Some days more than others, I can feel it.
The heavy wet blanket approaching, threatening to encase me and bring me low.
The chronic D advancing into my day, inching forward, lurking.
Maybe you know the feeling.
Depending on what stage the heavy wet blanket rolls in, depends on how I start calling on the Life Preserver to keep me from sinking.
Depending on how hard the dysthymia comes at me depends on how able I am to ask for more of His presence, His strength, His healing.
Sometimes I can still fight the fog, the heaviness to stay in the Word, to pray, to gather in close to Him and wait it out.
But sometimes the surging misfires from my brain try to tell me I’m done for the day. In essence, I become paralyzed. Zombie-like.
“What do I do again? I know there’s something I do for this… there’s got to be … but… I’m too tired to think…”
And you could walk past your Bible a hundred times, but your brain won’t recognize it, and eventually you can’t stay upright anyway because your body becomes inexplicably heavy, and words become dismay, and saying them exhausting.
Not a great picture to paint, is it?
And this chronic D isn’t even major depression, this is slightly less intense, but rolls in and out more frequently like a wavy sort of rhythm. So your thoughts go from, “okay, here comes another wave, Lord” to the most helpless cry that echoes the same cry from David in the Psalms, “Lord, Lord, why have you forsaken and abandoned me today?”
And I used to be ashamed at that desperate cry, the one cried foul, the cry that implies I have no faith, or that I believe He’s vanished when everything else tells me He’s there, that I know better. That it’s a weak and wimpy sort of cry, and you don’t tell anyone else you cry it out, or they’ll judge you.
The first cry seems brave. Resolute. Trusting. “Okay, Father, You have never failed me yet, I’m going to let you fight this for me. I’m going to believe.”
That other cry smacks of defeat. The ugliness of that one word makes us cringe. Especially when we’re supposed to be children of Almighty God. And we assume He must cringe hearing it yet again from our lips. And then guilt accompanies the only cry we’re able to cry.
This is how a spiraling down occurs.
And where the enemy hopes you and I’ll stay.
Until the Lord reminded me of this one powerful truth.
Which the enemy hopes we’ll forget. And we do.
That David was pouring out then the same words that the coming Messiah would later on a cross.
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken and abandoned me!?”
And the fog lifts a little.
Because He knows.
He’s tasted the same words. It is the same cry. It IS the same cry. From the same tortured heart. Directed at the same Father. The same despair touched Him. The same exhaustion touched Him.
It’s the same cry.
Weary, wounded, desperate heart. If you hear one thing today, hear this…
The same cry receives the same answer.
Say it again.
The same cry receives the same answer.
God responded in a very definite way then, and He will respond in a very definite way, now.God responded in a very definite way then, and He will respond in a very definite way, now. Click To Tweet
Jesus lifted up His pain and anguish, cried out words that needed answering, and the answer God responded with?
Shook the earth.
Blew a grave apart.
Pulsed life-giving Light into every dark corner.
AND RAISED HIM UP.
And our same cry receives the same answer.
“and God raised us up with Him, and seated us with Him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the ages to come He might show the surpassing riches of His grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus.…”
And Ephesians 2:6,7 now reads like a glorious and triumphant declaration, and promise, and not just a matter of fact and eternity.
It’s the same answer, for the same cry.
And like David, in Psalm 22: 21 (b), after he asked God in anguish to draw near, to rescue him, we can say with absolute truth, ” You have answered me, Lord!”
He answers. With an answer that is capable of defeating defeat, of raising up the impossible, of blowing apart the things that hold us down.
And I don’t have to be ashamed of the desperate cry.
Nor do you.
We can take solace in the fact that while we cry, while we wait for that answer, He is working. He is preparing. He is accomplishing something incredible.
That He is the God of restoration and redemption and rescue.
Even when we can’t see Him. In the depression. In the sickness. In the unemployment. In the grief. In the loneliness. In the rejection. In the anxiety. In the exhaustion. He’s there, beginning His good works in the midst.
Readying to do the impossible.
We don’t have to be ashamed to cry the same cry anymore.
He’s only waiting, anticipating, preparing to give you His glorious answer.
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This post gladly links up to #LiveFreeThursday with Suzie Eller! At the end of her post there, you’ll find a group of talented bloggers all sharing their hearts in the same linkup. Feel free to join us!