I haven’t written in a while because of this problem that I have where I feel terrible and really depressed and I think that I’ll just wait it out and write when I feel better. And then there comes a point when I remember that I never really feel better, and the Holy Spirit nudges me in the ribs and tells me to write anyway. Ironically that seems to happen often on bad days, such as today. So here we are.
The old double whammy of anxiety and depression continues to make life difficult in cancertown. See, it’s really hard for me to deal with the fact that I’m failing at the things I need to do. Like paying off debt and saving money and building a grown-up career and being a compliant patient and la di da.
And I’m not doing any of those things. No matter how much I try it still seems like I’m juggling five hundred limes and I only have one hand and the limes are on fire. I’m always living crisis to crisis. One weekend I try to get work done on my car and the next weekend I try to deal with health stuff and I think next weekend will be different and I can breathe, but it never is.
Everything in me has been feeling so weird and empty and dead. I literally bought this little rose because I saw it in the store and I was moved by how alive it is in the middle of winter.
So I’m really tired. I’m exhausted.
I keep telling myself that it’s going to get better, but I think that’s a lie. It’s probably always going to be hard and exhausting. There’s always going to be crises and debt and panic attacks and cancer.
But that’s a lie, too. One day there won’t be any of those things. There will just be us and Jesus. And even now, before and after and all throughout the crises and debt and panic attacks and cancer, Jesus is here. It’s hard to explain the difference that makes, because I’m still depressed and I’m still in pain and I’m still just a wreck 99.9% of the time.
I know I keep saying this, but Jesus is literally the only reason I can get out of bed in the morning (or sometimes afternoon, because some days are worse than others). Even though I’m a mess, He still loves me. Extravagantly and abundantly and faithfully. Let’s be real, His love is the only reason I have even a glimmer of what those words mean.
Anne Steele knows what’s up:
Yet gracious God, where shall I flee?
Thou art my only trust,
And still my soul would cleave to Thee
Though prostrate in the dust.
“Prostrate in the dust” is a good description of how I feel a fair amount of the time. But God is faithful. And I don’t deserve it and I don’t understand, but I pray that His strength would continue to enable me to arise each day and cleave for all I am worth.
He is my only trust.