Save me, O God!
For the waters have come up to my neck.
I sink in deep mire,
where there is no foothold;
I have come into deep waters,
and the flood sweeps over me.
I am weary with my crying out;
my throat is parched.
My eyes grow dim
with waiting for my God. (Psalm 69:1-3)
Psalm 69 was my reading for this morning. As I read, I was struck by the similarity of David's words to my own when describing depression. Depression is like drowning. It's like falling into a mucky ditch where, no matter how hard you try to get a handhold, you keep sinking deeper. I've gone months with eyes swollen and throat dry from crying; in the depths of depression, I cannot see beyond my own despair; my "eyes grow dim," figuratively speaking.
While I've been surprisingly happy and content throughout this time of pandemic, many of my friends haven't been. One friend suffered a miscarriage several weeks ago. Another friend was diagnosed last week with COVID-19; a couple of days later, her 10-month-old baby was also diagnosed. They are both very sick, and I'm checking Facebook too many times each day to see if there are updates. And then another friend is going through this time as a single mom to four children ranging from 3 to 18, her husband having been killed in a plane crash last year. And then another friend is struggling with addiction and depression and is currently in her first week of a 30-day rehab program.
It just makes me want to scream! Even as my life feels pretty charmed, I find myself fasting and in constant prayer, and feel like I should be in sackcloth and ashes. Or something like that. I'm not getting depressed, but it's as if I can feel their depression and their despair and their exhaustion.
God, I prayed this morning, Please look down on these ladies and let them know Your peace, place your healing hand on them ...
Then an inaudible voice said, "I'm not looking down. I'm right there with them."
And I realized I'd been thinking of God as something up there, far away, looking down at us in all of our suffering (or my friends in all of their suffering), hoping that they would somehow get God-vibes.
But no. He is there. He is in the living room with L.E. as she grieves her lost baby and her lost hope. He's listening to the coughing and the cries of A.T. and her little boy as they suffer through this virus. He's there with A.G., and with her four children, as they struggle and wander through their first year without a husband and father. And he's with S.C. in rehab out west, listening to her groans of despair as she fights the stronghold of addiction and fights her way out of the mire of depression. And He is there in all of us, their friends, as we offer what comfort we can. He is there.
He's not looking down from some place far away. He's right there.
The Lord is close to the brokenhearted
and saves those who are crushed in spirit. (Psalm 34:18)
For the waters have come up to my neck.
I sink in deep mire,
where there is no foothold;
I have come into deep waters,
and the flood sweeps over me.
I am weary with my crying out;
my throat is parched.
My eyes grow dim
with waiting for my God. (Psalm 69:1-3)
Psalm 69 was my reading for this morning. As I read, I was struck by the similarity of David's words to my own when describing depression. Depression is like drowning. It's like falling into a mucky ditch where, no matter how hard you try to get a handhold, you keep sinking deeper. I've gone months with eyes swollen and throat dry from crying; in the depths of depression, I cannot see beyond my own despair; my "eyes grow dim," figuratively speaking.
While I've been surprisingly happy and content throughout this time of pandemic, many of my friends haven't been. One friend suffered a miscarriage several weeks ago. Another friend was diagnosed last week with COVID-19; a couple of days later, her 10-month-old baby was also diagnosed. They are both very sick, and I'm checking Facebook too many times each day to see if there are updates. And then another friend is going through this time as a single mom to four children ranging from 3 to 18, her husband having been killed in a plane crash last year. And then another friend is struggling with addiction and depression and is currently in her first week of a 30-day rehab program.
It just makes me want to scream! Even as my life feels pretty charmed, I find myself fasting and in constant prayer, and feel like I should be in sackcloth and ashes. Or something like that. I'm not getting depressed, but it's as if I can feel their depression and their despair and their exhaustion.
God, I prayed this morning, Please look down on these ladies and let them know Your peace, place your healing hand on them ...
Then an inaudible voice said, "I'm not looking down. I'm right there with them."
And I realized I'd been thinking of God as something up there, far away, looking down at us in all of our suffering (or my friends in all of their suffering), hoping that they would somehow get God-vibes.
But no. He is there. He is in the living room with L.E. as she grieves her lost baby and her lost hope. He's listening to the coughing and the cries of A.T. and her little boy as they suffer through this virus. He's there with A.G., and with her four children, as they struggle and wander through their first year without a husband and father. And he's with S.C. in rehab out west, listening to her groans of despair as she fights the stronghold of addiction and fights her way out of the mire of depression. And He is there in all of us, their friends, as we offer what comfort we can. He is there.
He's not looking down from some place far away. He's right there.
The Lord is close to the brokenhearted
and saves those who are crushed in spirit. (Psalm 34:18)
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| Looking down on a cloud-covered world, outside Boulder, Colorado. |
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