvious but much needed "Grace" by the now defunct Normals reminds me of the one supernatural gift that can trump any chemical imbalance I might have in my head.
To finish off the disc is a suite of songs from Sarah Groves' "All Right Here" album that specifically speaks about depression and God having a reason for letting some people suffer with this ailment. The last song of my compilation, being what will stay in your brain the longest after the music stops, is "You Cannot Loose My Love;" a song that admits to loosing everything from innocence to direction but never God's love.
This combination of music is what has helped so many times to express the unknown hurt that lingers some days. It is an hour-long therapy session that lets me travel into the darker regions of my psyche without getting lost. By making this CD, I could let the hurt be expressed by expert singer/songwriters and then end the compilation with a reminder of why I have so great a salvation: to let my thoughts be transformed by Christ's amazing Spirit. And whether or not I am cured of depression or end up living the rest of my life with it, this CD is a reminder that I will be a shinning example of how Christ's power is made perfect in mental weakness.
--------------------------
Here's a more musical side of my Depression Series; an article about a depressing mix CD that I made for myself.
Depression Series # 5: The Most Depressing CD You'll Ever Hear (2004)
As the compact disc ceases spinning in my second-hand stereo, the fog that seemed to have settled over my brain has somehow lifted. The depression that plagued me as that hour-long CD began has dissipated after listening to this sanctifying music. Something in that music escorted me out of the maze of self-centered thoughts and enabled me to see that there is an entire world outside of my own small experience that I was created to participate in.
The self-created compilation CD is a grouping of some of the most depressing music I have ever heard. And I thank God for it. Somehow, by creating a playlist of downer-type music, I was able to give a form to my depression and express what I could not quite put into words.
Aimee Mann begins the mix with three tracks of her breathy and weary voice from the "Magnolia" soundtrack. "One," "Save Me," and "Wise Up" speak from the other side of some wrenching emotional turmoil with pessimism and honesty that shines a light on whatever sorrows that may exist in my own life. By being able to step back and see hurt, angst and a reason for both, I can start to understand the darker feelings that lurk underneath my radar; the feelings that I might try to hide or ignore.
More songs on the CD are merely for atmosphere and tone, but encourage the mellow state of mind needed to identify issues I may be having. Gary Jules' remake of "Mad, Mad World," Jeff Buckley's "Halleluiah," and a healthy dose of Radiohead each help me to cry out that something is wrong and then take steps to do something about it. And just in case I'm in the mood, U2's "Numb" reassures me that other people know what it's like to feel a certain way.
Yet, the point of the CD is not to make you so depressed you become paralyzed with self-absorbed thoughts. I listen to such a compilation to express what's wrong and then do something about it. That's why interspersed in the mix are songs to help turn my thoughts back to the world outside my own private prison. This world is where Christ's supernatural power can reach into my natural world and fix the self-destructive thoughts.
A large portion of these songs come from Waterdeep's "Everyone's Beautiful" album, a rare find in the mostly superficial world of contemporary Christian music. This rarely-heard band honestly addresses sin, doubt and anger in "Confessions of a Broken Down Man" and the title track from the CD. "He Will Come," which follows the other two songs, serves as a reminder of what I can look forward to in the midst of the daily battle against the small frustrations or unrealistic expectations that could drag a person down.
Also on the CD are more expressions of pain but in the context of crying out to God and asking for help. Tracks such as the driving, industrial "Chronic" by Sarah Jahn and the raw, lamenting "One Lonely Visitor" by Chevelle help with the complexities of sorting through emotions and what we think we know about God. And an obvious but much needed "Grace" by the now defunct Normals reminds me of the one supernatural gift that can trump any chemical imbalance I might have in my head.
To finish off the disc is a suite of songs from Sarah Groves' "All Right Here" album that specifically speaks about depression and God having a reason for letting some people suffer with this ailment. The last song of my compilation, being what will stay in your brain the longest after the music stops, is "You Cannot Loose My Love;" a song that admits to loosing everything from innocence to direction but never God's love.
This combination of music is what has helped so many times to express the unknown hurt that lingers some days. It is an hour-long therapy session that lets me travel into the darker regions of my psyche without getting lost. By making this CD, I could let the hurt be expressed by expert singer/songwriters and then end the compilation with a reminder of why I have so great a salvation: to let my thoughts be transformed by Christ's amazing Spirit. And whether or not I am cured of depression or end up living the rest of my life with it, this CD is a reminder that I will be a shinning example of how Christ's power is made perfect in mental weakness.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Borat; Depression Series # 4
Had a great night with a friend from Chicago who's now in Dallas. Had a six-course meal (all homemade except for some sushi); some double chocolate stout and big 'ole bottle of tasty cheap wine. This made watching Borat after dinner all the funnier.
Can't believe some people fell for Cohen's shtick, especially a local news station. I couldn't stop laughing while Cohen interrupted a local news weather segment. Genius.
---------------------------
Depression Series # 4 (Contains violent content)
This is an essay I didn't do anything with, and you can probably figure out why. It started with a good idea but then turned into something else and got a little violent by the end. Not sure what kind of mood I was in at the time, but I'm sure I must have just watched Fight Club or something like that before writing this.
Fighting Against Fundamentalism (2004)
I didn't realize I was one until met people who weren't and people who were worse off than me. And as much as I try to fight it, somewhere in the tissues of my brain lurks the evil, growth-stunting, self-exalting, self-isolating principles of fundamentalism.
I grew up with it like an extra head sitting on my shoulders. As I grew, matured and began to shave, so it began to get acne and feel akward. My brain and it's brain began to think similarly as we grew up. "I don't smoke, drink or chew or go with girls who do." That was actually a line from my parent's version of fundamentalism but it echoes so closely what my own thought.
"I don't watch R-rated movies, break the rules or question what I'm told or hang out with anyone so bold."
This is what my second brain would transmit from it's slightly off-center spot on my shoulders to my real brain which was in the center of my body and being. So many other transmissions were relayed to my true head through the church I went to, how my parents saw the world and how I confused spirituality with a tortuous sort of self-discipline. They were all that made it into my moldable brain during the adolescent years.
My second head would always tell me of how everything was spiritual and that there was always s spiritual reason for something happening. I could do well at baseball, then there must be someone that I hadn't reconciled myself with. Other completely unrelated disappointments or failures would be instantly diagnosed as blinking billboard that said, "Something is really wrong. Pray now so God can show you what you've done wrong."
I'd soon begin to misdiagnose everything that hurt or confused me. If people said something that hinted of a truer understanding of God's grace, of the complexity of being human or of Scripture and theology, I would think, "You're almost right but not quite." They weren't as spiritual as I was and if they were, then they wouldn't say or do those kinds of things. They should be so much more discipline and do what I do or else they'll run into a lot of problems.
My two heads soon became one as the off-center brain latched onto my own and began to meld with the beautiful gray matter that God had given me. I now saw through it's eyes instead of my own and thought it's thoughts. I couldn't believe how many other people had it all wrong. No wonder everyone else in the world was having problems with life. They weren't doing what I was doing. If they could only do their daily devotions ( merely an exercise in writing down meaningless phrases that would never impact my life) and see how bad those movies were (when if fact they were the most accurate depiction of humanity, grace and redemption.
All of my life was easy to explain and understand and the rest of the world was too, if you only thought like me. Complexity and confusion were suppressed and not dealt with because it didn't fit with my own paradigm of how God worked. The Bible was the Bible and there was no question about how life was. If something was wrong in your life, there had to be some spiritual roots.
But thank God for depression and the results. A small, dull pain began as an ax was pushed into my bloated and confused head. An inch at a time, the ax began to cut through the skin, muscle and bone until it found the carnivorous fundamentalist head that attached onto my own. A little dramatic? Yeah, but everything was when you had a fundamentalist mindset.
When the depression ax had succeeded in splitting my head open, my judgmental eyes were plucked out. My sight was gone. I didn't know how to look at the world anymore.
With a gaping gash in my head and two bloody sockets, I realized that something was wrong. Maybe I was wrong. I started to see that there was this other way of thinking. Some better way of looking at others, at my faith, and at how God saw me.
The one thing my fundamentalist mindset was right about was that there was something wrong with me. I had deeper problems.
Can't believe some people fell for Cohen's shtick, especially a local news station. I couldn't stop laughing while Cohen interrupted a local news weather segment. Genius.
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Depression Series # 4 (Contains violent content)
This is an essay I didn't do anything with, and you can probably figure out why. It started with a good idea but then turned into something else and got a little violent by the end. Not sure what kind of mood I was in at the time, but I'm sure I must have just watched Fight Club or something like that before writing this.
Fighting Against Fundamentalism (2004)
I didn't realize I was one until met people who weren't and people who were worse off than me. And as much as I try to fight it, somewhere in the tissues of my brain lurks the evil, growth-stunting, self-exalting, self-isolating principles of fundamentalism.
I grew up with it like an extra head sitting on my shoulders. As I grew, matured and began to shave, so it began to get acne and feel akward. My brain and it's brain began to think similarly as we grew up. "I don't smoke, drink or chew or go with girls who do." That was actually a line from my parent's version of fundamentalism but it echoes so closely what my own thought.
"I don't watch R-rated movies, break the rules or question what I'm told or hang out with anyone so bold."
This is what my second brain would transmit from it's slightly off-center spot on my shoulders to my real brain which was in the center of my body and being. So many other transmissions were relayed to my true head through the church I went to, how my parents saw the world and how I confused spirituality with a tortuous sort of self-discipline. They were all that made it into my moldable brain during the adolescent years.
My second head would always tell me of how everything was spiritual and that there was always s spiritual reason for something happening. I could do well at baseball, then there must be someone that I hadn't reconciled myself with. Other completely unrelated disappointments or failures would be instantly diagnosed as blinking billboard that said, "Something is really wrong. Pray now so God can show you what you've done wrong."
I'd soon begin to misdiagnose everything that hurt or confused me. If people said something that hinted of a truer understanding of God's grace, of the complexity of being human or of Scripture and theology, I would think, "You're almost right but not quite." They weren't as spiritual as I was and if they were, then they wouldn't say or do those kinds of things. They should be so much more discipline and do what I do or else they'll run into a lot of problems.
My two heads soon became one as the off-center brain latched onto my own and began to meld with the beautiful gray matter that God had given me. I now saw through it's eyes instead of my own and thought it's thoughts. I couldn't believe how many other people had it all wrong. No wonder everyone else in the world was having problems with life. They weren't doing what I was doing. If they could only do their daily devotions ( merely an exercise in writing down meaningless phrases that would never impact my life) and see how bad those movies were (when if fact they were the most accurate depiction of humanity, grace and redemption.
All of my life was easy to explain and understand and the rest of the world was too, if you only thought like me. Complexity and confusion were suppressed and not dealt with because it didn't fit with my own paradigm of how God worked. The Bible was the Bible and there was no question about how life was. If something was wrong in your life, there had to be some spiritual roots.
But thank God for depression and the results. A small, dull pain began as an ax was pushed into my bloated and confused head. An inch at a time, the ax began to cut through the skin, muscle and bone until it found the carnivorous fundamentalist head that attached onto my own. A little dramatic? Yeah, but everything was when you had a fundamentalist mindset.
When the depression ax had succeeded in splitting my head open, my judgmental eyes were plucked out. My sight was gone. I didn't know how to look at the world anymore.
With a gaping gash in my head and two bloody sockets, I realized that something was wrong. Maybe I was wrong. I started to see that there was this other way of thinking. Some better way of looking at others, at my faith, and at how God saw me.
The one thing my fundamentalist mindset was right about was that there was something wrong with me. I had deeper problems.
Friday, March 09, 2007
Depression Series # 3
So this next essay was one that I got published on Relevant Magazine's website (which isn't really that hard to do). I think by this time, I'd gotten used to being depressed and was semi-acceptant of it all. This one is a little lighter ( which is good, because it helps balance out the darker, more violent essay which I'll post next week).
1/24/2004
www.relevantmag.com
'Familiar With Depression'
The idea of a depressed Christian used to seem like an oxymoron to me. Why would anyone who is a Christian be sad? I wondered. If a person really were a Christian, they should be able to remember all Christ had done for them, I figured. We really have no reason to be sad, let alone wallow in depression or sink into some lethargic sadness. People like that just need a better relationship with God, I thought. They probably didn’t pray the right way or didn’t even try to get anything out of their Bibles.
There just was no reason to be depressed—Christ has all the hope, joy and peace any person could ever need. It was such a foreign concept for me to understand; yet little did I know, this very problem was fermenting in my own head.
I always heard stories of believers who were depressed. I didn’t understand them or know how to start talking to them. I got some coffee one night with a friend from Germany and learned he wasn’t going to finish his semester at college. His grades were terrible, and he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t fix them, so he was going to leave. Then he told me he was seeing a counselor for depression.
I was stumped. I told him I’d pray for him because I didn’t know what else to do.
Then there was another guy I knew on my floor at school who was in a similar situation. He hadn’t been doing well and was on academic probation. He told me he got behind because of depression.
Over my years at college, I would come to know many more people who dealt with depression. A statistic began to form as people left every semester either because depression killed their grades or they couldn’t recuperate from this disease while at school. The foreign concept didn’t seem so far away because people I knew and was friends with were suffering and introducing me to what depression really was.
As I became more familiar with depression, I saw how much it affects people and how much it can destroy a life. I saw how people lose all motivation for accomplishing anything or for trying to fix anything. I took notice of their outward symptoms, but was still clueless as to what the inner causes were. But I would soon know these inner causes, because they were slowly coming to a boil inside me.
I began feeling numb to more aspects of life. Small disappointments and unmet standards of spirituality started to accumulate in my daily life. Things just weren’t working, and I would constantly be frustrated with school, church or people. Soon, depression grew like a tumor in my brain, keeping me from functioning and even recognizing that I was slipping into an actual clinical depression that would last two years.
I didn’t know I was depressed; I had no idea what that was like. I just knew time seemed to move much slower and existing just took forever. I didn’t realize I was now one of those people whom I couldn’t comprehend. I was the person who I used to look down upon because I didn’t understand them.
I used to think that depressed people weren’t as spiritually strong because they might have given in too easily to their thoughts or because they didn’t trust enough in God. What I would soon realize is that depressed people are quite the opposite. Many are bastions of faith who have to struggle twice as hard to have any fellowship with God. They are often more reliant on God because they have nothing left to rely on; depression has stripped them of any crutch that would work as a substitute.
There’s no comfort in relationships, no consolation to be had from a good speech or sermon, and not much to believe in or hope for. Worship becomes no more than ink arranged on paper and empty, familiar words spoken with no emotion. There are the countless hours spent wondering what’s wrong with you and why you can’t just be like everyone else?
Depressed people also usually have a keen intellect and critical mind that detects counterfeit or superficial attempts at spirituality. They know this because they’ve tried just thinking positively or wishing they were a better warrior for God and have come up short. Their normally healthy mind can drive itself into despair, can let itself wallow in sadness and even produce thoughts of suicide.
After a year and a half of living as a depressed Christian, the unfathomable became poignantly clear. I was depressed.
I knew what it felt like to not know where God is and to not know how to fix anything in your life. I knew how it felt to be the recipient of the sometimes hollow and distant sympathy, “I’ll pray for you.” I knew what it was like to have no motivation to accomplish anything because I was so consumed with my own problems. I now knew what depression looked like because I could look in the mirror and truly see myself there.
Now I know how real depression is, and how real struggle is in the spiritual life. I can no longer pigeonhole people who are truly suffering as “just not that spiritual.” People who seem to be on the outside of what I think is spiritual are usually the ones who know better than to have such a category. And I can only pray that someday God will bless me enough to be like them.
1/24/2004
www.relevantmag.com
'Familiar With Depression'
The idea of a depressed Christian used to seem like an oxymoron to me. Why would anyone who is a Christian be sad? I wondered. If a person really were a Christian, they should be able to remember all Christ had done for them, I figured. We really have no reason to be sad, let alone wallow in depression or sink into some lethargic sadness. People like that just need a better relationship with God, I thought. They probably didn’t pray the right way or didn’t even try to get anything out of their Bibles.
There just was no reason to be depressed—Christ has all the hope, joy and peace any person could ever need. It was such a foreign concept for me to understand; yet little did I know, this very problem was fermenting in my own head.
I always heard stories of believers who were depressed. I didn’t understand them or know how to start talking to them. I got some coffee one night with a friend from Germany and learned he wasn’t going to finish his semester at college. His grades were terrible, and he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t fix them, so he was going to leave. Then he told me he was seeing a counselor for depression.
I was stumped. I told him I’d pray for him because I didn’t know what else to do.
Then there was another guy I knew on my floor at school who was in a similar situation. He hadn’t been doing well and was on academic probation. He told me he got behind because of depression.
Over my years at college, I would come to know many more people who dealt with depression. A statistic began to form as people left every semester either because depression killed their grades or they couldn’t recuperate from this disease while at school. The foreign concept didn’t seem so far away because people I knew and was friends with were suffering and introducing me to what depression really was.
As I became more familiar with depression, I saw how much it affects people and how much it can destroy a life. I saw how people lose all motivation for accomplishing anything or for trying to fix anything. I took notice of their outward symptoms, but was still clueless as to what the inner causes were. But I would soon know these inner causes, because they were slowly coming to a boil inside me.
I began feeling numb to more aspects of life. Small disappointments and unmet standards of spirituality started to accumulate in my daily life. Things just weren’t working, and I would constantly be frustrated with school, church or people. Soon, depression grew like a tumor in my brain, keeping me from functioning and even recognizing that I was slipping into an actual clinical depression that would last two years.
I didn’t know I was depressed; I had no idea what that was like. I just knew time seemed to move much slower and existing just took forever. I didn’t realize I was now one of those people whom I couldn’t comprehend. I was the person who I used to look down upon because I didn’t understand them.
I used to think that depressed people weren’t as spiritually strong because they might have given in too easily to their thoughts or because they didn’t trust enough in God. What I would soon realize is that depressed people are quite the opposite. Many are bastions of faith who have to struggle twice as hard to have any fellowship with God. They are often more reliant on God because they have nothing left to rely on; depression has stripped them of any crutch that would work as a substitute.
There’s no comfort in relationships, no consolation to be had from a good speech or sermon, and not much to believe in or hope for. Worship becomes no more than ink arranged on paper and empty, familiar words spoken with no emotion. There are the countless hours spent wondering what’s wrong with you and why you can’t just be like everyone else?
Depressed people also usually have a keen intellect and critical mind that detects counterfeit or superficial attempts at spirituality. They know this because they’ve tried just thinking positively or wishing they were a better warrior for God and have come up short. Their normally healthy mind can drive itself into despair, can let itself wallow in sadness and even produce thoughts of suicide.
After a year and a half of living as a depressed Christian, the unfathomable became poignantly clear. I was depressed.
I knew what it felt like to not know where God is and to not know how to fix anything in your life. I knew how it felt to be the recipient of the sometimes hollow and distant sympathy, “I’ll pray for you.” I knew what it was like to have no motivation to accomplish anything because I was so consumed with my own problems. I now knew what depression looked like because I could look in the mirror and truly see myself there.
Now I know how real depression is, and how real struggle is in the spiritual life. I can no longer pigeonhole people who are truly suffering as “just not that spiritual.” People who seem to be on the outside of what I think is spiritual are usually the ones who know better than to have such a category. And I can only pray that someday God will bless me enough to be like them.
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Depression Series # 2
So here's the next in my depression series. This article I wrote for a counseling journal I put together for my senior print media project in school. I called the journal, "Issues", and it was pretty well received. I did a reprint a few years later when it became very relevant at my alma mater.
So this is what I was thinking about depression four years ago.
"Living With Depression"
Is this what Hell will be like?
To not have any connection with God
My memories of Him are all that’s left
But the past is gone
The future can’t be reached
And I’m just here
That’s what goes through my head when I’m depressed. God isn’t real and seems like merely a nice idea that a lot of people have. There’s not really a way to contact Him or see a response because you’re just here with all your thoughts to keep you company. And those thoughts are not usually kind.
Thoughts of regret, sadness and guilt were what consumed me for the longest time. I would drown in a tidal wave of guilt because I didn’t complete some small task on time or to the tee. Perfectionistic tendencies still set up shop in my brain despite my having studied Galatians in depth and marveled over 'grace' my freshman year. Forgetting to ‘do my devos’ was one of the largest initiators of guilt because if God was important, I’d make time for Him.
I’d regret not saying or doing something I ‘should’ have done or I’d just feel sad that I wasn’t connected to God. All of this would just create this cloud of sadness that would wrap around me for long stretches of time. I’d just sit and think about how I wasn’t right with God and how bad I felt about what I did 'wrong'.
I’d try to read my Bible and pray more but all these things were just physical acts that had no meaning. There was no God behind any of it. I could read for 24 hours straight and still not be right with God. Something major was wrong with me and I didn’t know what to do to get better.
I could try to do other spiritual things to fix it but my thoughts were still wrong. I could pray and God might have heard me but I was still consumed by wrong thoughts. These thought patterns had grown into me like ivy around a house and could not be cleared away without extensive work.
I was also numb to most everything. I didn’t really connect with people or to sad events that I heard about. Someone died of cancer, committed suicide, or was raped? “Life goes on,” I might think. It would take something extreme, movies like Magnolia or stories by Flannery O’Conner perhaps, to revive my senses to a low-level working order. Existential philosophers, like Søren Kierkegaard, also became geniuses to me.
I ache to be alive again
I ache to feel what feelings are
I yearn to know the experience of worship
I yearn to have the words truly affect me
Does what I’m singing really mean anything?
Can saying what’s true mean something
Even if it’s just an physical act?
I can’t remember when I first started to be depressed but I do remember when God reminded He was still there. Halfway through this past summer, I had a few thoughts that were pivotal in coping with depression: “This isn’t going to last forever. You won’t always be like this.”
I was pretty sure this was from God because my mind could never have produced this during that time. There were no romantic notions or spiritual revelations going through my mind. If the clouds in the sky spread apart and sunlight broke through to warm my numbed skin, it wouldn’t register. I’d see the scene above and think, “That’s kinda nice.” The two thoughts from God were awesome but they didn’t change how I thought.
I’m not sure how long it took, but I started to realize how huge a role my thoughts played. Even if I just finished some awesome time in the Word, the depressed thoughts could still take over and make me waste another two hours sitting and wallowing. I started to ask God to help me with my thoughts. I didn’t know what or how to do anything but I just needed help.
More time passed and I started to realize quicker when I would be depressed. I could almost figure out a specific time of the day when an episode started so I kept praying and asking for more help. I eventually was able to pin point what events triggered the thoughts of guilt, sadness or regret, but only after more time and stretches of depression had passed.
It was about then that I realized how much I truly needed God. I realized how idiotic was the Schuler-esque, American evangelical idea of changing your thinking through your own will power. A person’s thoughts are more powerful than we realize and any self-help fluff you can buy in a Christian bookstore can’t truly fix them. Only a genuine relationship with God, and perhaps some counseling, can really change negative thought patterns.
As much as I wanted to get help from a counselor, I never did, which was probably to my detriment. After almost a year of suffering, I finally was able to figure out my thought patterns and know what triggered a downward spiral of thoughts. Whenever I realized I was in that state, I could stop and ask God for help again with my thoughts.
Sometimes the episodes last a day, sometimes only a half-hour, but they haven’t gone away completely. I've come to realize that this is not just something you can cut out of your life. Overcoming depression would be awesome if all you had to do would be cut out part of your brain. But things aren't that easy. Depression is something you have to live with, but not give in to. It's almost like this sadness, guilt, or despair has to play with happiness, joy and contentment. Joy plays hopscotch with Sadness and cheers him on so he can figure out that he is Son of God. Despair is given an underdog on the swing set by Contentment and is made to laugh and smile.
Yet whenever I do get depressed, I see, yet again, how much I need God and turn to him. God won’t seem real and there won’t seem to be any reason to even consider getting better. But just asking for help, be it from counselors or God, is the only way anyone will ever get better.
So this is what I was thinking about depression four years ago.
"Living With Depression"
Is this what Hell will be like?
To not have any connection with God
My memories of Him are all that’s left
But the past is gone
The future can’t be reached
And I’m just here
That’s what goes through my head when I’m depressed. God isn’t real and seems like merely a nice idea that a lot of people have. There’s not really a way to contact Him or see a response because you’re just here with all your thoughts to keep you company. And those thoughts are not usually kind.
Thoughts of regret, sadness and guilt were what consumed me for the longest time. I would drown in a tidal wave of guilt because I didn’t complete some small task on time or to the tee. Perfectionistic tendencies still set up shop in my brain despite my having studied Galatians in depth and marveled over 'grace' my freshman year. Forgetting to ‘do my devos’ was one of the largest initiators of guilt because if God was important, I’d make time for Him.
I’d regret not saying or doing something I ‘should’ have done or I’d just feel sad that I wasn’t connected to God. All of this would just create this cloud of sadness that would wrap around me for long stretches of time. I’d just sit and think about how I wasn’t right with God and how bad I felt about what I did 'wrong'.
I’d try to read my Bible and pray more but all these things were just physical acts that had no meaning. There was no God behind any of it. I could read for 24 hours straight and still not be right with God. Something major was wrong with me and I didn’t know what to do to get better.
I could try to do other spiritual things to fix it but my thoughts were still wrong. I could pray and God might have heard me but I was still consumed by wrong thoughts. These thought patterns had grown into me like ivy around a house and could not be cleared away without extensive work.
I was also numb to most everything. I didn’t really connect with people or to sad events that I heard about. Someone died of cancer, committed suicide, or was raped? “Life goes on,” I might think. It would take something extreme, movies like Magnolia or stories by Flannery O’Conner perhaps, to revive my senses to a low-level working order. Existential philosophers, like Søren Kierkegaard, also became geniuses to me.
I ache to be alive again
I ache to feel what feelings are
I yearn to know the experience of worship
I yearn to have the words truly affect me
Does what I’m singing really mean anything?
Can saying what’s true mean something
Even if it’s just an physical act?
I can’t remember when I first started to be depressed but I do remember when God reminded He was still there. Halfway through this past summer, I had a few thoughts that were pivotal in coping with depression: “This isn’t going to last forever. You won’t always be like this.”
I was pretty sure this was from God because my mind could never have produced this during that time. There were no romantic notions or spiritual revelations going through my mind. If the clouds in the sky spread apart and sunlight broke through to warm my numbed skin, it wouldn’t register. I’d see the scene above and think, “That’s kinda nice.” The two thoughts from God were awesome but they didn’t change how I thought.
I’m not sure how long it took, but I started to realize how huge a role my thoughts played. Even if I just finished some awesome time in the Word, the depressed thoughts could still take over and make me waste another two hours sitting and wallowing. I started to ask God to help me with my thoughts. I didn’t know what or how to do anything but I just needed help.
More time passed and I started to realize quicker when I would be depressed. I could almost figure out a specific time of the day when an episode started so I kept praying and asking for more help. I eventually was able to pin point what events triggered the thoughts of guilt, sadness or regret, but only after more time and stretches of depression had passed.
It was about then that I realized how much I truly needed God. I realized how idiotic was the Schuler-esque, American evangelical idea of changing your thinking through your own will power. A person’s thoughts are more powerful than we realize and any self-help fluff you can buy in a Christian bookstore can’t truly fix them. Only a genuine relationship with God, and perhaps some counseling, can really change negative thought patterns.
As much as I wanted to get help from a counselor, I never did, which was probably to my detriment. After almost a year of suffering, I finally was able to figure out my thought patterns and know what triggered a downward spiral of thoughts. Whenever I realized I was in that state, I could stop and ask God for help again with my thoughts.
Sometimes the episodes last a day, sometimes only a half-hour, but they haven’t gone away completely. I've come to realize that this is not just something you can cut out of your life. Overcoming depression would be awesome if all you had to do would be cut out part of your brain. But things aren't that easy. Depression is something you have to live with, but not give in to. It's almost like this sadness, guilt, or despair has to play with happiness, joy and contentment. Joy plays hopscotch with Sadness and cheers him on so he can figure out that he is Son of God. Despair is given an underdog on the swing set by Contentment and is made to laugh and smile.
Yet whenever I do get depressed, I see, yet again, how much I need God and turn to him. God won’t seem real and there won’t seem to be any reason to even consider getting better. But just asking for help, be it from counselors or God, is the only way anyone will ever get better.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Depression Series - #1
So this is the first of nine articles I'll post on depression. I wanted to do this because I wanted to draw some attention to mental disorders. So many people out there struggle with all kinds of maladies of the mind. Besides struggling with depression myself, a friend of mine struggled with obsessive compulsive disorder, one of the possible reasons for him committing suicide two years ago. (For more on this friend, search for Clark Stacy on this blog to find all the posts that are flagged about him).
So this was probably the first essay I wrote on depression while I was in college. I put it together for the Jerry Jenkins Writing contest my alma mater held. So I had to think, "What would the author of the Left Behind books think would be a great essay on depression?" I almost didn't know how to answer that question but here's what I came up with.
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God Isn't Real When You're Depressed
God isn’t real when you’re depressed. He doesn’t reach into your naturalistic life and affect you in any way. All that is real is what you can see and touch and what crumbles in your hand when crushed.
For about half a year, these were the kind of thoughts that I had. Somehow, God became Someone who was extremely distant and didn’t have much to do with how I went to work or how I brushed my teeth in the mornings. Whatever connection that injected divine purpose, or any purpose for that matter, into my life seemed to have disappeared. There only seemed to be the methodic activities that I had to perform each day.
Shaving became a joy, or as much a joy as such an act can be. A Mach 3 triple razor skidded across my cheek, slowly ripping out the stubble that had grown through my skin during the night. The warm, burning sensation on my neck and cheeks from shaving were physical sensations that helped me to feel pain. I was happy for being able to feel anything at all; emotions and other sensations had withered away.
There was once a relationship with Christ that showered me with physical sensations and meaning from some otherworldly mystery. Before I went to bed each night, I could kneel down to pray and just by remembering the events of that day be overwhelmed with how God had worked in my life. I could hardly pray or think straight because I saw how much God loved me and how He had orchestrated what different people had said or done to show me this. I could only cry at knowing how much I was loved and how much I meant to God.
Yet for some reason, I didn’t have that anymore. Those snapshots of faith seemed to be a sort of photo album of the past and not much more than memories. The dynamic relationship with Christ from back then seemed too distant to have any effect on the depression of the here and now. Life was more existential and focused on the table and chair I was sitting at rather than the mystery of God speaking from above the clouds or wherever He truly was.
I knew that God was still there somewhere, yet that didn’t help me with my present situation. I had gradually become numb to anything spiritual and didn’t want to bother trying to figure out why. I was just here and knew that I needed to be somewhere else. My relationship with God had somehow become shredded, if not hacked to pieces, leaving me to merely wake up, exist for a few hours and then go to sleep again. There wasn’t really any reason for doing anything except that I was alive and had to do something.
During those months, one of the best distractions from thinking about how I wasn’t right with God was an online computer game called Super Bounce Out. I would spend hours rearranging colored balls on a screen so that when three of the same color were side by side, they would bounce out, making room for new ones. I made this a sort of priority and cherished the time spent scoring points on something that didn’t matter for anything. I reached a high score of 145,000 points on level 11, where you had to bounce out 175 balls in a short period of time. Somehow, this had meaning for me: I could always get to the next level and this was an accomplishment.
I didn’t know how or why I was like this. My life over the past year was a success story, like many others who get this way. I was editor-in-chief of the school paper and scared some of the administration with an article I wrote. I applied for and became an RA. I went to Africa over Spring Break and helped to proofread a translation of the Bible in a native language I didn’t know. I was a leader in the youth group at my church. I met a girl and started dating her during the spring semester and would spend the whole summer growing closer to her. I had absolutely no reason to be like I was.
These two thoughts did not become a romantic experience where I saw an opening in those clouds and was washed in a warming light that gave life to my cold, numb skin. As great as that would be to experience, I might not even have been able to receive that. My mind might have merely responded, “That’s kind of pretty.” Rather, the thoughts were simple and without flashy lights or sensuous smells to awaken me from my slumber.
“This isn’t going to last forever. You won’t always be like this.”
There was hope in those two sentences because I knew myself so well and knew where the thoughts must have come from. I knew where my state of mind presently was and what had been trickling out of it. A person who is depressed is not so likely to have hopeful thoughts because they are in the habit of dwelling on whatever is wrong. I couldn’t stop what I was doing, take a deep breath, and take a few moments to fix all the wrong thoughts that had been isolating me from God. My mind was still tightly fastened to the existential, natural world and couldn’t suddenly break the roots that held me there. So the idea that what I was suffering through wouldn’t last forever must have come from somewhere outside of me.
I soon began to realize that God was above all that existed around me and had the power to trump the natural laws He had made. He could dig into my grimy, dirt-under-your-fingernails-world to change things and perhaps even help me repair my shredded relationship. I slowly began to learn what ‘supernatural’ looked like in the numbing grind of daily life. A pitiful creature whose faith in himself and his reason to solve things would be shown how little meaning there was in himself and his reason. I saw this lack of meaning and began asking for help.
The hopeful thoughts became a new companion in the playground of my mind.
Unhappiness skipped over hopscotch squares as Hope of Changing cheered it on. Lack of Motivation swung harder on and higher on the playground swings as Hope of a Better Time pushed it. The depressing thoughts would remain like an unwelcome guest despite my knowledge that God had begun to supernaturally fix me.
I thought about reading the Bible and what better book to read when depressed than Ecclesiastes. Solomon, the wisest king of Israel, had gained everything his natural heart could want but, thanks to his wisdom from God, he saw it all as meaningless. All he could build or do was all in vain if meaning was not found in God. I discovered a phrase that Solomon repeated five times throughout the book: There is nothing better for a man to eat, drink, and enjoy his work, for that is the gift of God.
Solomon’s wisdom seemed to affirm my experience with depression. This life was just what it was and nothing else. Any meaning for all of my activities must come from God. In my natural world of tasks and tending to responsibilities, God would supernaturally provide meaning for it all.
This supernatural ability was more and more revealed to me as time went on. Small vignettes of people being put in the right place or circumstances working out to my favor didn’t always look like coincidences anymore. From an existential mindset, God working in our boring, everyday lives can be seen as nothing but chance. However, I can’t accept that anymore. God is supernatural and can rescue us from our naturalistic lives and prove His character through our struggles.
So this was probably the first essay I wrote on depression while I was in college. I put it together for the Jerry Jenkins Writing contest my alma mater held. So I had to think, "What would the author of the Left Behind books think would be a great essay on depression?" I almost didn't know how to answer that question but here's what I came up with.
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God Isn't Real When You're Depressed
God isn’t real when you’re depressed. He doesn’t reach into your naturalistic life and affect you in any way. All that is real is what you can see and touch and what crumbles in your hand when crushed.
For about half a year, these were the kind of thoughts that I had. Somehow, God became Someone who was extremely distant and didn’t have much to do with how I went to work or how I brushed my teeth in the mornings. Whatever connection that injected divine purpose, or any purpose for that matter, into my life seemed to have disappeared. There only seemed to be the methodic activities that I had to perform each day.
Shaving became a joy, or as much a joy as such an act can be. A Mach 3 triple razor skidded across my cheek, slowly ripping out the stubble that had grown through my skin during the night. The warm, burning sensation on my neck and cheeks from shaving were physical sensations that helped me to feel pain. I was happy for being able to feel anything at all; emotions and other sensations had withered away.
There was once a relationship with Christ that showered me with physical sensations and meaning from some otherworldly mystery. Before I went to bed each night, I could kneel down to pray and just by remembering the events of that day be overwhelmed with how God had worked in my life. I could hardly pray or think straight because I saw how much God loved me and how He had orchestrated what different people had said or done to show me this. I could only cry at knowing how much I was loved and how much I meant to God.
Yet for some reason, I didn’t have that anymore. Those snapshots of faith seemed to be a sort of photo album of the past and not much more than memories. The dynamic relationship with Christ from back then seemed too distant to have any effect on the depression of the here and now. Life was more existential and focused on the table and chair I was sitting at rather than the mystery of God speaking from above the clouds or wherever He truly was.
I knew that God was still there somewhere, yet that didn’t help me with my present situation. I had gradually become numb to anything spiritual and didn’t want to bother trying to figure out why. I was just here and knew that I needed to be somewhere else. My relationship with God had somehow become shredded, if not hacked to pieces, leaving me to merely wake up, exist for a few hours and then go to sleep again. There wasn’t really any reason for doing anything except that I was alive and had to do something.
During those months, one of the best distractions from thinking about how I wasn’t right with God was an online computer game called Super Bounce Out. I would spend hours rearranging colored balls on a screen so that when three of the same color were side by side, they would bounce out, making room for new ones. I made this a sort of priority and cherished the time spent scoring points on something that didn’t matter for anything. I reached a high score of 145,000 points on level 11, where you had to bounce out 175 balls in a short period of time. Somehow, this had meaning for me: I could always get to the next level and this was an accomplishment.
I didn’t know how or why I was like this. My life over the past year was a success story, like many others who get this way. I was editor-in-chief of the school paper and scared some of the administration with an article I wrote. I applied for and became an RA. I went to Africa over Spring Break and helped to proofread a translation of the Bible in a native language I didn’t know. I was a leader in the youth group at my church. I met a girl and started dating her during the spring semester and would spend the whole summer growing closer to her. I had absolutely no reason to be like I was.
These two thoughts did not become a romantic experience where I saw an opening in those clouds and was washed in a warming light that gave life to my cold, numb skin. As great as that would be to experience, I might not even have been able to receive that. My mind might have merely responded, “That’s kind of pretty.” Rather, the thoughts were simple and without flashy lights or sensuous smells to awaken me from my slumber.
“This isn’t going to last forever. You won’t always be like this.”
There was hope in those two sentences because I knew myself so well and knew where the thoughts must have come from. I knew where my state of mind presently was and what had been trickling out of it. A person who is depressed is not so likely to have hopeful thoughts because they are in the habit of dwelling on whatever is wrong. I couldn’t stop what I was doing, take a deep breath, and take a few moments to fix all the wrong thoughts that had been isolating me from God. My mind was still tightly fastened to the existential, natural world and couldn’t suddenly break the roots that held me there. So the idea that what I was suffering through wouldn’t last forever must have come from somewhere outside of me.
I soon began to realize that God was above all that existed around me and had the power to trump the natural laws He had made. He could dig into my grimy, dirt-under-your-fingernails-world to change things and perhaps even help me repair my shredded relationship. I slowly began to learn what ‘supernatural’ looked like in the numbing grind of daily life. A pitiful creature whose faith in himself and his reason to solve things would be shown how little meaning there was in himself and his reason. I saw this lack of meaning and began asking for help.
The hopeful thoughts became a new companion in the playground of my mind.
Unhappiness skipped over hopscotch squares as Hope of Changing cheered it on. Lack of Motivation swung harder on and higher on the playground swings as Hope of a Better Time pushed it. The depressing thoughts would remain like an unwelcome guest despite my knowledge that God had begun to supernaturally fix me.
I thought about reading the Bible and what better book to read when depressed than Ecclesiastes. Solomon, the wisest king of Israel, had gained everything his natural heart could want but, thanks to his wisdom from God, he saw it all as meaningless. All he could build or do was all in vain if meaning was not found in God. I discovered a phrase that Solomon repeated five times throughout the book: There is nothing better for a man to eat, drink, and enjoy his work, for that is the gift of God.
Solomon’s wisdom seemed to affirm my experience with depression. This life was just what it was and nothing else. Any meaning for all of my activities must come from God. In my natural world of tasks and tending to responsibilities, God would supernaturally provide meaning for it all.
This supernatural ability was more and more revealed to me as time went on. Small vignettes of people being put in the right place or circumstances working out to my favor didn’t always look like coincidences anymore. From an existential mindset, God working in our boring, everyday lives can be seen as nothing but chance. However, I can’t accept that anymore. God is supernatural and can rescue us from our naturalistic lives and prove His character through our struggles.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Caffeine-Free Can Wait; Trent; Books For Lent; My 9 Articles
So I bought a pound of unroasted beans from White Rock Coffee at half the normal price. I got a pound of Ethiopia Harrar Makeda for only $7.50. A friend with a home roaster is going to hook me up so then I can enjoy the great blueberry flavor that comes from the coffee. Having done that, there's no way I can go caffeine-free during March like I had planned. So I'll have to wait till the Makeda runs out.
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I posted Trent's article on The Brew on ambiguous political allegiances.
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So far so good with no TV during Lent. Finished The Book Of The Dun Cow. Started slow but picked up quickly. Other books up for reading during Lent: The Devil In The White City; Blessed Assurance; Prayer: Does It Make Any Difference; Searching For God Knows What; The Book Against God; Cry, The Beloved County.
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I found that I had more on depression than I thought. So I'll start posting the 9 essays I've written over the years staring next week.
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I posted Trent's article on The Brew on ambiguous political allegiances.
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So far so good with no TV during Lent. Finished The Book Of The Dun Cow. Started slow but picked up quickly. Other books up for reading during Lent: The Devil In The White City; Blessed Assurance; Prayer: Does It Make Any Difference; Searching For God Knows What; The Book Against God; Cry, The Beloved County.
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I found that I had more on depression than I thought. So I'll start posting the 9 essays I've written over the years staring next week.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Had a conversation with a friend about different translations of the Bible. My thoughts came together as I was talking out my NAS but it ended up sounding truly together, smooth and...(trying to find a way to work in an ESV pun)....
So here's what came out: The New American Standard version came out in the 90s, and was kind of rigid and wooden, though more accurate than the NIV, which was published back in the 60s or 70s. I'm sure that since the NAS, everyone's understanding of the Bible and scholarship has matured and grown since then. I thought that perhaps the generation that each translation was produced in might have bearing on how that version is put together.
The example that comes to mind is how the ESV translates some pronouns, say he or she. The ESV has side notes whenever there is a pronoun which isn't necessarily masculine that says, 'he or she'. This made me wonder if this is according to the newest scholarship or evangelicals realizing past mistakes (?) in how they treated the pronouns.
So my spur of the moment conclusion is that there's surely some influence each generation has on newer translations.
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Dan's article on the Brew spurred some true dialog with lengthy comments and responses. Check 'em out after Dan's "Compassion and Theology" article.
Also, I posted another new author Lesley on the current Brew. She writes about the ambiguous future.
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Next month will be two years since a friend committed suicide. I've been trying to think of what to do and I think I'll post all that I've written on depression during March. So it'll be four or five essays I've written over the last five years on my experiences with depression.
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And to keep you guys from thinking that I'm too spiritual, I'll admit that I watched The Evil Dead last night, at my roommate's request ( he recently got the complete trilogy that ends with Army Of Darkness). The description on the DVD case said it was the most disturbing movie ever made. Though it stars funny man Bruce Campbell and contains the cheesiest horror effects from the 80s, it was truly disturbing. I'm hoping the middile installment (The Evil Dead 2) might be funnier. Chalk one up for truth in advertising.
So here's what came out: The New American Standard version came out in the 90s, and was kind of rigid and wooden, though more accurate than the NIV, which was published back in the 60s or 70s. I'm sure that since the NAS, everyone's understanding of the Bible and scholarship has matured and grown since then. I thought that perhaps the generation that each translation was produced in might have bearing on how that version is put together.
The example that comes to mind is how the ESV translates some pronouns, say he or she. The ESV has side notes whenever there is a pronoun which isn't necessarily masculine that says, 'he or she'. This made me wonder if this is according to the newest scholarship or evangelicals realizing past mistakes (?) in how they treated the pronouns.
So my spur of the moment conclusion is that there's surely some influence each generation has on newer translations.
---------------------
Dan's article on the Brew spurred some true dialog with lengthy comments and responses. Check 'em out after Dan's "Compassion and Theology" article.
Also, I posted another new author Lesley on the current Brew. She writes about the ambiguous future.
-------
Next month will be two years since a friend committed suicide. I've been trying to think of what to do and I think I'll post all that I've written on depression during March. So it'll be four or five essays I've written over the last five years on my experiences with depression.
--------
And to keep you guys from thinking that I'm too spiritual, I'll admit that I watched The Evil Dead last night, at my roommate's request ( he recently got the complete trilogy that ends with Army Of Darkness). The description on the DVD case said it was the most disturbing movie ever made. Though it stars funny man Bruce Campbell and contains the cheesiest horror effects from the 80s, it was truly disturbing. I'm hoping the middile installment (The Evil Dead 2) might be funnier. Chalk one up for truth in advertising.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Giving Up On Answers and Suspending Judgment
I finished God in the Dark by Os Guiness this week and was humbled and changed. Reading Guiness’ answer to the question of ‘Why, O Lord?’ put something into words that I had been struggling with for a while. It was an idea that helped me deal with the suicide of a friend a year and a half ago.
Clark Stacy killed himself in March of ’05 while I was still a crime reporter in Chicago. Two years prior at Moody, I was his resident assistant but kept up with him after I graduated. I was naturally shocked when I heard the news on my way to work the overnight shift.
During a lull around 2 a.m., I did what I could to corroborate the news. I found online the small newspaper in Tennessee that ran his obituary the day after the suicide. I instantly thought of what I could do to find out more. I could look up the local medical examiner, hospital, or sheriff’s office. A friend had called me to fill me in but any news story had to be corroborated. I had to get the facts myself.
An hour later, I realized that I wouldn’t be able to get any info. Why would anyone from small-town Tennessee talk to some small newswire reporter from Chicago? And if this was a suicide, no one would be talking about it anyway. I considered all the other roadblocks to getting information. I also considered my need to direct a sole reporter to best cover the city for the next 7 hours.
I stopped trying to find answers through reportorial means. Instead, for about two months I turned to the community that he and I used to be part of: Moody Bible Institute. I went to a sort of memorial chapel, talked to his friends still there and then listened to some crazy drama involving professors at MBI and Clark’s parents.
The man who counseled Clark at MBI was just as dumbfounded. I didn’t ask but the counselor gave me his professional opinion (which I wasn’t going to ask about for obvious reasons). I felt privileged that he told me what he did but I still didn’t couldn’t figure out why it all happened.
More months went by and I gave up trying to find answers. My anger burned out and I knew that I would never have the answer that I wanted. I was just going to have to accept that and, somewhere in the back of my head, try to accept that God was all that I was taught he was.
And then comes Guiness to tell me this:
“It is difficult to hold an impersonal universe personally responsible, and nothing less than personal responsibility will do. The only remaining option is to call God to the bar and charge him with the injustice of suffering that is otherwise inexplicable. Through doubt we can get even with God.”
So where does that leave me? What am I to do? Believe that God is good?
Guiness told me that “To suspend judgement on why something is happening is not the same as denying that something is happening. The former is faith, the latter is repression, which should have not part in the Christian faith.”
His idea is that you don’t know why but you can know why you trust God who knows why. You suspend judgment of God who knows why.
Guiness concludes by stating that all doubts about the Father are silenced in the Son, to which no suffering can be compared.
There’s not much to say after that.
Clark Stacy killed himself in March of ’05 while I was still a crime reporter in Chicago. Two years prior at Moody, I was his resident assistant but kept up with him after I graduated. I was naturally shocked when I heard the news on my way to work the overnight shift.
During a lull around 2 a.m., I did what I could to corroborate the news. I found online the small newspaper in Tennessee that ran his obituary the day after the suicide. I instantly thought of what I could do to find out more. I could look up the local medical examiner, hospital, or sheriff’s office. A friend had called me to fill me in but any news story had to be corroborated. I had to get the facts myself.
An hour later, I realized that I wouldn’t be able to get any info. Why would anyone from small-town Tennessee talk to some small newswire reporter from Chicago? And if this was a suicide, no one would be talking about it anyway. I considered all the other roadblocks to getting information. I also considered my need to direct a sole reporter to best cover the city for the next 7 hours.
I stopped trying to find answers through reportorial means. Instead, for about two months I turned to the community that he and I used to be part of: Moody Bible Institute. I went to a sort of memorial chapel, talked to his friends still there and then listened to some crazy drama involving professors at MBI and Clark’s parents.
The man who counseled Clark at MBI was just as dumbfounded. I didn’t ask but the counselor gave me his professional opinion (which I wasn’t going to ask about for obvious reasons). I felt privileged that he told me what he did but I still didn’t couldn’t figure out why it all happened.
More months went by and I gave up trying to find answers. My anger burned out and I knew that I would never have the answer that I wanted. I was just going to have to accept that and, somewhere in the back of my head, try to accept that God was all that I was taught he was.
And then comes Guiness to tell me this:
“It is difficult to hold an impersonal universe personally responsible, and nothing less than personal responsibility will do. The only remaining option is to call God to the bar and charge him with the injustice of suffering that is otherwise inexplicable. Through doubt we can get even with God.”
So where does that leave me? What am I to do? Believe that God is good?
Guiness told me that “To suspend judgement on why something is happening is not the same as denying that something is happening. The former is faith, the latter is repression, which should have not part in the Christian faith.”
His idea is that you don’t know why but you can know why you trust God who knows why. You suspend judgment of God who knows why.
Guiness concludes by stating that all doubts about the Father are silenced in the Son, to which no suffering can be compared.
There’s not much to say after that.
Friday, September 08, 2006
An Unsafe Book
As I keep reading God in the Dark, by Guiness, I realize how unsafe it is to read this. And I think I’m going to need a Guiness to toss back while sorting through everything it’s throwing at me.
The subtitle is deceptive: The Assurance of Faith Beyond a Shadow of a Doubt. This rings of some kind of fundamentalist apology that might try to convince you with evidences or arguments that disbelieving in God is something for first grade thinkers. But the book is anything but.
Guiness examines doubt itself and all the reasons one would doubt. He also explains doubt as a regular part of faith and shoots down the notion that doubt is a negative part of belief. He then goes through seven ‘families’ of doubt that address various reasons for doubting.
I’ve only gotten through three of those families and my spirituality has already had the rug pulled out from underneath it. I can no longer operate the way I have been for the last three or four years.
I’ve embraced the idea of not trying to make everything work in regards to my faith. I’ve seen the downside to trying to fix everything or the downside of being disciplined enough to be ‘successful’ in my faith. I’ve embraced a sort of nihilistic attitude about achieving anything. I had to give up trying and just be. I had to come to the end of myself and embrace crashing and burning. This might be why I’m come to appreciate Chuck Palahniuk’s books so much. He’s been dubbed America’s favorite nihilist.
Well, I’ve crashed and I’ve burned and my crisis of faith seems to have past. So now what? I’m still alive and I still believe in Christ. Do I have to build some new kind of spirituality? Am I no longer going to be one of those troubled souls whose faith gets them through by the shreds of truth that shine out amongst the darkness? Do I mature in my faith and move on with my life and no longer define myself as one of those who struggle as an occupation?
If I read this book to the end, then I’ll have to.
The subtitle is deceptive: The Assurance of Faith Beyond a Shadow of a Doubt. This rings of some kind of fundamentalist apology that might try to convince you with evidences or arguments that disbelieving in God is something for first grade thinkers. But the book is anything but.
Guiness examines doubt itself and all the reasons one would doubt. He also explains doubt as a regular part of faith and shoots down the notion that doubt is a negative part of belief. He then goes through seven ‘families’ of doubt that address various reasons for doubting.
I’ve only gotten through three of those families and my spirituality has already had the rug pulled out from underneath it. I can no longer operate the way I have been for the last three or four years.
I’ve embraced the idea of not trying to make everything work in regards to my faith. I’ve seen the downside to trying to fix everything or the downside of being disciplined enough to be ‘successful’ in my faith. I’ve embraced a sort of nihilistic attitude about achieving anything. I had to give up trying and just be. I had to come to the end of myself and embrace crashing and burning. This might be why I’m come to appreciate Chuck Palahniuk’s books so much. He’s been dubbed America’s favorite nihilist.
Well, I’ve crashed and I’ve burned and my crisis of faith seems to have past. So now what? I’m still alive and I still believe in Christ. Do I have to build some new kind of spirituality? Am I no longer going to be one of those troubled souls whose faith gets them through by the shreds of truth that shine out amongst the darkness? Do I mature in my faith and move on with my life and no longer define myself as one of those who struggle as an occupation?
If I read this book to the end, then I’ll have to.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Remembering
“In keep open lines to the past, the redeemed memory carries encouragement and conveys warnings and lessons to faith as faith is engaged in fighting at the front line of battle that is the present moment.”
-Os Guiness, God in the Dark.
This comes from the third chapter of Guiness’ book, entitled “Forgetting to Remember: Doubt from Ingratitude.” Reading this book has been revolutionary. What’s crazy is that I feel like (and sound like) I did almost eight years ago as I was starting my Bible school education. Every book was mind-shattering and life-altering.
I remember those days and look back fondly on them, though nowadays I’d say I’m very far from them. I don’t long for that pure milk of anything and gasp when some new truth is revealed to me. I more just long to continue on and not be dragged back into a depressed state that finds it’s cure in never-ending entertainment. God is still there and Christ has still saved me; I’m still redeemed and am being regenerated but I don’t quite feel like it. I’m accustoming myself to having feelings again and trying to sort them out after having turned them off.
I realized that my faith somehow keeps going, inspite of everything that I think would shatter it. My struggles with depression, although ongoing, aren’t as crippling as they once were. Five years after I began struggling with it, I see that life has gone on and I’v figured some things out. I’ve become one of those people I knew way back when who inspired me to keep going. I saw them in their darkest times but then later on, I also saw them able to get back to some kind of functioning faith. Somehow, they were able to deal with their depression or whatever other malady and move on. Time and their faith were able to help them grow.
I’ve more than survived the last five years and that’s something I try to remind myself of. I earned a bachelor’s degree and supported myself for going on three years. I was a freakin’ reporter for the Chicago Tribune for a year. Although I didn’t succeed at this and quit after a year, I didn’t let that send running home to Mom and Dad thinking that I couldn’t accomplish anything with my struggles with depression. And now I’ve up and moved to Texas to take a chance on starting a magazine. Who knows what’ll happen next.
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The Next Big Thing in Texas and then some.
-Os Guiness, God in the Dark.
This comes from the third chapter of Guiness’ book, entitled “Forgetting to Remember: Doubt from Ingratitude.” Reading this book has been revolutionary. What’s crazy is that I feel like (and sound like) I did almost eight years ago as I was starting my Bible school education. Every book was mind-shattering and life-altering.
I remember those days and look back fondly on them, though nowadays I’d say I’m very far from them. I don’t long for that pure milk of anything and gasp when some new truth is revealed to me. I more just long to continue on and not be dragged back into a depressed state that finds it’s cure in never-ending entertainment. God is still there and Christ has still saved me; I’m still redeemed and am being regenerated but I don’t quite feel like it. I’m accustoming myself to having feelings again and trying to sort them out after having turned them off.
I realized that my faith somehow keeps going, inspite of everything that I think would shatter it. My struggles with depression, although ongoing, aren’t as crippling as they once were. Five years after I began struggling with it, I see that life has gone on and I’v figured some things out. I’ve become one of those people I knew way back when who inspired me to keep going. I saw them in their darkest times but then later on, I also saw them able to get back to some kind of functioning faith. Somehow, they were able to deal with their depression or whatever other malady and move on. Time and their faith were able to help them grow.
I’ve more than survived the last five years and that’s something I try to remind myself of. I earned a bachelor’s degree and supported myself for going on three years. I was a freakin’ reporter for the Chicago Tribune for a year. Although I didn’t succeed at this and quit after a year, I didn’t let that send running home to Mom and Dad thinking that I couldn’t accomplish anything with my struggles with depression. And now I’ve up and moved to Texas to take a chance on starting a magazine. Who knows what’ll happen next.
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The Next Big Thing in Texas and then some.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Crisis Averted
So the crisis was averted, yet again. It almost sounds like the ending of some clichéd movie, where the main character learns some great lesson. Since he was only painted in one broad, monochrome color, he only learned that he was merely selfish or that he should’ve known that his friends would come through. He was not that complicated and so his lesson learned wasn’t that amazing. He was only two dimensional.
I feel like that character because for the last week, I had some financial crisis that propelled me into the realm of disbelief. I didn’t believe that things were going to change. I thought I would never get that refund for self-publishing that journal or that freelance check that would pay my bills during the time in between paychecks. I became angry at individuals, corporations or anyone else that seemingly contributed to my misery.
My bank account went way into the negative digits, throwing an entire toolbox into the machinery of my life. What was in the account would have covered the deposit check given to an apartment complex in north Dallas that secured a pretty sweet two-bedroom, two-bath pad for my buddy and I. Luckily, that check hasn’t been cashed in yet.
My back went out as well, only compounding the situation. Maybe I swam too hard and pushed and pulled that restaurant booth the wrong way while moving it into the graphic design studio. I stretched, heated, iced and just lay on my back, trying to rest it. But it didn’t squeeze back into place until a week later. Makes me wonder if there’s some medical connection between my mental state and a crick in my back that twists a nerve a certain way? I wonder if depression could stem from merely one nerve in the spinal column being pinched the wrong way?
So the week goes on and I continue to go through the motions of my Christianity. I go to church and then grab lunch with the 20 somethings afterward. I went to a small group dinner and tried to contribute something as people discussed chapter seven of Don’t Waste Your Life, by John Piper. Could there be a more appropriate (or inappropriate) book for this week of my life?
In each of these times of spiritual discussion, I felt completely disconnected because I didn’t feel like I had any faith. I just had doubts about all of God’s characteristics that I knew. I felt like I was talking about someone else’s life when I tried to say something authentic. I felt two dimensional. That lesson learned came from someone else’s life, not mine. I wasn’t the person who figured out that wise idea on how to be authentic. I was someone who didn’t know if he had any faith. I was someone who didn’t walk in anyone’s ways or follow hard after anyone. I was just here, groping for some way out of a two-dimensional mess.
I began praying two days ago (one of the things that I remembered from that other person’s life) that God needed to show himself to me again. I knew that I didn’t quite believe that He would take care of me so I told him so. I said this, somehow knowing that he would do what I asked because that’s what He does. I couldn’t say that God would always defend his character and restore the faith of his sons and daughters. But that’s what I pretty much asked him to do in so many words.
And then today happens. I call my parents to check in (and eventually ask for whatever money they could spare). My mom figured out she could wire me some money and did so. While I was talking to her in my bedroom, an overnight UPS envelop came. My boss handed it to me after I went back into the office. Inside was a check for a freelance project that I did three and a half months ago. The amount would bring my bank account back into the positive digits. While depositing this check at the bank, my Mom called while I waited for the teller to deposit the check. “I just wired ***** dollars into your account.” I told her the good news and she was excited. I guess God will come through in situations like this, just like my Mom said in our initial conversation.
I get an email from a friend who’s raising support to work for Campus Crusade for Christ. He’s my age and just had his third child, making support raising all the more interesting. I’ve given him my pittance for the last two years ‘cause were buds and he has the cutest daughter who says, “Hey Beach!” whenever she see me. I emailed him and asked him to pray for my situation. He emailed me today to tell me that he just mailed me a check for $100. That’s unfathomable for me. But not for him. He works full-time on raising support and not in any other job. He lives on the belief that God will provide for his needs and has done so for the last nine months.
He says his mailman took his check to me but then left another letter in his daily mail. He opened a letter to find a check for $500 the same day he sent out a $100 for me.
My current boss also gave me an advance to pay for a small editing job he lassoed for me from one of his clients.
So the two dimensional character realizes that there’s an entire other dimension where things happen and people believe all sorts of things. And then the character starts to see his hand in full color and realize there’s depth to it all.
I feel like that character because for the last week, I had some financial crisis that propelled me into the realm of disbelief. I didn’t believe that things were going to change. I thought I would never get that refund for self-publishing that journal or that freelance check that would pay my bills during the time in between paychecks. I became angry at individuals, corporations or anyone else that seemingly contributed to my misery.
My bank account went way into the negative digits, throwing an entire toolbox into the machinery of my life. What was in the account would have covered the deposit check given to an apartment complex in north Dallas that secured a pretty sweet two-bedroom, two-bath pad for my buddy and I. Luckily, that check hasn’t been cashed in yet.
My back went out as well, only compounding the situation. Maybe I swam too hard and pushed and pulled that restaurant booth the wrong way while moving it into the graphic design studio. I stretched, heated, iced and just lay on my back, trying to rest it. But it didn’t squeeze back into place until a week later. Makes me wonder if there’s some medical connection between my mental state and a crick in my back that twists a nerve a certain way? I wonder if depression could stem from merely one nerve in the spinal column being pinched the wrong way?
So the week goes on and I continue to go through the motions of my Christianity. I go to church and then grab lunch with the 20 somethings afterward. I went to a small group dinner and tried to contribute something as people discussed chapter seven of Don’t Waste Your Life, by John Piper. Could there be a more appropriate (or inappropriate) book for this week of my life?
In each of these times of spiritual discussion, I felt completely disconnected because I didn’t feel like I had any faith. I just had doubts about all of God’s characteristics that I knew. I felt like I was talking about someone else’s life when I tried to say something authentic. I felt two dimensional. That lesson learned came from someone else’s life, not mine. I wasn’t the person who figured out that wise idea on how to be authentic. I was someone who didn’t know if he had any faith. I was someone who didn’t walk in anyone’s ways or follow hard after anyone. I was just here, groping for some way out of a two-dimensional mess.
I began praying two days ago (one of the things that I remembered from that other person’s life) that God needed to show himself to me again. I knew that I didn’t quite believe that He would take care of me so I told him so. I said this, somehow knowing that he would do what I asked because that’s what He does. I couldn’t say that God would always defend his character and restore the faith of his sons and daughters. But that’s what I pretty much asked him to do in so many words.
And then today happens. I call my parents to check in (and eventually ask for whatever money they could spare). My mom figured out she could wire me some money and did so. While I was talking to her in my bedroom, an overnight UPS envelop came. My boss handed it to me after I went back into the office. Inside was a check for a freelance project that I did three and a half months ago. The amount would bring my bank account back into the positive digits. While depositing this check at the bank, my Mom called while I waited for the teller to deposit the check. “I just wired ***** dollars into your account.” I told her the good news and she was excited. I guess God will come through in situations like this, just like my Mom said in our initial conversation.
I get an email from a friend who’s raising support to work for Campus Crusade for Christ. He’s my age and just had his third child, making support raising all the more interesting. I’ve given him my pittance for the last two years ‘cause were buds and he has the cutest daughter who says, “Hey Beach!” whenever she see me. I emailed him and asked him to pray for my situation. He emailed me today to tell me that he just mailed me a check for $100. That’s unfathomable for me. But not for him. He works full-time on raising support and not in any other job. He lives on the belief that God will provide for his needs and has done so for the last nine months.
He says his mailman took his check to me but then left another letter in his daily mail. He opened a letter to find a check for $500 the same day he sent out a $100 for me.
My current boss also gave me an advance to pay for a small editing job he lassoed for me from one of his clients.
So the two dimensional character realizes that there’s an entire other dimension where things happen and people believe all sorts of things. And then the character starts to see his hand in full color and realize there’s depth to it all.
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