The Iron Mom

A friend stopped by the other day and we were chatting about life, and parenting and the fact that both of us our preparing to graduate our eldest children this week. I will watch my son make his way across the stage tomorrow, and she will watch her daughter on Thursday.

We have known each other since I was pregnant with my Jacob and her little girl was not even yet toddling about. Her son and my son were very good friends when they were little boys. The children's friendships have not remained as close, but she and I have been comarades in arms over the last 18 years.

We got to talking about this crazy process of parenting and how each new stage brings both new challenges and new rewards. Now as we enter the process of our children becoming adults, we are both finding that some of the challenges are much different than we could have ever imagined, and we look forward to the hope of reward with great anticipation.

Both of us know a man who ran the "Iron Man" Race. I can't even fully comprehend all that he accomplished, but I know he swam a long way, then he roade a bike a long way, and then he ran what I believe is the equivelant of a marathon at the end. As we were chatting, it occurred to me that parenting is a lot like an Iron Man race, but in reverse, so I better refer it to the Iron Mom.

When our kids were babies and on into their toddler years, it was a LOT like running a marathon. Very literally I felt like I was on my feet and running around after them constantly. Younger and stronger I weathered that part of the race better with Jacob than I did when my younger two tag teamed me (my friend ran with the tag team her first time out.) Moving constantly there was barely time to come up for air. Like the Iron Man runner who just grabs a glass of water and continues running, that's how those early years felt. Constantly on the heels of my kids monitoring every step, where they were, what they were doing, ready to correct or collect them, whichever needed be.

As the kids grow older it's like transitioning into the "bike ride." We back away, no longer on top of them. Riding together sometimes they get ahead of us, sometimes they fall behind, it is in this stage that they begin to make their own way, but on the clearly marked path we have set before them. There is no wide path to stray, the road is clearly marked and though they may be pedaling much on their own, we are never far enough to miss a fall, and there is very little confusion for them about where they are supposed to be or what they're supposed to be doing. There is a lot of pride in them in this season of life (whereI consider my younger two kids to be now) as they begin to grow, rise to challenges, learn to accept consequences, and begin to make decisions for themselves.

What you don't really realize until you get there though, is the "parenting your child" process ends at the "swim." It's a strange and sometimes scary process as you begin to step into the "water" of parenting an adult.

Jake turned 18 in February, and truly that is where their feet first get wet. 18 is a scary age. I often describe it as "way too much power, and not nearly enough wisdom." Even the wisest of 18 year olds is still 18, still struggles with the decption of their own invincibility and lack of experience. No matter how much they think they know, or how much you have tried to impart to them in their heads, wisdom only comes when knowledge is practiced. That's the big step of this process.

Unlike the "bike ride" of parenting, the track is no longer clearly defined, as the "commencement" ceremony of graduation happens, you truly are releasing your children into a new beginning (hence the term commencement.) And unlike the ability to stay along side them on that bike path, the ocean is wide and deep and the ability to stay alongside them disappears, and rightfully so. But it is a difficult transition none the less.

I look at my son, who is a kind and compassionate (gulp) man, who still has a lot of uncertainty about where his drive and desire may lead him, knowing that the "ocean" is full of peril and strife, and I can only hope. Instantly as a parent you are "demoted" to an advisory position in the life of the child you have poured so much into for the last eighteen years. And they cannot even comprehend what a big day this commencement is for you. And you cannot make them understand.

The truth is, I don't think we actually even get into the ocean with our children as they begin to swim. In reality I believe we find ourselves standing on the shore, having the better view of what lies ahead than they are capalbe of from their perspective. We watch, "biting our nails" seeing the sharks that seek to destroy them, recognizing the danger of the rocks that the waves try to push them upon. But also from this perspective, we see the strength that was built (or wasn't) in the process of both the run and the ride that led them here.

Like the waves, as we watch, we will find our pride and concern both ebb and flow, swell and recede. Our kids are swimming. This is the part of the "race" we have spent their whole lives trying to help prepare them for. It's the time to move to higher ground, take our nail bitten hands out of our mouths and cheer them on. Yes, sometimes the shout may be a warning of "Look out!" or "Be careful!" But it is a moment where we must release them, let them swim, this is their opportunity to thrive, to shine and to amaze us with the power and strength.

It isn't easy, but it's right. Bless them as they climb into the water. Believe for them as they venture out. Pray for them as they swim away. This is the moment, the one you started thinking about the very first day you held that little one.

The race of the Iron Mom is never over, but it turns out it is a relay, and this is the place where you must pass the baton. I'm blowing my Jacob kisses as he swims out into the world. Going to head back to the track where my younger two are riding and life isn't so nearly uncertain, but my heart stands on the side of the ocean, cheering. "I believe in you Jacob, go take on the world!!!"

Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it.
Proverbs 22:6

Depression

Depression.

What it looks like: For me it looks like a lack of drive. I don't want to do anything. I don't want to go to work. I don't want to go to church. I don't want to get off the couch, not even to get up and go to bed at the end of the night. I don't want to cook for my family. I don't want to pray or read my bible or write in my journal. What depression looks like for me is not wanting to do anything.

What it sounds like: Yes, depression has a voice. Sometimes, maybe most of the time, it's a voice inside of my own head, but it's talking is incessant, and it has nothing good to say. It tells me that people don't care, that friends don't call or connect because they're not really my friends. In the midst of transition it comes with the subtext that says they've abandoned you. Other times it says they were never your friends and what you thought was a relationship wasn't even real. Both of these scenarios make me feel foolish. This voice also speaks words of rejection, constantly. It tells you people don't like you, it makes you wonder what the meaning behind people's words actually is. And this is when the voice of depression comes out of other mouths. Criticism equals rejection, even when it's constructive. And things like a slighted handshake, or a funny look scream judgment or insinuate some deeper meaning, even if it's only in my own head.

What it feels like: Do you remember the Peanuts character "Pigpen"? When I think about how depression feels for me, that's the best word picture I can come up with. That cloud of dirt that floats around Pigpen may dissipate, he might run quickly and you won't even see it until he slows down again, but it's still there. That's what depression feels like, it has good days and bad, and some days it looks like it's not even there, but it is, it's lingering, and as soon as I slow down, it catches up to me. Maybe that's why for me at least, waking up is the hardest. Still, lying in bed, I just don't want to move. I wish the day wouldn't start and that I didn't have to face it. It feels like pulling the covers over my head and going back to sleep would be the best possible plan for the day, with only short "field trips" to the refrigerator where I make bad eating choices and eat myself beyond capacity.

Good days: I'm fortunate, most of my days are good days simply because my life still takes precedence over my feelings, and I can't succumb to the desire to stay in bed in the morning. I'm a wife and a mom and I have a job. I have to get out of bed; there are children to taxi, bills to pay, work to be done. On the good days busyness keeps the cloud of depression just far enough behind me that it won't catch up until I slow down and the house grows quiet. People won't even question how I'm doing because I manage to keep the overwhelming feelings at bay. On the surface, things look OK. But the biggest threat those days are those few discerning people who see past the facade, the ones who look me straight in the eye and ask me how I'm doing. On the good days though, as soon as I catch my breath I can smile and laugh and tell them "everything's fine." I just have to move away quickly to make sure they don't press the matter.

The days in between: Those days that aren't great days but also aren't the worst filter themselves in between the two ends of the spectrum. Those are the days when I avoid the people who might ask how I am. Naps are an important part of those days, the harder the day, the longer the nap. I might eat too much or have an angry outburst, the voices are louder those days, the cloud is harder to run ahead of. Those days are like wading in the water at the beach, the waves push and pull at me constantly and sometimes knock me down. But I never fully lose sight of the "shore", but I am worn out by the end of the day.

Bad days: My life doesn't allow me to stay in bed, so instead my bad days are clothed in pajamas. The furthest I make it is to the couch in front of the TV, and Netflix and Facebook are my only companions. On those days if I dare to allow them when my family is home, my people tend to circulate quietly outside of my cloud. The kids play outside, the husband works in the yard-- they seem instinctively to know not to step too close to the vortex, maybe for fear they might be sucked into the cloud. I'm not sure that they recognize it for what it is, or can even put a name on it, but they know I'm in a "mood" and so giving me "space" seems to be their best option. On those days there aren't many angry outbursts because we're all just happier to keep our distance. The refrigerator as well is my faithful friend those days. There are dents in my couch from the days where I seem to grow there, so heavy and full I can barely stand up.

What depression isn't: It isn't a bad attitude or a choice. It isn't something that I can just power through and "get over," especially not in my own strength. "Fighting depression" is a bit of a false concept. Like the cloud that it feels like, "fighting it" feels like beating the air. I cannot fight a cloud. I remember before I ever experienced depression feeling judgmental towards people who talked about suffering from it. But for the record, I don't like that term, "suffering from it." I think a better description is "suffering in it." Depression is a lot like walking into a dark and unfamiliar room and being spun around until I'm completely disoriented and then being told to find my way out. But the problem is, the room is filled with obstacles, "furniture" I run into, and it hurts like hell. And the longer I wander around, the more beat up and damaged I feel, the more exhausted and disheartened I grow.

What depression is: It's a battle. Physical, emotional and spiritual. Sometimes where the battlefront lands varies. I have had days, sometimes several in a row, where taking a shower is too much. Overeating can be practically suicidal, eating myself into oblivion, wanting to say no, knowing it's wrong (and making matter worse), but taking another bite or ten anyway. I'm not a crier, even in the worst of depression tears rarely come; but for me, sometimes it's the overwhelming desire to let out tears that just aren't there that becomes a battlefield for me. It feels like maybe there would be relief in a good cry, but the cry never comes. Anger, hostility, over-sensitivity, rejection, loneliness, isolation all show themselves on the emotional battlefield, but the list is even longer than that. And the spiritual battle, that perhaps is the worst of it, because sometimes it isn't just a battle, it's actual warfare. Sometimes the voice inside my head isn't just my own, sometimes it's the voice of a very real spiritual enemy.

The bible says that Satan comes to steal, kill and destroy, and depression is a perfect tool to accomplish those things. Sometimes he masks his voice as my own mental thought. The accuser robs of abundant life-- he tells lies that say this is it, life won't ever get any better. He points at the (innocent) actions of others and twists them, accusing them of not being your friend or on your side, saying that they don't care about you, that they never cared about you. Sometimes his voice is an occasional whisper, sometimes it is relentless. Sometimes it is constant and sometimes he waits for his moment, my moment of weakness and he shouts. "Drive your car off that ledge." "Slam into that wall." Suicidal thoughts, they do come in the midst of depression. For me that has always tended to be the moment when my enemy "shows his hand," and I recognize or re-recognize that I'm in a fight, and it's time to get up out of the corner where I'm cowering and fight back. That's usually the moment when I stand up to my bully by calling on my Dad. But I'm also pretty banged up by then. But I know I'm one of the fortunate ones in this regard, because too many people "fighting depression" actually find this crossroads to be a passageway to an even darker place. I'm fortunate, I don't think I've ever gotten sucked into the worst of the darkness, but that room that I do visit, that I sometimes wander aimlessly in, it's hard enough, scary enough, bad enough.

What's the answer: That dark disorienting place, the one where I hurt myself as I roam around looking for the way out, what is the solution? Where is the exit? I don't believe it's medication, at least not for me. Medicating myself doesn't work (with food, or busyness) and I don't believe that actual medication is a better plan either-- I don't actually deal with the situation, nothing actually changes when I am medicated. The medicine just makes it so I don't care so much that I'm in the room, it provides a false sense of "light". So how do I (or anyone else) get out of the room? The fact is, I don't think we can get out of the room on our own. At least I know I can't. I can't just "pull myself up by the bootstraps" and press through. I think the truth is we have to be led out. Someone else has to either call out to us, and let us follow their voice, or even better, Someone who can see in the darkness needs to come and take us by the hand and lead us out. Lead me out.

I think truthfully there is really only One who can do that. Only One sees the darkness as though it were light. Jesus alone can come in and rescue. Yes I know there are those who will disagree with me. There are those who have found medication and therapy to be effective. But if I TRULY want OUT of the room, i believe I have to let Him lead me out, not just take a little something that makes me not care about being in the room, or talk to someone who makes it feel more acceptable to be in the room. (I'm not saying there is never a time for medication or therapy, I actually believe strongly in biblical counseling I'm just saying it's a process, and not a solution.) Jesus alone is the solution.

Today in church we were singing a song during worship, and there is a line that says. "You are Light, You are Light when the darkness closes in..." It pierced the darkness I've been battling lately. It's not that it was something I didn't know, but it's something that in the midst of the darkness and disorientation, I often find myself forgetting. It was a timely reminder. Honestly, I think it was the Lord's voice calling out to me towards the door. "Walk towards Me," He said. He is Light. He can see in the midst of the darkness even when I cannot. And the beautiful thing about Him calling out? If I just step one faith-filled step toward His voice, I will quickly find His hand there for me to grab hold.

Why am I telling this to the world: I believe that depression is one of those "secret sins" among Christians. I think it's a lot more common than people realize, or care to admit. There are a lot of "glass half full" believers (God bless them,the rest of us need them desperately) but sometimes there is something to be said to admitting the glass is half empty, and sometimes even completely empty... on occasion the glass is crushed and the water is all over the floor. And the "half-full" crowd has the capacity for seeing a silver lining when others of us find ourselves sucked into that pigpen cloud unable to see the lining at all. Being a believer does not exempt us from pain or struggle. It does not exempt us from depression. I am not exempt. I also know, I am not alone. So the reason I am sharing is in hope that someone else might feel a little less alone if they are facing battles like mine. If you are facing a battle like this one, I'm not alone, and neither are you. And if you listen closely you just might hear the same voice I heard this morning in worship.

"You are Light, You are Light, when the darkness closes in..."

Listen closely, "I am Light, I am Light... take My hand, I will lead you out."

Jesus is calling you toward His voice, toward the door. Take a step of faith, reach out. I believe you will find His hand reaching out to you, grab it tightly, and He will lead you out. It may not happen in an instant but He is trustworthy, and if you hold tightly to Him, he will lead you out of the dark place that overwhelms your soul.

Eternal Moments

Today I was driving down the road and a rush of memory washed over me. It was a sad wave of sorts, somewhat nostalgic. I was thinking back on a season in my life when I was able to teach and preach on a consistent basis. Those moments were precious to me. Not because I was good at it, though I was, but rather because they were eternal moments in my life.

Eternal moments? Yes, that's my term for them. They come in many shapes and styles, but the bottom line of an eternal moment is simply this-- you are aware of something so much bigger than yourself. In the case of those moments where I was allowed to preach the Word, and teach the Bible, I was aware of my purpose. There is a lyric in a song that sums up a perfect description of that purpose. It says, "I would give the world to tell Your story, because I know that You called me, I know that You called me. I've lost myself for good within your promise, I won't hide it, I won't hide it. Jesus, I believe in You And I would go to the ends of the earth"

Every time I sing that song, it's as though it speaks to the deepest part of my soul-- a eternal place inside of me. I've had other eternal moments. When I held each of my bioligical children in my arms when they were newly born. With my adopted son, I shared two very specific eternal moments-- when he cried out to me in the night on the night he was born. I stood over his crib in the hospital and I fell in love with him. The day that we signed his adoption papers and I knew he was finally mine, and I understood something about the heart of God that I never really comprehended before that moment.

Eternal moments.

Not all of them were that profound, many were in what seemed to be casual conversations at first, but then they take a turn, and suddenly we were speaking of profound truth. I had opportunity to share a word of encouragement from God's Word, or shared a part of my testimony to offer light in someone else's darkness. In the moment it's as though heaven's curtain is drawn back and the distance between the two seem very small, perhaps even nonexistent. In those moments I not only feel very near to God, but I actually sense that I am a part of Him.

Moments when I was writing my novels, I sensed eternal moments. Times when the writing seemed to do itself, times of anointing. There have been times like that on thi blog for me as well. Times of worship, times of prayer- they too sometimes present themselves as eternal moments, the veil between the temporal and the eternal fades.

Sometimes the road between these eternal moments seems too long, and the journey is dry and difficult. Sometimes I think when you can know and remember the eternal moments, it exacerbates the evidence of the dry and the difficult. You find yourself torn between pressing on to find yourself in the midst of another eternal moment, and wanting to give up and lament the distance between them.

The truth, I suppose, is all our moments are eternal ones when we belong to Christ. Whether the veil stands or draws back, every moment is a part of our eternity. Every step is a step closer to Him. It doesn't matter whether we feel the nearness of eternity and the God who lives in it, the Lord is at hand. Every moment we walk with Him or toward Him is an eternal moment. Sometimes He gives us the privlege of sensing it rather than just the ability to know it. Other times the feeling isn't there and we are asked to continue on-- in faith.

When you feel the eternal moment, I encourage you, stop, take it in, hold on and experience all of it that you can. Then continue forward, in faith-- know that this moment too, is eternal. Christ is with you, God is very near-- now and into eternity.

Hold On

I know, like me and mine, many people I love and care about are facing some pretty tough battles right now. As I wrote this poem, I wrote it with many of you in mind. This poem is meant to be an encouragement. It's truth-- whatever we are facing, we are NOT alone, if we belong to Jesus, we have God on our side. Whatever we are facing has been filtered through His hand for His good purpose, for our good and for His glory. Sometimes it's hard to remember that, but it does not change that it's true. So I encourage anyone who is a follower of Christ who finds themselves in a time of difficulty, struggle, warfare, hold on. He's holding on to you.


Hold On

The darkness surrounds, obscuring the view,
Can’t see what is real, can’t see what’s true.

Fear creeps in, demanding control,
Pretending he has some authority’s role.

The darkness lies, its power’s not real,
Hold onto the truth, not to what you feel.

Look up ahead, do you have Him in sight?
Focus your eyes on eternity’s Light.

Circumstance has no power He will not bend,
He alone is the Author, from beginning to end.

Your life, He holds safely in His hand,
His strength He offers, He’ll help you to stand.

When trouble overwhelms, and you want to run,
Stop and remember, look at all He has done.

Remember His words, His promises true,
Nothing can separate His love from you.

He will be with you in every trial that you face,
He’s with you now, right here in this place.

Say no to the fear that obscures truth like a veil,
You plus the Lord will always prevail.

Press on, press on, don’t give up the fight!
Hold on, believe, grab hold of the Light.

Never forget greater is He that is living in you!
He’ll give you the strength, He’ll guide you through!

Before and behind, and upon you it rests,
His hand covers you amidst all of these tests.

Never give up, God’s on your side,
Amidst the storms, in Him abide.

Hold on, hold on, don’t give in to the strife,
Hold to the One who holds onto your life!

He is real, He is Truth, He is your Friend,
On Him, in confidence, You can depend!!

Let it rise, your faith, let it rise up in you,
Remember, hold on, you know He is true!

No storm He can’t still, or your heart in its midst
Don’t let the struggle, your certainty twist.

Look! Look! And remember this day,
He alone is the Life, the Truth and the Way!

Who else could there be? What other way would you go?
He is your hope, this you must know.

Don’t acquiesce; don’t crumble in fear,
Remember He’s with you; He led you here.

He is unfettered by the battle you face,
Never forget He is still Lord in this place.

No darkness can touch the power He holds,
Stand back and be amazed as His grace unfolds.

Declare it out loud; let not the fight you unnerve,
Remember this day, Whom you do serve!

He’s for you and with you, and He’ll see you through,
He’s Lord of all, and He’s the Savior of you!

Praise Him, praise Him, and let your faith rise!
Feelings and fear, this faith, it defies!

Watch and be sure, you will see Him move,
And once again His faithfulness He will prove.

The darkness may come to obscure your view,
But you’ll not be shaken if you hold to what’s true.

Jesus is true, He is your life and the only Way,
So as you stand in this storm, hold to Him today.


By Diana DePriest
© May 11, 2012

The Master's Plan

Funny that they didn't invite Him since they were there in His "house." But He must not have minded since He was there, even if they couldn't see Him from where they stood at His altar.

A man stood there with them, he talked about Him, read from His book. The woman and man made promises in His name with no understanding of what it really meant.

He was there, watching, knowing, but they couldn't see Him, or maybe they chose not to. But He loved them anyway.

They thought they knew love as they made promises about forever-- or at least the rest of their days. They had no idea what their future held, or Who held their future. But He was there, watching, waiting, loving and leading.

I promise...

To love...

To honor...

To cherish...

What they didn't hear was the promise He made.

What God has brought together...

Let no man separate...

He brought them there, and they had no idea. It was His master plan.

It was the Master's plan.

I'm glad He was there, long before we knew it. I'm glad His words were spoken, His book was read. I'm glad the promises were made.

I'm glad we soon realized He was with us. I'm glad the Master revealed His plan.

I still promise...

To love...

To honor...

To cherish...

In Jesus' name.

Precarious

Sometimes, more often than I care to admit, I just get very sad. It comes on quickly and suddenly. It's like a wave.

It's a strange sort of sadness though, because it drives me to my knees. In a very literal sense, I just want to drop before the Lord. In the moment, I'm completely aware of my sinfulness and my desperate need for my Savior.

In the moment that it comes God feels very near, and ever so far away. Perhaps it is an eternal moment, realizing how far away I am from where I truly belong-- emotionally, spiritually and physically.

The walk of faith is too often proclaimed to be simple, uncomplicated. And too often we Christians want to give off some perception that we've got out all together, and we wear our righteousness with pride.

What fools we are when we do. Because the truth is that we are a fragile and desperate people who fumble and fail at life on our own.

Today when I came home from work I saw my neighbor in the yard with his young granddaughter. He was taking his trash can in and he decided to plop her on top and give her a ride.

I watched as her laughter turned to fear when she realized how precarious her position was. She grabbed at the trashcan below her but found no security in it and her fear got worse.

Then she reached back and grabbed hold of her grandfather. Then I watched as she relaxed and leaned into him. Then she smiled and actually enjoyed the ride.

The metaphor wasn't lost on me. Too often the walk of faith is precarious, the ride scary. We can grab at the "garbage" in this life, but we will find ourselves no more confident or secure.  It's only when we grab hold of the Father and lean into Him that we'll find enough security to actually enjoy the ride.

I'm grateful for the sadness that comes if it remind me of just how precarious my walk of faith is.  When my little neighbor girl grabbed hold of grandpa, the first thing I saw was her grandpa grab her back. That metaphor wasn't lost on me either.