I Know How You Feel

I think I’m ready now to write this. It’s difficult to describe. I would liken it to living in a constant haze. An all-encompassing fog that surrounds heart, soul and mind. It deadens the senses. Colors become muted, voices and music are blocked out, laughter is forgotten, memory quickly fades and concentration is a thing of the past. Emotions are stifled, apart, perhaps, from an overwhelming sense of self-pity and guilt. Habit is the only reason to get out of bed in the morning. The motions of life continue: eating, sleeping, work, meetings, obligatory greetings but there’s no enthusiasm. The joie de vie has fled. The mind is a funny thing.

I have no idea if I’ve adequately described it or if these feelings are unique to me. But this is my experience with depression.

It’s why I haven’t written in the last month. I’ve had plenty going on, many stories that I would have enjoyed sharing but I could never gather the necessary je ne sais quoi to sit and write. My stories would have been tinged with a lie if I had not expressed my inner emotionlessness.

I felt the first signs of oncoming depression during my training. I communicated what I was feeling somewhat in my last post. I was able to distract myself during my vacation to Mombasa with constant activities and good food. But returning to Clove Island the haze settled on me deeply and firmly.

Circumstances certainly didn’t help. I arrived on my island thoroughly seasick only to discover that five weeks had accomplished none of the promises our landlady had made and we still had no water. After a discussion with her, it seemed she had given up and there was no hope of getting water running to our house…ever. Without water, the house stayed covered in its filth. The dust made me physically ill and the mess drove my OCD, Type-A personality to the brink. The next three days were spent searching for someone who could deliver water to our cistern. After hours in the baking sun, on the third day, I finally had success. Three thousand liters and $50 later, I lay on my bed exhausted and spent but proud that I had accomplished something. With my last reserve of energy I bought some bleach and climbed the stairs to the cistern on the roof in order to sanitize the water that was pulled from a river used for laundry, watering animals and trash disposal. As I came around the corner and caught a glimpse of the cistern, my shoulders dropped and my head fell as I watched my hard work pouring out of the seam of the cistern onto the hot roof in two steady streams. I “Charlie-Brown” walked back down the stairs, put in a call to my leader, curled up on the floor in the fetal position and cried. Though I’d been on the verge of tears for days, especially when talking with others, I’d held back, swallowed the lump and starred ahead resolutely. This last thing broke through and ripped out the pent up emotions and I cried softly until one of my teammates arrived with various rubber object (including a flip-flop) to try and stem the flow of precious water.

From that day things didn’t really get better. I had about 50lbs of laundry that needed to be washed including all the curtains and couch covers that were covered in dust. The power situation has returned to pre-World Cup state, meaning very little of it. We went 36+ hours without this week, allowing the food in the refrigerator and freezer to thaw and rot. There are problems with the English classes that are supposed to start next week. The stress and water hauling has caused my back to feel like it did after my accident last February-in other words, bad. Etc. Etc.

But life is always hard on Clove Island. Things are constantly going wrong. If circumstances were all it took, I would have lived in a constant state of depression since arriving. So what makes it different now?

This is where the guilt comes in. I’m not dying. No one close to me is dying. I didn’t just break up with the love of my life or get fired from a job. I have friends and family who love me and pray for me. They encourage me as best they can. When an encouraging phone call, email or hug brings no emotion, or worse yet, annoyance, I am soon overcome with guilt. I try to avoid being around anyone because I am afraid my seeming indifference will hurt them. I am disappointed in myself and I can’t help but think I’m letting down all those who love and care for me.

Christians shouldn’t be depressed, right? “I’ve got the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart!” We learn that from childhood. I just need to pray a little harder. If I just cast my cares on him, I will experience a peace that passes all understanding. I know. I’ve thrown these same platitudes at my friends. But it hasn’t been that easy. So what is the answer?

This morning I was doing my normal devotional, another daily habit that continues whether I draw anything from it or not. I do it because I know I should. And I read and underlined this partial sentence, “…every steep circumstantial hill that has zapped our spiritual and emotional strength, and every deep valley of depression that has left us gasping for hope.” Whoa, hello. Are you talking to me? The next line read, “Consider Jesus[i]”.

I decided to take that as a challenge. Jesus suffered during his life, not only at the cross. Jesus wept when he heard of Lazarus’ death (John 11:35). He sought solitude when news of his cousin, John the Baptist’s beheading reached him (Matthew 14:13). And I read an interesting blog that argued Christ was depressed on the night of his betrayal.

Never tell someone, “I know how you feel.” I’ve heard this many times in my sensitivity trainings. It’s well meaning but false. You don’t know how I’m feeling. I don’t know how you’re feeling.

But as I considered Jesus, I came to the conclusion that he actually does know how I feel. Intimately and lovingly. And he doesn’t have his arms crossed, looking down on me from heaven with disappointment, waiting for me to pull myself together so I can get back to the work of loving him and loving others. No, he’s right here with me. Even when I don’t feel it, when I don’t feel anything. My feelings don’t change the fact that he is walking beside me. When I don’t have the strength to lift my eyes to see where I’m walking but can only watch my feet as I shuffle through life, he is beside me with his hands on my shoulders, gently leading. He is my shelter; my strong tower and I will hide under his wings until my bruised soul heals.

[i] Harper, Lisa. Hebrews: The Nearness of King Jesus. Pg. 47

Unexpected Comfort

The church

For the past three weeks while staying in Kenya, I have visited a church each Sunday. Having no churches on the island, I saw this as a great opportunity to witness the African church at work. This Sunday we had made plans to stay after service for most of the afternoon, to share lunch and get to know one another better. Quite frankly, I was not looking forward to it. I was feeling low and the thought of making small talk all afternoon filled me with dread.

As I was sitting in my chair during the sermon, I flipped through the Word and I came across Psalms 69. Reading verses 16-20 felt like King David had peered into my soul and cried out to God that of which I did not have the strength, will or words.

“Answer me, O Lord, for your steadfast love is good; according to your abundant mercy, turn to me. Hide not your face from your servant; for I am in distress; make haste to answer me. Draw near to my soul, redeem me; ransom me because of my enemies!

You know my reproach, and my shame and my dishonor; my foes are all known to you. Reproaches have broken my heart, so that I am in despair. I looked for pity, but there was none, and for comforters, but I found none.”

Many things had conspired to bring me to this low point: from the things I am learning in this seminar—the hard truths of life in Africa, the hurtful words and actions of friends, my own interpersonal failures, to the growing concerns of the Ebola epidemic, in a place I once called home, where I still have many friends. Add to this the consuming loneliness of always being in a crowd of people but never being known. Of being surrounded by couples and families, constantly reminding me of what I lack.

Useless. Unwanted. Overwhelmed. Inadequate. Unimportant.

My soul felt battered from all sides. I swam in a bitter sea of self-pity. That’s where the Lord found me yesterday morning when He showed me David’s cry. He understands. And with the reassurance of his understanding, I thought he would be content to leave me to my wallowing. I wrote the Psalm in my journal and sat back in my seat preparing myself for a very long day.

But thank God, He does not leave us in our distress. He answers prayers that may not have even been uttered.

Me and Agnes

Following the sermon we were invited to the front of the church to receive gifts. I had attended church with a couple and a family with two kids. The family was presented their gifts and “appreciated” by a church family, the couple by a couple, and a single lady who I’d seen sing in front of the church on several occasions came to “appreciate” me. Her name was Agnes.

In much of Africa names are very important. Among some Kenya tribes, grandparents insist that their grandchildren be named after them so that when they die a part of them lives on, whether they believe it is symbolic or that their spirit actually remains alive in that grandchild. Names and naming ceremonies are incredibly significant.

Agnes was the name of my maternal grandmother. When it came my turn to thank the congregation I told them that I now know I will always have family in their midst, because my grandmother is among them. At these words, applause and shouting erupted. They were pleased and I felt myself beaming for the first time in days.

Following the service, I stood in the receiving line shaking the hands of all 220 members as they filed out of the church. Little girls crowded around me; they struggled over who would hold the hand I wasn’t shaking with. My hair, which I’d worn down, was being combed through by curious little fingers. I remained focused on greeting those streaming out of the church as my curls were being bounced from behind. And it felt wonderful. The words in my mind started to change.

Valued. Appreciated. Important. Wanted. Loved.

The afternoon passed quickly. We ate a wonderfully authentic meal cooked by the women’s leadership. We learned some of the choreography to a dance the choir performed during worship that day. We relaxed and played with the children.

Who would have thought that this small church in the middle of a slum in Kenya would be able to pull me out of a deepening depression? God knew what He was doing as he always does.

Before going to bed last night I received this text from my new friend Agnes: “Once, all the villagers decided to pray for the rain. On the day of prayer, all people gathered and only one boy came with an umbrella—that is FAITH. When you throw a one-year child in the air, he laughs because he knows you will catch him. That is TRUST. Every night we go to bed, we have no assurance that we will awaken the next morning but still we have plans for tomorrow. That is HOPE. May the Lord enrich you with FAITH, TRUST and HOPE.”

Amen.

Is it Worth It?

I write letters to all of my financial supporters at least every three months. I appreciate them so much and letter writing is one of my ways to show it. This morning I wrote a letter to my supporter, former roommate and my friend Rachel. She was my first financial supporter and has been a prayer warrior on my behalf from the beginning. When I first began the support-raising process, she was the greatest encouragement to me. I wrote a post about her last March called A Little Bit of Sunshine.

While this is a little unorthodox, I thought I’d give a glimpse into my letters as well as what I’ve learned this weekend. Rachel- you get to read your letter a little early.

Dear Rachel,

(in the middle) Rachel and Laura at my 26th birthday

Do you remember Laura? She came for my 26^th birthday when we went to Café Istanbul. She got married this past weekend. I got to Skype with her right after she’d got her hair done. I was so honored that she wanted to talk to me on the day of her wedding. Then she told me that if I was in the states I would have been one of her bridesmaids. It was the first time she told that and so I started crying and she started crying. And when we hung up I couldn’t get over it. I was missing one my best friend’s weddings! I was missing getting dressed up, getting my hair did, my nails, the pretty dress, the limo ride, the champagne, the dancing. And I looked at myself. My henna-tinted nails with dirt underneath, my sweat-soaked clothes that are starting to get holes from the hand washing, my unstyled hair that is falling out in clumps for some inexplicable reason, my dirty skin—and I thought is it worth it? Seriously. Is it worth it? Even as I put on a smile because it was also Abby’s birthday and I played the hostess as the women of the team came over for dessert and a movie, my thoughts were on what I was missing out on—not what I was enjoying at the moment. Because in the moment I was not enjoying it. I was preoccupied with myself and what I wanted. I hid in my own self-pity.

Yesterday, Sunday, we listened to a podcast about First Peter on suffering for being a Christian. And I was ashamed. I hoped to get solace but all I got was shame. The people Peter was writing to were suffering. The examples that the speaker used of people being raped and tortured because they were Christians—that is suffering. I cannot identify with that. When have I suffered because I am a Christian? Some former friends have distanced themselves from me and talk about me behind my back. They make fun of me. Is that suffering? No! I don’t even care! I pity the small-minded person who can no longer be friends with someone because of their religious convictions. I don’t despise them. I am sad for the conversations they miss out on by only surrounding themselves with like-minded people. My atheist, agnostic, Jewish and Muslim friends challenge me. I do not suffer when my friends abandon me because of my beliefs.

So what makes me suffer? Dengue made me suffer. My interpersonal relationships, as you well know, have caused me grief—interpersonal relationships with other Christians! My family causes me grief and sorrow on occasion. And missing out—missing weddings, births, birthdays, Christmas, 4^th of July, graduations—life! I’m missing out on life! Is it worth it?

My teammates- beautiful saints 🙂

Yesterday night we had a special prayer service at my house, four hours of concentrated prayer. As the night began and we were instructed to still our hearts before God, I began writing in my journal. Do you know my first question? Is it worth it, God? Am I just a masochistic adventurer? I know it is God’s Will for me to be here but does that make it ok that I miss out on so much? Should that knowledge stop my heart from hurting? As we moved through the night from praise to confession to thanksgiving to worship, my attitude began to shift. My focus left myself and I began to remember and be overwhelmed by the greatness, love and mercy of our God. I looked around at my team of beautiful Jesus-followers and then I began to question God again.

What did I do to deserve this honor?

Why do I have the privilege to be in a foreign land and lift Your name high?

Why have I been so honored to sit among Your saints and fall down before You in worship, to intercede for a people who do not know you?

Is it worth it became replaced by You are worth it all.

I love you and miss you. Give my love to your family and our friends.

 

Love Always,

Jess

Day Ten: Into Perspective

You know those days when nothing seems to go your way? It’s like the world is out to get you. You wake up late, burn your tongue on your morning coffee, cut yourself shaving and forget to pack you lunch. And because you’re already unhappy, nothing is going to make the day better so work is a drag. You don’t want to interact with anyone but indulging your misery alone isn’t helping either. You’re just in a bad mood and that’s that.

That was my Monday. None of what I listed actually happened to me. However, I woke up with a bad attitude, for no easily identifiable reason. Then I received a disappointing email from AltLink. On top of that, I kept receiving “no” RSVPs for my going-away dinner next Saturday. Whomp whomp.

Sitting all alone, my thoughts began to spiral into a depressing hole as I considered canceling the dinner. I work from home on Mondays so I had the entire day to mope around the house feeling sorry for myself. I just wanted to crawl into bed and wallow in self-pity the rest of the day.

But I couldn’t. That evening I had an event to host. As a Cares team for Apartment Life, Rachel and I host three events every month. Yesterday was our seventy-sixth event, approximately. It was called “Hot Dogs with your Hot Dog.” Basically it was a hot dog bar for humans, with chili and cheese toppings and treats for any passing dogs. I’m nothing if not dutiful, so I shut my work computer, turned on an audio book and began boiling 100 hot dogs. Still my thoughts swirled around my problems and what I needed to do and what I wanted to happen and how I was going to make it happen.

By the time 6:30pm rolled around, Rachel and I had everything set up outside and people started to arrive. I did not feel like interacting with the people who came to get hot dogs. I did not want any intrusion to interrupt my thoughts. But thankfully, for my own sake, that was impossible.

More and more people began to show up. People really like hot dogs! And I started to smile as I saw familiar happy faces. I began having conversations about other people’s days; they allowed me glimpses into their lives as we conversed. While I made sure the ice was filled, refilled forks and helped a child fill her plate, the day’s depression began to dissipate. My self-involvement and concern turned outward and my attitude transformed.

When I serve others my self-importance diminishes as I realize that I am not the center of the universe. The story does not revolve around me. One of my Peace Corps applicants spoke about this. She had lost her only son in a car accident. Following his death, she and her husband went through a difficult divorce. She quit her job and began volunteering at a soup kitchen. She told me that it was only through pouring herself out to others that she found peace. When I am only concerned for myself, then my problems seem insurmountable at times. As I stare at them unblinkingly, they become bigger and bigger until they cloud over my vision and I can no longer see anything else. Romans 12:3 reads, “Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment, in accordance with the measure of faith God has given you.” Even when I think myself with self-pity, I am positioning myself as more important than others in my own mind. When my focus turns from myself to others, my problems move to the periphery and become much more manageable and insignificant.

In Galatians 6:9a, Paul says, “And let us not grow weary of doing good”. I say do good to overcome weariness.  Service to others, and ultimately to the Lord, is what keeps me grounded. It puts life into perspective.