Ending Theme

I often hear questions about testimony. Questions like, "When did you give your life to Jesus?" or, "Under what circumstances did He become your Lord and Savior?" As I think they should, they always make me consider the "journey so far." So often it seems like there should be one chief, defining moment, above all defining moments, at which point a person truly relinquishes that position of authority and dominion to the Lord. And while I have had revelations and points in time in which I learned a lot, I don't personally know that I could pick out that "single moment" in my own life.

Before getting any further, let me say that those moments of revelation and exposition have been amazingly enlightening for me. Many encounters, in fact, have brought forth knowledge, and even wisdom. What I've noticed is that those things tend to lead to more of themselves. That is to say that when properly applied, knowledge begets more knowledge, and wisdom begets more wisdom.

Yet, as personally satisfying as the acquisition of these things can be, even these are not, in and of themselves, good enough. They, like worship songs, fellowship, theology, and many other things, are mere tools given for a purpose: to worship and grow in relationship with Christ. They are the means, not the end. The bow, rather than the target.

What, then, changes these gifts of utility and makes them truly usable? That is the question with which I'm now faced. For this, I have theories. I have the idea that in order to truly grow closer to Christ, we must reach the end of ourselves; to realize that all things are ultimately in His power, and we have to make the decision to relinquish our insistence on control. This aligns with the opening questions. But does He not also expect us to move and to act? I can work until I reach my limits, but at what point does the relationship begin to manifest, and how do I recognize it when it does?

On principle, I hate ending posts with questions. Though I'm bewildered and frustrated, this is far from giving up. I just don't know what comes next.

affinity.exe

I have said before that it causes the most degrading feeling, being overlooked by those whom you think about the most. It's invalidating in the most unintentional, yet deepest of ways. And while it doesn't do to dwell on those sorts of things, or even to put other people on such a pedestal, the thought still finds its way into my mind occasionally.

As I thought on this subject today, I was given a different perspective: that I should be thinking about God more often than I do. We're told to pray without ceasing, which necessitates dwelling on Him equally ceaselessly, but I know I fail in that endeavor more often than not. Yet today's train of thought led me to speculation about how often He thinks of me. Again, ceaseless is the word. Granted, as He is omniscient, it's obvious that He's infinitely more capable of this than I am. But it is my desire and responsibility to do my best, which I must honestly admit, I don't always.

Although He's above petty feelings of inadequacy, the likes to which I'm prone, to me the reminder is clear that I have nothing to complain about. As He thinks of me more than I am capable of thinking of anyone, the only response is to give Him my utmost. Doing so removes the empty, meaningless idolatry of pining for people's attention, as it restores my own attention to Him who deserves it.

The Artist

I've had several conversations with friends about the creative nature of our being. To the world's eyes, logically, it is inexplicable that creativity should be a factor, let alone a focus, of human existence. Yet, as we've learned, it is inarguable that the desire to create is woven into our being just as essentially as the necessity to survive.

This point has been accentuated recently for me by such simple pastimes as leisure reading. Ironically enough, the book in question is from the Harry Potter series. I've noticed that, as I read, I find myself in increasing fascination of the minute complexities, which neatly tie the entire series together by the end.

As I was reading today, I once again had this awe sparked. However, as I've also been trying for a greater measure of diligence at Bible study lately, I found myself comparing my time spent at each. Specifically, I've noticed details in the plot of Harry Potter on this time through (my second reading) which I missed the first time, and they have helped me to draw up and bolster my own ideas about the things toward which Rowling was building. I found it to my slight shame that it was much easier for me to find those connections in this fictional telling of "witches and sorcery" than to pick out profound, relevant thoughts from scripture and apply them to life.

As a side note, I refuse to overthink this too much, for the simple reason that I've read the Harry Potter series more completely than I've read most biblical passages. It therefore stands to reason that more things will stand out to me within the former, especially given that it has a simpler grand design than the scope of all creation, as has the Bible.

Bringing the point back to how we are handcrafted with a creative drive, it only makes sense that we strive toward artisanship with our own crafts, such as writing. Regarding that example, to any piece of writing there is bound to be a certain poetry, beginning as small as words and phrases, but expanding to subplots and, ultimately, the broad compass of the story. We measure the quality of a piece of writing by the author's ability to subtly, yet certainly, convey their message in a way that is aesthetically pleasing; that is, poetically. This often includes seemingly arbitrary details throughout the writing, which are actually hints that make perfect sense in the end.

We focus our art the way we do because we're created by God in His own image; an image not just physical or visual, but one that extends to the very depths of the soul. Though the world ignores it, we as His creations cannot help but strive to be more like Him artistically.

The artistry of telling a story includes conflict and resolution; pain and relief; times of apparent senselessness and of clarity. Every call has an answer; like a rhyme. And in a way, the same can be said of any artistic medium: by its completion, we can see the extent of its beauty, no matter how ugly it may have looked somewhere along the way.

As flawed creatures following the archetype of a Divine Creator, it's obvious that we cannot tell a perfect story, sing a perfect song, or draw a perfect picture. What should be equally obvious is that we also can't see the perfection of God's creation, partly because of the imperfection of our sin, and partly because we've yet to see its full fruition. Therefore, in our daily struggle to find beauty, resolution, and meaning behind the constant suffering and redundant failures of our plans, we need look no further than Christ, who knows (*correction: is) the end and the purpose to it all. As He is the perfect artist, we must trust that His eye is keen to the subtleties as they relate to the finale.

The Forgotten Ones

As an extremely self-conscious introvert, I find my natural inclination is to stay out of the limelight. That's in every aspect of my life. In class, I tend to keep my hand down. In group conversation, in many cases I've learned to shut my mouth. In ministry, I stay in the background. And with most ideas, they usually remain just that. I could go on, but you get the picture.

Now, there is a lot to be said against being too self-conscious, which I won't deny I often am personally. But beyond that, the tasks and projects comfortably performed by introverts and self-conscious folk are necessary. Not everyone was made for the center stage. Such being the case, it's perfectly normal, even biblical, for the various "body parts" to perform their respective functions. Or, as I've said before, the kitchen needs all of its utensils, and as cool as cheese graters are, we can't all be one.

So what about the rest? Is our "glory" less, just because we're not the center of attention? Well, yes and no. (No.) We simply don't get as much praise from other people for doing things like cleaning, maintenance, ushering, and other support positions. And it doesn't seem fair, because we often work just as hard, but then might feel like we're completely overlooked by our peers when it comes to recognition.

Obviously, as egocentric as this blog is, I wouldn't be writing about this if it weren't an issue for me. But there really does come a time to take a good look at the state of the heart and recognize that pride has gotten the better of me again.

What I'm saying is, who cares? So maybe people don't notice as much. But is that why I'm doing what I'm doing? Would I clean my apartment bathroom so that my roommate will thank me for it? No, I do it so that it'll be clean. Likewise, do I do ministry for peer recognition? No. It's for God. And regardless of whatever anyone else praises, acknowledges, or even notices, my ultimate aim is God's glory. And He is honored by a heart that seeks to do His will.

The Point of No Return

I experience nostalgia often. My tendency is to look back when I'm faced with huge changes, to sort of hang on to some familiar ground where I can be comfortable. Especially in light of the differences in the overall social dynamics of my associates, it's easy to retrospect and dwell on "glory days." During such times, I was nearly always surrounded by close friends. We were in the same place socially, and in life in general. I don't recall feeling as frequently and intensely isolated as I feel now.

When I have those nostalgic thoughts, it's tempting to go through the motions and return to my interests and behaviors from back then, in an effort to relive those experiences. The goal, of course, would be to return to that mental/emotional place of comfort and rediscover myself at my most natural and at-ease state.

There's more than one problem with this, however. Most obviously, at best I would only be able to recreate my own part in that chapter of the story. Everyone else would still be on to other things, and they would likely be less keen to return to the way things used to be. Reliving it would be, in the truest sense, impossible.

More importantly, however, when I'm faced with obvious facts like that, I have to stop and ask myself what it is to which I'd be returning. In this case, recognition of the ways in which I've changed is key. As tempting as it would be to go back to that time and setting of perceived comfort, that's the life I willingly left behind. I know that nostalgia glamorizes the past, and I put that lifestyle behind me for a reason: it wasn't satisfying, even then.

Still, my former things stir in me, and the temptation to return to them is real. And while I believe that there is a way to glorify God with worldly things, that notion is not without its limits. Many of the things from that life do not and cannot represent who I am now, and more importantly, Who I represent. My comforts must be things of God.

Lapse

For the past three years or so, I have called myself a Christian. I have jumped through hoops and integrated myself into Christian community and culture. And I've blended, more or less. But I can no longer ignore the two-faced, double-minded nature that is my life outside the Church.

The fact is, I'm a monster. I have been ungracious, ungrateful, bitter, perverse, bigoted, greedy, and entirely self-serving. I have seen a selfish end in every means of my life. And this behavior, and these tendencies, have reflected internally. I feel empty and rotten inside, and fraudulent on top of it all. I've let my guard down and allowed my faith to slip away.

But now for the good news: there is hope.

I know why I've faltered. I've allowed the world to distract me with hurts and worries, as well as with pleasures. But I'm so tired of living this selfish life and putting on a mask to try and hide it. I see the joyful state in which other Christians live; a joy that can't be faked, which can only come from the Lord. This genuineness is what I seek, and I am committing right now, in this evening, to go to every length to live my life in that way; to put God first and centered, and to abandon all things that would get in the way of that. The time is now.

Iter Impius

There's nothing I've experienced in life that's as destructive as resentment. Nothing is as harmful, painful, or ultimately pointless. On a quick search, I've found several variations of a quote that's been attributed to several famous figures. Instead of researching and satisfying my curiosity about the original instance, I'll just paraphrase and let the glory fall to whomever it may:

"Not forgiving someone is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die."

How frustrating that, even knowing what I know about this subject, throughout my life I've always wrestled with forgiveness. Even now, I question things I've put behind me; wrongs done against me, fights I've had, fallings-out I've experienced. I sometimes revisit them in my mind, and I'm occasionally shocked at how tender the subjects still are. It's like I still bear the weight of these burdens, even years later.

I think all of this goes to show that time doesn't heal all things. It's like in the case of an actual flesh wound. Sometimes there are factors to consider; an infection, the venom of a sting or bite, or even just an increased severity can complicate that healing process. These can be seen as an allegory for things like a codependent relationship, a betrayal, or simply the termination of a deep bond. Proper care is needed, rather than just putting on a proverbial Band-Aid.

So often, my solutions to painful situations have involved cutting something or someone out of my life. The effect is essentially out of sight, out of mind. Of course a thing will stop hurting if it's taken out of focus, especially if there's other pain to replace it. And there always is.

What I'm trying (and slowly, finally succeeding) to find is the proper treatment for the condition of a bitter heart. We use terms like, "Give it to Jesus," as though it's as simple as physically handing Him an object. But when you have little or no experience with that, it just comes off as a Christianese platitude. On the other hand, when there's an action you can physically take, like doing something entirely for someone else, it provides an avenue for a real change in the condition.

Rope Ends

I've been caught in a dark, despairing place lately. Now, you could probably read this blog from beginning to end and tell me I've almost always been there, but even in my darkest moments, there's usually some kind of comfort or hope for a way out. But right now it seems like I'm actually at the end of my rope.

The frustrating thing about my situation is how innocuous it probably looks to anyone else. The things that compose my problems are, of themselves, far from life-shattering. They're inconvenient, heartbreaking, and constantly disappointing, but in the long run, no one dies from them. But I think the frequency, spread, and apparent permanency of these problems give an overall tinge of bleak hopelessness to my life. So it's not that any of it is going to kill me, but what it does is drain me of a desire to live.

To an extent, all of this has actually had a positive impact. I've been reaching out more lately, turning to Christ and trying to hand my pain over to Him. I've sought counsel from several people who are wiser than I am, and I've established myself in a couple of church-related groups for community. At times I've even felt inspired to flourish in my own ministry.

I know all of this must be at least part of the purpose to my suffering, to inspire a closer connection to God and the church, and to better use the gifts I've been given. But lately I feel completely oppressed, often to the point of paralysis. When everything I try seems to be met with dismal failure, I'm left only asking God what I'm still doing wrong. And I know that not every bad occurrence in life is a result of a poor decision, but the thought that my past mistakes are the cause of my present sufferings constantly lingers in my mind. Internally, I'm still trying to justify and give a definite earthly purpose to everything that's going wrong.

I'd be lying if I said that no negatively extreme solutions have entered my mind. I've had passing thoughts of simply walking away from God, and either suicide or at least letting myself die. I'll tell any readers right now: passing thoughts is all they are, and so they're not anything I'm actually considering. But in the interest of keeping this blog full-disclosure, it'd be remiss of me to not mention it.

I don't know what to do. I'm told God just wants me to completely trust Him. I know that, and for what it's worth, I'm trying. But it's amazing how difficult it is to simply trust when I don't understand His ways, and His love for me is completely unlike anything I'd imagined it to be, or how it appears to be for other people.

Rage of Despair

I've been working through resolving a lot of my uncomfortable emotions lately. My recent life choices have been difficult, and they've left a lot of deep wounds. It seems only natural that those hurts would manifest themselves as anger. From the beginning, I knew that what I was feeling wasn't actually that. But I couldn't exactly put my finger on why, so I've allowed myself to seethe for a little while as I've attempted to process what it is I've been going through.

One of the obvious questions I've had to ask myself has been at what I've actually been angry; in other words, where that anger should be focused. There are a few factors, several of which are people, that are tied into my present sufferings. But as I ran down a mental list (with the guidance of wise counsel), it became clear that these were things on which I had no right to focus any anger, especially the people in question. Certainly, things could have been handled differently by everyone involved (myself included), but nothing resulting from anyone's actions merited actually being angry.

From this it's become clear that anger isn't the appropriate response. So while I was irrationally, unjustly angry, it's my responsibility to process that emotion; to try to understand the myriad of pieces that compose it. What I've realized is that what looked at first like simple rage was actually more a combination of sadness, hurt, frustration, hopelessness, and a general sense of self-inadequacy.

The practical distinction between all of these and the anger they resemble is that they're either internal struggles which must be dealt with between myself and God, or they're scalar in nature and therefore can't be focused negatively on anything at all. In effect, what this does is allow me to grieve my sense of loss in a healthy way and work on my own development, both without placing the blame for my hurts on other people. It empowers me, and it therefore gives me a responsibility to myself.

I thought, at first, that there would certainly be forgiveness, eventually, for the hurts I've suffered. I now realize that there can be no forgiveness, because there are no wrongs to forgive. The other people involved, no matter in what way, have nothing for which to be sorry.

This is a step in my personal growth, as well as in my faith. God is taking this suffering and using it to reveal the ways in which I can grow closer to Him.

Blind Faith

A culmination of recent events has made me rethink a lot of things about my faith. I had a few friends take huge steps in their faith walks recently, and that always inspires the sharing of testimony in social gatherings, even from those who have taken less recent, though equally significant steps.

Over one such gathering, everyone involved shared their experiences with disillusionment through the raw exposure to accurate world view. That is, they were able to solidify their recognition of their identity in Christ. Curious, I dwelt on it for several days. I know that my own identity in Christ is not entirely what I think it is. My perception, even after all of my trials and lessons, is still warped and tainted by what I'm now told are lies.

The vexing part about this is that I know, intellectually, that I'm deceived. I have the knowledge of who I am in Christ; that I'm eternally loved by God, that my sins are forgiven; ultimately that I'm saved. Yet even now, that reality has never fully sunken in. There's always been something in the way, preventing the peace and joy of Christ from truly taking root.

I asked some of the aforementioned friends about this today. Specifically, I voiced my desire to talk to them, perhaps even somewhat regularly, about actually realizing the identity of which I'm currently merely aware. The way it was broken down for me was simple: to have childlike faith; that is, to believe by enforcement what I already know to be biblically true. To completely disregard the lies and not allow them in, because I can be shielded by the truth. All it takes is taking God at His word.

This will, of course, require much diligence. It's going to be a process of rewiring my heart and mind against a lifetime of allowing creeping doubts and lies into my perspective. Such is the nature of rocky soil. My prayer is for God to till that soil and remove the rocks, so that I can fully step into the life that He has redeemed for me.

Healing Now

Moving forward after something painful is difficult. This I've always known. But I'm only now beginning to realize just how difficult it can be when I have any real say in the painful scenario's outcome.

Several days ago, I terminated a friendship with one of my best friends, because I suddenly realized how toxic it had become. This action flew in the face of nearly everything I'd stood for previously, even though the decision was on my doorstep for a long time. I fought it and then found justifications for fighting it, all the while ignoring external advice and inner goading, reading both as graceless and flawed.

Since my decision, I've been in a state of freefall. I immediately fell to my knees and asked God what I'd just done. Over the following few days, I began questioning the things I'd believed about myself. This would surely be a true test of faith; a trial by which my path would be chosen for years to come.

Having now put myself into a state of life crisis, nearly every moment has been a struggle. Work has kept me busy, but I've noticed the tension builds up quickly there, making me more prone to short temper. Idle pastimes have occupied my mind at home, which is somewhat more effective, until I'm done, at which point I realize I'm exactly where I left off and I've wasted several hours. It's only been a couple of occasions that I've done healthy, sabbatical, social activities, which have been the beginnings of healing.

As I think back on which of my actions have promoted health and reflected maturity, it's clear that the opposing actions have been directly rebellious against God. And it's only putting it in that light that reveals how silly such actions are. What am I doing? "Disciplining" Him? I'm a child punishing his parent for putting him in time out.

The destructive cycle in which I've been locked needs to stop. Tuning out the pain is completely nonproductive; it's effectively only a bandage for an infected wound. Without godly counsel, genuine friendship, and perhaps ministry, I won't heal properly. I've been on a path I've taken too many times in the past, thus further perpetuating my stunted growth.

Pareidolia

To anyone who follows this blog or knows me at any depth, there are probably certain things about me that indicate less than a wholehearted reckless abandon for Christ. It's characteristic of the walk I've had. I believe, I accept, and I profess, but when it comes to actually living my faith, I seem to always come up short.

It's not necessarily through my actions or inactions that this is made apparent, so much as the underlying attitude that I have. It's one that I've maintained, even though my moods have been generally better and still improving in recent months. There's something in my attitudes that's intangible, almost like an aura, that suggests that something is amiss; perhaps even that I'm still putting on a show.

I can't confirm this firsthand, but that seems like a fairly normal thing for someone who has claimed to start following Christ, but hasn't really had to change anything about his lifestyle. To make a turnaround like my life has needed, something must be placed before God as a sacrifice. That something is necessarily the thing (or things) I worshiped prior to my acceptance of Christ as Lord. Because no one can serve two masters.

Until recently, I'd assumed I'd done that. Recalling the story of the Rich Young Ruler, Jesus told him to sell all of his possessions and give the proceeds to the poor. Until he did that, he would not know salvation.

I knew all along that God was not telling me to do exactly that. But I think somewhere in my mind I'd convinced myself that going to church, studying my Bible, doing daily devotionals, getting connected to church groups, and trying to live an outwardly more godly life, were the things that God was commanding me to do. And that was an easy commitment to make. And while I still did other things (work, school, video games, TV, etc.), those things didn't rule my life and dominate my every thought. Furthermore, I'd assumed that I was doing those things worshipfully, which is also what God wants (more precisely, for everything to be done that way).

What I've come to realize is that the possessions, daily tasks, and other mundane things were not what made me a "rich young ruler." They occupied my time out of necessity, but I never truly bowed my life to them. That is to say, I knew they weren't idols to me, and I knew what it was I truly worshiped, but I only recently realized that I'd never given that false god up for Christ.

It saddens me that it takes the forcing of God's hand to finally, physically remove the icons from my life; that I lacked the strength and wisdom to banish them myself. On that note, however, I'm glad He's done it. Now I know the confusion can stop, and with it, so will this spiritual oppression and unrest.

The Serpent's Kiss

I've been in a bit of a stagnation point in my faith lately. I think it's largely because I've been so busy with day to day tasks and pastimes that I haven't given myself adequate time to spend with God.

Regardless the cause, I've definitely felt the effects of it. Backsliding into some of my old habits, physical, verbal, and mental, has been an inevitability. And of course, not giving myself enough chance to think it through has only worsened the condition. Now, as I assess my life as it is, I'm bothered to see the degradation.

Ultimately, it was the very fact that I'm bothered, and the way that that perturbance culminated, that led me back into a state of questioning. Not questions of belief or anything - I'm not going through another crisis. More like questions about how sin is defined. Generally, "Is it actually sinful to do this and that?" is a pretty accurate template for my inquiries.

Frighteningly enough, that phrasing, from my own mind, reminded me of an infamous exchange between a woman and a serpent. Realizing this, I was faced with the reality of how much danger I was in. So, per my nature, I did a bit of research.

Just a heads up: this isn't a new revelation. In fact, I'm pretty sure I've written about it before.

Among the first of my perspectives that needed to change when I began following Christ was my take on what's considered "sinful." The key, I realized even then, was that it's not about which behaviors and mentalities are sinful, so much as which ones glorify God.

We have to approach the issue from the positive perspective: giving ourselves a legitimate reason to live in a certain way, rather than reasons to not live in another. This course keeps us safely out of the risk of falling into sin. With eyes fixed on God, we need not even consider whether or not something is offensive to Him, because we're already preoccupied with living in such a way that glorifies Him. The sinful ways can't even find their way in.

Vocari Dei

One thing in my life that I think has been thriving in its own awkward way is prayer. I say awkward because it's a daily, clumsy struggle, but thriving because I've noticeably grown.

I've learned over the years that even though talking with people about what's troubling me can be therapeutic and at times directly helpful, there's only so much communication that can be done with our limited understanding. We can't make sense of ourselves half the time, so we can hardly expect others to do so. What's more, people aren't without their limits of patience. They'll eventually become frustrated, especially toward a person who's inconsolable or beyond their ability to help.

In contrast, God is always there, always listening, and never impatient. Most profoundly, He does understand us and our entire situation, even when we don't. That's been reassuring in ways that only a few months ago I wouldn't have even imagined. The option to turn to God when I just want to be understood by someone is comforting. Even if, when I'm on my knees, all I can do is be silent, sob unreservedly, or just tell God that I'm hurt, confused, and even mad at Him.

My latest reflections on prayer have led me to a conclusion about its sheer importance. And it's not about getting the answers that we want for our requests. While that happens sometimes, I feel like a lot of people miss the point entirely and see petitioning as a way to get wishes granted. In truth, our prayer should be focused entirely on open acknowledgment of how utterly we must rely on God. This form of complete surrender should be our humble approach behind all of the times that we turn to Him for anything.

Drowning in the Flood

I made a mess again.

My depression has dragged me down to what feels like rock bottom. I know it isn't, but perspective tends to dominate the human mind. It's times like this, when I feel the sheer weight of everything, that I feel, not so much that I can't continue, but that I have no will to do so. It's like I've allowed my circumstances to bear down on me so hard that my spirits have been crushed and I've degenerated into apathy.

My thoughts have been immersed in negativity for several days. I've felt lonely and abandoned, and these feelings seem to feed and sustain themselves, causing a downward spiral. I've felt so much anger and resentment, so much fear, and so much loathing for myself and for the world and all the people in it, that it feels like I'm beyond consolation. I've backslidden so far into old, sinful behaviors and attitudes that redemption feels hopeless.

The burden has been so heavy that, moments ago, I felt compelled to fall to my knees. I reread, for the umpteenth time, the description of love in 1 Corinthians 13, and it became painfully real to me that the way I've been has not been loving at all. I begged God for the forgiveness I knew I already have and will never deserve. But can I forgive myself?

As I write, I still wrestle with this, yet to find a peaceful resolution. To any readers, I'm sorry that this isn't a profound, feelgood, theological or spiritual post. This is a post of despair; of open recognition of my need for God's grace; of a deep longing to truly give my burdens to Christ. These are the thoughts of a human truly struggling with his humanity.

Darkness of Mine

I've been silent on this blog for a couple of months now, largely from a lack of inspiration or from scattered thoughts. I generally like writing, because it's helpful in anchoring the ideas that I have, providing a medium upon which I can expand and develop them. But lately it's been difficult, because not only are the ideas are all partially formed and lacking in any real consistency, but also because I haven't felt motivated. I suppose it's natural that these things result from depression.

As anyone who knows me can probably attest, I go through phases of being depressed, sometimes punctuated by brief periods of inspiration, which convince me that I can do anything to which I set my mind. Unfortunately, "brief" is all too adequate a description of those times, and soon I'm back in a state somewhere between sadness and void of feeling.

However, what frightens me about that "dark place," as I've come to call it, is not even its frequency or duration. While those aspects can be frustrating, they don't necessarily indicate infinity. That is to say, there's hope for an end to that form of suffering.

But you see, I often long for the times before I was prone to depression. I'll wish I could go back to a simpler, happier state of mind, which I theoretically inhabited earlier in life. But the truly terrifying thing about that is my uncertainty that such a time and state ever existed for me. While I do long for it, it's difficult for me to envision, and I can't seem to think of any specific instances in which I was truly "happy." To clarify, I can think of happy moments and periods of my life, but on deeper thought I'll also remember negative thoughts and feelings of inadequacy that were always present, even amidst those happy times.

I've had people imply, or even outright suggest, that this depression is just part of who I am, tied to my temperament, and that there's no cure or solution. That's a disheartening thought, especially when it comes from the mouth of a fellow Christian. The notion that I have a joy-inhibitor hardwired into my brain seems to fly in the face of the theology of a God who wants us to have abundantly joyful lives.

I have, of course, had the thought that I misunderstand what true joy is. I know it's more than just a feeling, and so it doesn't mean we'll always be happy and carefree. But my impression has always been that joy can't exist in the same space as depression; they contradict each other. So unless that's wrong and I truly don't understand, there must be hope for freedom from this. And unlike everyone else in my life (whether they actually do this or not), I can't just give up on me. I have to believe there's hope.