When my mother was a little girl, she was instructed by a psychologist to write ten things she liked about herself. She couldn’t complete the task at the time. Today she can complete that task. Actually, I know my mom can complete that task, even if it requires my family to twist her index finger, and help guide the palm of her hand. We’ll chisel those Truths together, onto a sandpaper scribe like lofty testaments to women who are done running, and want to start chasing. Chasing after the fears that have harassed them for too long and put them in a tight-gripped headlock because ma would want it this way. And every time these things would be transcribed, I would become a boy again and hop on the highest cliff I could find and scream with untamed lungs to little black girls about my black queen, so that they would know that they will grow up to be one too. Ma would want it this way.
I remember her telling me this story about this session with a psychologist and after I found myself running to a bathroom mirror to cry. In there I examined a chest that hid a heart that bled from a fresh paper cut. I felt for Debbie Brown. I imagined my mom as a little girl with beads in her hair like fresh-picked berries to signify how sweet she could be to a friend, if the friend were to earn the nectar of a Brown heart. I wanted to find a proprietor of an old abandoned time machine and rent it for a few hours so I could sit with her and ask her questions and tell her about things, like the woman she would grow to be, and the many people she would inspire.
A couple nights ago I sat my parents down and told them again about my struggle with severe depression. I told them I needed help, they told me they loved me. I told them about the lies I believe about myself, and how although I know they’re lies, I don’t have the energy to start the process of unearthing the Truth beyond them or the process of disbelieving them. It was a great conversation. Their response was not just erratic concern or a lecture about following Jesus better, and I appreciated both of these things.
But Jesus definitely stood in that room, and at certain points in the conversation we all fell to our knees on our altars and acknowledged that we have nothing figured out about the world, but only a hope to believe in. Jesus was among us though, I don’t know where, maybe the corner, maybe He stood next to me like a pillar’d advocate to the right of where I sat on the couch, or maybe he played with our dog at my feet. Regardless of what was said though, He was there in that room guiding our conversation, prompting talking points, but mainly being a great listener. His son was in pain, and He pioneered our team meeting, and this is what empowered all of us that night.
I do struggle with depression. On paper, I have no “real reason” to. I have an incredible family, I have two parents that love me, and a home to live in. I have a blossoming relationship, my physical health, a couple dogs, friends, and a church family that I adore and serve. So what’s wrong? I don’t know. I couldn’t tell you what’s been wrong for years. This is not what this blog is about. But here is some advice: never ask someone who struggles with depression: “what’s wrong?” I don’t think they know. A better response would be to take them out to ice cream with a doggy-earred joke book and let those thangs fly fly fly. Who knows, maybe you’ll get a laugh or two, maybe their eyes will roll in the back of their head. Maybe you’ll get a cracked smile, but be warned: cracked smiles always spill things that are bubbling up in the heart, so have a bucket ready and waiting and place it right below their chin. Usually, whatever comes spilling out is actually the root of the problem. Just be a great listener. Sometimes I don’t know why I’m in seasons of feeling depressed. I don’t think it’s a lack of Jesus, and really here me friends, it’s not always a spiritual conundrum, really. I don’t think it’s always circumstantial, I think sometimes it just is. We live in a fallen world, a world that profits on us forgetting who we are, and comparing ourselves to things and people we’re convinced we should be. There is also an Enemy of our souls that we never talk about because it’s almost easier not to talk about something or someone we don’t quite understand. This is real though, that there is someone out there who wants nothing more but to destroy the very purposes and life that God has called us to. So if you feel like the enemy is after you and after you fast, it’s probably a sign you're a force to be reckoned with.
It could be a number of things for me. I don’t think my struggle invalidates me from Kingdom work. It prompts me to do certain things well, and to invite resources into my life to shape me into an emotionally healthier person. I am not a victim to it. It does not embody who I am or who I am called to be. It does teach me things. It teaches me to watch the vultures of lies that circle around my head and to watch them closely. There are moments where they stop to rest, and in these moments, these are the moments where you pounce! Pounce like your life depended on it! And quickly! Kill these lies. Kill them quick, and here, you might have won another battle of your mind. There is power in the name of Jesus, but also know, that His name is above all names. When we call upon His name, He might also then name you, its up to us to believe what He does.
Speak the name of Jesus over every living and created thing around you, even the pesky mosquitos, and the half eaten avocados on the kitchen counter, and know that you too, a living and created thing, deserves to live life, and to live life well, knowing that you are loved. And please, please, please do not compare your life. You’re wasting your time doing that. You’re wasting your time building a life not based in His Kingdom, but in someone else’s. If our journey’s were meant to be the same or look the same, God wouldn’t be a good creator. He is. And all He asks is that we allow Him to prune our hearts where it needs pruning and guide our steps where the dirt gets red, and the roads get windy. I want to know that and I want to believe that, every day more and more until one day I’m in the presence of Jesus waiting in a heavenly drive-thru and asking Him questions like: “Where were you in those times where I felt so alone?” Where were you in those dark times?”
To which He will respond: “Today, I want to help you write your ten things, lets begin”