The Lost Sailor: Going to God in the Midst of Depression
Updated: Mar 30, 2022
Droplets ping against the window pane and fling their way into my eyes. They sting as they consume my lashes. Why now? How can this be? What did I do wrong? I continue to sink into despair.
It always begins as a small swell, its genesis deep off in the horizon. The swell often quickly rumbles forth into a wrathful chaos. The waves of my soul crash and surge. Waves rise, threatening to consume me. They whisper threatening tales of other lost sailors. Lies, deceit, and failure grip my very soul. The voices rise in my head, “It’s too much! Too much to bear!” Hide. Run. Scream. I am paralyzed. Fear. Loss. Hurt.
How dare God give me more than I can handle? More than I can bear. When will the drowning subside? When will the healing begin? I struggle to catch a breath in the sorrowful silence with no tears left to fall, my heart ready to burst. I sit like a small pebble nestled in the valley’s ravine, taking the impact of water racing into its tiny brook from every angle. This is not my first time having to be pulled from the raging storm.
Just say His name, I tell myself. From the depths of my soul comes forth a weary voice full of angst and desperation. “God”.
Saying His name feels like a cool trickle of water seeping down my salt-caked throat. His name swirls in my thoughts, and a peace and familiar comfort sweep into my soul. God is good. God is faithful. God is just.
I ask, “Why must I have this affliction?”
To show that I’m enough.
“How do I deal with this?”
Just keep holding on to Me.
“You gave me more than I can handle.”
Just keep looking up at Me. Yes, this is too much for you to handle. But it is not too much for Me.
And I thank Him. I thank Him for always reminding me that He is my assurance. I thank Him that He still has a purpose for me, even in all my weakness.
Only in the garden will there be perfection when we reunite once again.
But in the meantime, until that blessed day, You call my name through the roaring storm raging inside my soul. You take my hand and lead me to safe waters. You whisper, “Give it to me. I can bear it. I am enough.”
And I am content to remember that this life is not about coming out unscathed from the raging storm. It consists of the potter continuing to mold me and make me. The stormy waters may never subside, but my God is there making a way.
I can hear the wind whistling through the leaves that have begun to fall asleep. Rippling pools of water reflect the sun’s beams, creating a rainbow prism in the murky puddle. I raise my head up out of my deep, dark valley. Light has prevailed in the midst of threatening darkness once again.
“We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed… So we do not lose heart.” (2 Corinthians 4:8-9, 16)
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