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Think on These Things

When depression’s ice

Freezes my life

And stops me in my tracks,

 

Or when feelings of inadequacy

Hit me like the felling of a tree

And I want to turn back,

 

I think of…

 

An expanse of sea—

His creative majesty—

Sprawling before me.

 

Something Lovely.

 

A child of innocence,

Meaning no impertinence,

Simply telling the truths of his experience.

 

Something Honest.

 

A gavel downward crashing,

As a judge, through mental thrashing,

Gives the sentence he can’t escape passing.

 

Something Just.

 

A bride deserving of her white,

Ready to make a life

In a new chapter as her husband’s wife.

 

Something Pure.

 

The Hand of the Lord,

Ready with His Word,

For my use—a Sword.

 

Something True.

 

 

“Think on these things,”

Paul exhorts:

 

It may not STOP the

Depression,

Anxiety,

Inadequacy—

 

But a Biblical attitude

Of Godly gratitude

Makes it harder

To fill our earthly larder

With feelings that God did not intend:

Ones that only came about with a Serpent’s end

In mind, in heart—

Of which I want no part.

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They Tie Up Heavy Burdens

Rather than sit

In a pew, week after week,

I sit at home on a seat—

Far more comfortable, yes,

But with the same Book in my hands

That tells me His commands—

Not man-made, not man-upheld

Like a whited sepulcher,

Like untruths from a Hell

They’ve created.

 

I can sit in a pew

And listen to a man spew

Forth these lies

That in Your eyes

I’m less than,

Not Christian,

Because I suffer from depression.

 

“Oh wait, that’s not all?

“Anxiety, too?

“God doesn’t want anything to do with you.

“Or, if He does,

“First you must be clean—

“Repent of your ways, you sinner.”

 

But don’t you see?

It’s an illness of the brain—

A refrain

I dance to week after week,

Day after day.

 

I can sit in a pew—

Would that make me friends with you?

I can listen to the clatter

Of the offertory platter

As it goes by

And its din gets louder and louder

In my head with each passing moment.

 

 

Yes, I can do those things, too,

Just like you—

But then, because of this struggle,

The words start to tumble

From your mouth to my ears:

 

Unclean

Unrighteous

Unrepentant

Unsaved

Sinner

 

But who’s to say

That you have the right way

Of judgment,

Of unacceptance,

Of unwillingness to understand.

 

If that’s your God,

You can keep Him—

For to my God,

I am His beloved child.

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The State of Numb

“Numb (adjective): unable to think, feel, or react normally because of something that shocks or upsets you”

 

The above is one of the definitions of numb, as stated in the Merriam-Webster online dictionary, and, although it makes complete sense, no one ever warned that a state of numbness would overcome me during the loss of a close loved one.

 

I had figured I’d cry relentlessly, whether sad tears or happy ones from sweet memories. I knew I’d feel as if a piece of me were missing. What I didn’t know is that I would get to a point at which I didn’t feel anything.

 

At first, I thought I was suddenly heartless, and there are times I still feel that way, although I’ve been told by multiple people that this is normal. No one had mentioned that a stage of the grieving process can be complete numbness. Not even peace—just nothing.

 

Navigating the waters of nothingness is difficult. When you feel nothing and keep praying for peace or even more tears that don’t come, it’s hard not to feel like you’re a monster for not feeling something. There’s a song out by Lady Antebellum that states, “I’d rather hurt than feel nothing at all,” and how true that is! But when you don’t feel anything, you still need to live.

 

My life verses have been such a rescue in this time. For just about everything in life, I go back to Isaiah 55:8-9: “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts” (KJV). No matter how hard it may be, I must keep reminding myself that God doesn’t act like us humans: He doesn’t even think like us! It’s frightening in a sense but comforting because when I can’t see the road ahead, when I can’t even see the next step, He’s there and already has it figured out in His way and timing—which is nothing like mine.

I’m still walking through this uncharted land in which nothing makes sense because I’ve never lost someone this close to me. What makes it more difficult is the fact that, at the time of writing this, the person has yet to go home and see our Father’s face. I’ve been watching this person actively pass for a week now, in a mostly comatose state, and numbness was the last thing I thought I’d feel.

As I continue on my way, I’m learning. I’m learning (again and again) that God is faithful, that He doesn’t leave us or forsake us, that He is love, that His grace is sweet and sufficient, that His mercies are new every morning. I cling to Him as my rock because He does know what He’s doing and simply wants me to be still as He does His work.

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Immanuel: God is with Us

God sent His only Son to earth,

His birth to be a virgin birth.

Faithful Mary, young and scared,

Put faith in God, though unprepared.

The angel’s words were strange and new,

But God told Mary what to do.

Now Joseph, learning this, was shocked

And thought, before the people talked,

That he best put his bride away—

He cared for her, e’en to that day.

But Gabriel to him appeared

And told dear Joseph, “Do not fear,

For Mary carries now God’s Son;

The Savior of the world is come.”

The angel told him what to plan

To name the Babe that would save man—

So Joseph took his bride-to-be.

Around that time was a decree

Sent out from Caesar for a count

Of all the people in his lands about.

So Joseph took his wife and led

Them to the place called House of Bread.

He did not know that God had planned

To have His Son come as a Lamb.

On a quiet night in Bethlehem,

The Son of God was born to them;

And in a field where shepherds were

Tending to their sheep, were heard

Some angels in the sky o’erhead

Proclaiming Jesus’ birth in Bethlehem.

Then how to find Him they did tell:

“The Babe you’ll find in swaddling clothes,

For who He is, nobody knows.

A manger serves Him for a bed,

With hay to pillow His little head.”

The shepherds hastened on their way

To see the Baby born that day;

And when they reached that lowly place,

Each shepherd fell upon his face

And worshiped Christ, in a manger laid.

Was this the way the Heavenly Babe

Had come to earth? In this meek way?

Did none else care that God had made

His way to earth with us to dwell?

Did no one care for Immanuel?