The Oak Tree: A Message of Encouragement - A Hallmark Card

I couldn't get up this morning, still I was able to, before going back only to wake again feeling like I haven't slept at all. I am depleted and for me what that means is that "I" am completely spent but my Lord is not. Today is one of those days on which I shall live and love and perform all my duties on the economy of GRACE.

On these types of days, I turn to where strength rest to scaffold me. I started with Scripture reading and some daily reflections from the AA/Al-Anon materials: Courage to Change; Twenty-Four Hours a Day; Today I will do one thing: Daily Readings for Awareness and Hope.

Then I reached for the Hallmark Card. I didn't plan to, but paradoxically so, lethargy quite often has its own energy that directs us to act, albeit in ways that all too often maybe unhealthy because we are vulnerable. That has often happened to me. But if we can be still in the lethargy, not resist it, not quarrel with it but discern its flow, its energy is directed to a positive flow. Today, I was listening to its voice as it directed me to a positive act when I reached out and took up the card.

I wish to share the poem of the card given to me from me, purchased on a day like this on 1/19/2016 when a dear best friend called to tell me that she had lost her sister.

"The Oak Tree" ~ A Message of Encouragement

A mighty wind blew night and day.

It stole the oak tree's leaves away,

Then snapped its boughs and pulled its bark

Until the oak was tired and stark.

But still the oak tree held its ground

While other trees fell all around.

The weary wind gave up and spoke,

"How can you still be standing, Oak?"

The oak tree said, "I know that you

Can break each branch of mine in two,

Carry each leaf away,

Shake my limbs, and make me sway,

But I have roots stretched in the earth,

Growing stronger since my birth.

You'll never touch them, for you see,

They are the deepest part of me.

Until today, I wasn't sure

Of just how much I could endure.

But now I've found, with thanks to you,

I'm stronger than I ever knew."

May the winds of our illnesses, depression, bipolar, anxiety, schizophrenia, paranoia and any other illness whether it be physical or emotional have roots deep in hope within you. May you know that within you there are roots deeper than any illness or challenge. Like the card says, every "branch" of our spiritual, emotional, mental and physical strength may be broken yet we are still here—we are persevering. May we live on hope and grace just for today and if a whole day seems too much to hope for, let’s hold on to hope for the moment—this very moment.

Courage Not Shame

So I am new at this blogging and so you must bear with me and because of that I promise not to waste your time but make your visits here worthwhile by being as authentic and transparent about living with depression. Sometimes I will share from my personal experience and at other times the experiences of others. And the style of my blog will be of potpourri---if I am blogging authentically, it will not be contrived and rehearsed but will be of whatever the day brings me. Some days I will bring you---a poem, story, a prayer, a spiritual passage or verse from the Christian or non-Christian Faith Traditions, an inspirational message or a reflection. What I do know is that depression is bad enough on its own without needing any further help from me to downcast your spirit. Your visits here count for me and your time is valuable and I shall endeavor to make your visit worthwhile and hopefully instill a desire to return often.

Today my thoughts are on the shame of depression. I know that shame well because I hid my depression for many of my years living with it. Imagine I didn’t mind being thought of and described as “selfish with my time” when I isolated or “prideful” when I didn’t socialize or selectively did so, or worst, once I was called “a part-time misanthrope.” That was hurtful but still rather that than depressed.

That all changed in one of my last jobs where I had to interview veterans who were returning from the war in Iraq and Afghanistan to determine their eligibility for benefits. So many of them carry hidden wounds and as a result of living with PTSD they are unable to express themselves in a manner that will argue for their own benefits. I really got it. To get the benefits they would have to talk about the very things that were wounding and that had traumatized them. And they got it that I got it. Quite often I would move from behind my desk to sit next to those who were really struggling to even look up at me; the ones that would take forever to answer my questions or give me a blank stare. I am in no way equating my experience to theirs; what they have endured and sacrificed is beyond my imagination. But what I shared with them was I knew what it was like to live in that dark place day in and day out. I knew what it was like to feel the pressure of an inflated balloon in my head ever increasing and fearing that it would grow so huge from the pressure that it would explode. We shared the experience of the words swirling in our head and becoming so intertwined that we couldn’t vocalize them. It was because of these brave and courageous men and women that sat in my office that was the catalyst behind my coming out about my past. I felt like I was a betrayer of all they had done and sacrificed. I was hiding and they were struggling to carve out a life daily, dealing with being ostracized of society and sometimes family. They were the courageous ones.

So one day, almost 23 years after my diagnosis, I got up and walked into my boss’s office. The staff had started to wonder why I was the one who was always willing to argue and fight for approval for their benefits even when sometimes it appeared that I was making an argument for approval where there was none. I had already decided that I didn’t need more than a few minutes to say what I wanted to because I would say it later. I stood in the door to make it clear I wasn’t going to sit or elaborate on what next I would tell him. I asked him whether he would permit me to make a presentation at the next staff meeting. “Sure, Lilly, how much time do you need.” He didn’t ask on what, because we all made presentations on difficult cases so he assumed I had one. I corrected his assumption, "I want you to know my presentation will be on me.” He rested the paperwork he had in his hands down on his desk to focus his attention fully. I continued, “I want to share my history of depression. I want to explain why I fight so hard for the veterans to the point of frustrating some of you.” The look on his face was complete amazement. He replied, “Who could have known that? You gave no signs, you are always upbeat; always positive and happy. Who could have known Lilly?” I replied, “That’s why I wish to do the presentation so that I may share what it is like for the veterans walking in this door and why the benefits they seek may one day bring them to that place where like you, someone will say to them, ‘who could have known?’”

That was the day that my shame was transformed into courage. That was the day I started to share my history with those whom I thought would be helped by my sharing and with those who are worthy of my story---not everyone is worthy of our stories, depression or otherwise.

We Walk the Same Path

Peggy was her name, a complete stranger, a woman approaching me with her head so bowed low it was if she were looking for something in the snow. Peggy was in her 80's and our meeting a chance one, or supposedly so. I was leaving the Adoration Chapel walking to my car when I noticed her and felt drawn to her. But decided to let her be. I could see that it was taking much effort for her to walk, not because of any physical disability but from the load on her stooped shoulders and an obviously weighed down soul. She shouted to me just as I was about to step into the car, "Hi, do you know where the door is to the Chapel?" I closed my door and started walking towards her. Somehow I sensed that this was no coincidence that I was getting the chance to say hello to her.

"Hi, yes, I will show you, it is hard to see it; it's sort of a hidden door in the side of church, you have to know to walk to the side of the building to find it." She didn't move to follow me. I turned around.

"Will you pray with me? I suffer from depression." She said to me, with head still bowed as if I weren't standing there. My heart sunk for her. Now I was standing so close to her I could see now that she had passed 80 years a while now. It was a quick decision to share.

"What is your name?" I asked.

"Peggy," she replied.

"Peggy, I am Lilly. Yes, I will pray with you and I want you to know that I am not sure our meeting is a chance one. Peggy, I have suffered with depression for nearly 20 years and I know the darkness that never lets up, the light that never comes."

She lifted her head now. She knew I belonged.

She started to share, "I have lived this way my whole life, I have never been well. I don't know if I will ever not be this way. It may be too late now to hope."

"Peggy, I don't believe it is ever too late to hope. We are here standing, two strangers, about to pray and we met on my way out of the chapel and you entering. I don't for one minute think it is by chance that the person who walked out the door as you are looking for the way in happened to be a person that lived with depression for 20 years."

"You seem okay now, Lilly."

"I want to believe that I will never be depressed again and I pray that it will never return, but there was a time that I too thought there was no hope because mine went on for years and never lifted for long periods and when it did, it would return. Then one day, I wasn't depressed anymore. It has been about 5 years now; the longest I have gone without a relapse."

"How did you get rid of it?" She asked me.

"The truth is I did all the things that many of us do. I was in therapy for years; I took medication for years, I prayed even when I couldn't pray as I understood pray. I would pray in thoughts, in longings to God to help me. I held onto my faith in God, sometimes barely but somehow I held on. And I also spent lots of hours in Adoration and I did have good supportive friends and family who never gave up one me though it was challenging for them many times. But I kept hoping and believing that one day I may be well even as the years went by. The truth is I don't think I could have carried on if I thought that I wouldn't be well one day."

"Thank you Lilly. I agree with you, I don't think it is an accident we are here talking. He planned this I think (she actually looked up to the sky and I want to believe I saw a small smile but that may have been wishful thinking. It is enough she looked up to the sky).

We started to pray and with eyes closed we somehow found each others gloved hands and held hands as we prayed. At the end of the pray, I led her to the door. Just as she opened the door, I held it opened for her and said "Peggy, don't stop hoping and believing, let Him do the rest." She nodded.

As real as the depression is as genuine the smile

I have a history with depression for more than 30 years that required me to take medication during the darkest periods. I have taken Zoloft for as long as 3 years consistently at one point. Somehow I had never made peace with taking drugs in spite of their effectiveness that unquestionably made my life not just manageable but enjoyable for long period of times. Then one day I decided in consultation with medical support that I wanted to stop taking anti-depressants. I was warned that it was a huge risk given that I had never been able to shown that I could consistently stay off without returning. We agreed that should I begin to see the approaching symptoms and darkness hovering I would take them again. That was almost 10 years ago, the longest period that I have not taken Zoloft. What worked for me during these years of living without depression was a deep spiritual life, strong support from family and friends and an unshakable faith that God had healed me.

So why would I be writing now if not all those years ago when I was in the fight? Well, I think I see it hovering, or not so much hovering but it like a way-off slow mist seeping towards me and I dread its return. This blog is my response to that mist that is ever so light that I would miss it had I not experienced it in its lightness to its heaviness all those years ago. I want to journal daily its journey towards me and what I will do. I write from a Christian perspective as my faith shapes my day-to-day life.

The plan certainly is not to be docile to it and passively wait yet I have been conquered by it before even after putting up a defense that I thought it couldn't penetrate. So begins its approach and my journey.