Don't Drain the Juice

Today as I was ladling my chicken noodle soup into my bowl, I realized that I was doing what I had asked my mom to do for me as a child. “Can you drain off most of the juice?” I was draining off the juice so as to get more noodles—the substance of the soup. It occurred to me that this soup was a picture of my life in Christ.

The noodles represent the joys and blessings of life—children and their successes; friends and times of laughter, sharing, and fellowship with them; our homes—and all the special touches that make them ours; unexpected over-and-above provision; days when everything seems to go in our favor; promotions and graduations; the personal touch of the Holy Spirit; fun new experiences.

However, without any juice, my “soup” would be just noodles and would lack flavor. You see, the juice is “the testing of our faith.” There are certain trials, hardships, and challenges in life that allow us to appreciate “the noodles” so much more. God is faithful—that “juice” may slosh all over the place and make a downright mess! But He carries us, comforts us, and longs to bring good out of every situation. It is after coming through such things that we will know how truly good and gracious our God is.

“Taste and see that the LORD is good; blessed is the one who takes refuge in him” (Psalm 34:8).

Jesus is My "Wonderful Life"

‘Tis the season to be inundated with traditional Christmas-y phrases and iconic movie and song titles, such as “Merry Christmas,” “It’s the most wonderful time of the year,” “Joy to the World,” and “It’s a Wonderful Life.” So many years I’ve been a Grinch on the inside at Christmastime—telling myself things like “It’s the most horrible time of the year” and “It’s a depressing life”—or at my worst, even “It’s pointless to try and enjoy it.”

For me, Christmas represented disappointment. Oh, I tried to keep my focus on Jesus, but I was never successful at keeping the negative messages from playing over and over in my head and heart. As a giver, I wanted so much to give great gifts to people—ideally…to everyone! But I never could. And I hated it. And so I began to focus on the lack, the unfulfilled desires, the repeatedly dashed hopes. The depression and anxiety that had been present to some degree all through the year was only magnified during this season. Even though I knew there were many less fortunate, I couldn’t help feeling that by now I had “paid my dues” and should be able to have “a Christmas to remember.”

There were a couple years that we were actually able to be very giving—admittedly, we lavished most of it on our kids—but it didn’t seem to have quite the effect on me that I would have expected. I didn’t realize at first that it was because my poverty mentality had crossed over into one of entitlement. ‘Why shouldn’t we have what others have? It’s just not fair? It sucks.’

Whenever we were the recipients of some type of charity—which happened multiple times—I was certainly thankful. But there was something driving me. Not only did I feel I should be entitled to the privilege of buying good gifts—I felt that I was never able to purchase enough. It was never satisfying enough. There would always be something I should have or maybe even could have bought for someone. And so even in the midst of great giving, there was always a nagging guilt.

Well, as you can imagine, the enemy had a heyday with me. I felt the deep-down anger that my family struggled so much—and that when we did have money, we still had to be conservative because there were bills begging to be paid. Resentment really. And there was the contrasting guilt at not being able to “do better” by everyone. So the message I received was ‘You’re never going to be happy. Christmas is always going to feel “less than.” You will never get to have the kind of Christmas you want.’ Or at least what I thought I wanted.

There was a balance that needed to be struck between giving and receiving. I hadn’t truly received—in the depths of my spirit—the message of Christmas, and therefore I was perpetually unhappy. I couldn’t wait for Christmas to be over. I knew it all in my head—that Jesus was God’s gift to us and the reason that we could celebrate anything; that God had given me a family to love and cherish—they were the blessing of this time of year—not the number of gifts under the tree. I’d seen the episode on Little House on the Prairie in which Mr. Edwards had trudged through the snow for miles to bring the Ingalls children very simple gifts—and they were ecstatic! How could I be so ungrateful?

Because I had not learned to live each day in a posture of contentment and relying fully on Jesus. I had taken ownership of this negative mindset and, as a result, was actually feeding my soul garbage—I was nourishing depression rather than fostering joy. It was a miserable trap—but one I seemed to fall into year after year. Instead of celebrating the birth of my Savior wholeheartedly, I had taken on the attitude of a victim. And the true heart of Christmas seemed lost, or muted at best.

Then came a situation several months ago that my husband and I clearly could do nothing about…but rely on our Heavenly Father. The course of our lives could have changed drastically. Both physically and mentally, we stopped struggling—and purposefully put all our hope in Him.

God came through so miraculously—it was humbling and breathtaking. And it did something in my heart. I felt His love tangibly—through the hands of others, who had chosen to bless us. It made me so  grateful to be His child—and the Lord used it to change my perspective about life on multiple fronts.

I am confident that the Lord knows my heart; He knows my desires—He knows the hearts of my loved ones too; and He knows what’s best. Yes, I still like presents—and I still desire to give them. But I have a peace inside that tells me it’s all going to be okay no matter what. I’m thankful that His love has been so patient with me.

Before, there had always been a lack of peace—and a pressure to live up to some arbitrary perceived expectation. What I now realize is that “godliness with contentment is great gain” (I Tim.6:6). I had been robbing myself of His blessings because my heart was not content. Godliness is not measured in the abundance of wealth or possessions; on the contrary, it is a reflection of what’s in a person’s heart—how well he or she knows Jesus. If we know Him, we know we can trust Him—and that brings contentment.

I still don’t get into some of the more tedious Christmas traditions—like cookie-decorating, Advent calendars, and mistletoe. But this year I feel there is an emergence in my heart of God’s overflowing love—of wanting to devote my time to His purposes for me in this season, and give all the glory back to Him. To let His joy strengthen my resolve to worship Him—and truly celebrate what a wonderful life He has given me. 

His name is wonderful, His name is wonderful,
His name is wonderful, Jesus my Lord.
He is the mighty King, master of everything,
His name is wonderful, Jesus my Lord.
He's the Great Shepherd, The Rock of all ages,
Almighty God is he,
Bow down before Him, Love and adore Him,
His name is wonderful, Jesus my Lord. (Isaiah 9:6)

 

"Unique" Times Three

 

Recently I asked my three kids (ages 22, 18, and 14) to answer some questions. I gave each of them a “survey” without telling them I was giving it to all three. I thought it would be fun to compare their answers. If anything, it has simply served to confirm the fact that each of my children is incredibly unique.

My first question asked for an opinion as to which of them was most stubborn. The oldest (Kristiana) voted for the youngest (Josiah), the middle child (Kalina) voted for herself, and the youngest child (Josiah) felt it might be a toss-up between him and the middle sibling (Kalina).

Traits my kids feel they got from me that they wish they hadn’t include being too good at grammar, worrying about everything, and struggling with weight/eating right. I have to say that I’ve made a lot of progress with those last two—but I know I set a poor example as my children were growing up. And as for grammar…how can one be “too good” at that? 

The third question of the survey was ‘How do you describe your mom to people who haven’t met her?’ One said that people don’t usually ask about me. Well, alrighty then. Other responses include “an English teacher and writer, extremely patient, sweet, and religious” and “a sweet and kind person who loves the Lord, and she is a great writer.” I wouldn’t call myself “religious,” but I would hope that I am “devoted”—not to a set of rules or system of religion but to Jesus himself; and yes, I do try to be sweet, patient, and kind.

Complete the following sentence: When I was a kid, I thought the greatest food was… Josiah said: “Candy.” (I think he still does.) Kalina said: “Macaroni.” Kristiana said: “Fruity Pebbles.”

Funny memories from the early years - Josiah: “So one time for lunch you sent me a bunch of those butterscotch chips, and then Damaris said, "Hehe, they look like tiny piles of poop!" And so we said it was rat poop. And the next day you sent me chocolate chips, so we called those mouse poop.” Kalina: “I remember in 1st grade we were painting fish and I took the longest of everyone because I wanted it to be perfect.” I remember that too—that’s when I first realized how artistically talented Kalina was. Kristiana: “In 2nd grade. Walking into Jaimie Freeburg's room the first time I went over there alone for a sleepover, and having her Furby wake up all-of-a-sudden and us both being caught off guard and flipping out.”

Complete the following sentence: I can laugh about it now, but when I was little I got really upset about/when… Josiah: “…I had to invite boys to by birthday party... Hahaha! I only liked the girls in my class because all the boys were annoying.” I do remember that. I had to encourage patience and kindness and explain that it wouldn’t be appropriate for a boy to invite just girls to his party. Fun times. Kalina: “…Dad or you would stomp on the ground upstairs to get us to come up there.” We lived in a large two-story house, and when the kids were downstairs and we tried to call them, they couldn’t hear us. So we developed a “stomp signal” as a sort of intercom system—I do remember Kalina getting irritated. Kristiana: “…I had to give things away. Now it's my natural inclination to do that and I don't like having so much crap.” I tried to train Kristiana, our packrat, to periodically weed out things she didn’t need. It was a challenge, but she finally seems to have gotten the hang of it.

“Cool” things about going to grandparents’ houses—Josiah liked going to the park with Grandma and Grandpa Miles and getting candy at Grandma and Grandpa Vogel’s. They tended to have the Baskin-Robbins hard candies on the counter by their back door, and Josiah was keenly aware of this fact. Kalina recalls “going to the beach and finding shells” when we stayed with Grandma Nancy and Grandpa Charlie when she was little. Kristiana remembers her joy at seeing all of her drawings on the fridge at Grandma Shirley’s and Grandpa Merle’s. “I was always excited to see which ones they put up because it made me feel loved through a small gesture.” She also enjoyed “looking through Grandma's jewelry.” Her memories of time at Grandma Nancy and Grandpa Charlie’s include going on walks, finding caterpillars, gardening, and eating salal berries.

What was the most hilarious “phase” you went through as a kid? Josiah remembers being obsessed with garter snakes. Kalina remembers her fascination with her made-up word “mushoo” (she would say it all the time) and holding her hands up like little fins in front of her. She actually had her whole class doing it at one point—fourth grade, I think. Kristiana’s phase involved, as she puts it, “when I thought everything was ailing me.” She was a bit like Vada Sultenfuss in the movie My Girl. Sometimes we had to convince her that she was not, in fact, suffering from some serious malady.

When I asked each of the three to name something they didn’t like as kids but do like now, Josiah said “Mongolian Grill.” We never went there during about the first twelve years of his life because we knew he wouldn’t eat it. Kalina didn’t like “folding laundry or vacuuming” but now says she enjoys both. Kristiana thought blue cheese dressing was disgusting for years, then finally one day decided she liked it.

As kids, many of us had visions of what we might be when we grew up. Sometimes those early ideas become reality, but some we look back on and find humor in them. For my kids, the humorous “what-I-want-to-be” plans include a traveling soap salesman (Josiah), marine biologist (Kalina), and singer (Kristiana). I would say, however, that Josiah is still very particular about product scents—he likes to smell good—but his talents are considerably more far-reaching; Kalina loves the ocean and finds marine life beautiful to look at—but she’s studying to become a high school English teacher; Kristiana has a beautiful voice, which she still uses in worship and to bless her husband—but she’s found her passion in photography—and hospitality.

It’s fun to look back on what made us tick (or ticked) when we were younger, as well as how our interests, likes, and dislikes have changed over time. Through new experiences and maturity, we often draw closer to the things that truly reflect who we are. None of my kids are finished “growing up” yet. There is much they’ve yet to experience and discover. Even at forty-five, I find that I am changing—I’m still becoming the person I was created to be. I’m still learning new things about myself.

My mom used to say that if people were all the same, the world would be a really boring place. Our differences in personality and temperament—even the things we remember—add color and dimension to our lives. We are all so very different! It’s no wonder the Bible says we are “fearfully and wonderfully made.” It’s almost scary how unique people are! Only an incredibly creative God could do that.

I am thankful for all my children—and for the ways in which they are unique. It has made my parenting journey interesting, entertaining, challenging…and unpredictable. But I treasure the moments—the laughter, the hugs, overcoming crises, bandaging owies, celebrating their successes—the serene yet sobering knowledge that at the end of the day, they were still mine and no one else’s. I love each of them dearly, individually—and I thank God for each one.

Why Write About THAT?

 

Two days ago, I had the immense privilege of standing in front of my church family at Life Church and preaching a message titled Don’t Let Depression Rob You of Your Destiny! I had envisioned such a moment at times in the past—not preaching on depression, but having the freedom to preach on anything. In my heart of hearts, I knew I had been given a wealth of giftings—and I wanted to bless others, but depression always told me I couldn’t. I wasn’t “well” enough; I wasn’t “spiritual” enough (because of the depression); I wasn’t “worthy;” I just wasn’t. And the even bigger lie was that I never would be.

With all the responses I’ve gotten since the message—all appreciative and full of praise—I have had a lot to thank the Lord for. For the opportunity to share. For the anointing of the Lord. For the people He specifically brought to hear the word the Father had put in my heart. For those who were brave enough to stand, acknowledging that they have been battling depression and want to be free from it.

So as I was thinking on how far the Lord’s brought me and asking myself what I should write my next blog about, I felt like the Lord said “Write about that.” Write about depression? But that seems awfully…well, depressing. I was reminded of parts of my story that I didn’t share—I mean, I couldn’t keep the congregation there all day! So today in my blog, I’m going to share a little bit more.

A good friend said something to me after the service on Sunday that I hadn’t really thought about. Many times creative people get attacked with depression. Now, there are many types of creativity. In my life, these artistic or imaginative gifts have manifested themselves in many ways—arts and crafts, scrapbooking, teaching ideas, even organization—but primarily in writing. When the enemy knows one has a lot to offer—and many different ways in which to do it, and that it’s going to bless others—he works hard to keep the creativity from getting out. He looks for ways to keep it from touching the souls of those God intends for it to bless. Depression, in a sense, is an easy tool for him to use—it carries such devastation of self-worth with it. It basically negates all creative gifting with lies like “no one will want to hear that;” “that’s not as good as you want to think it is;” “big deal—anyone could do that.” The truth is…not anyone could do it—whatever your creative gifting is, it’s a mantle God placed upon you for a specific purpose and with a specific flair to it that is unique to you.

I’ve been a writer since I was a young child, and the Lord knew just what messages to send to my heart to keep me doing it. When I was nine, I had a reading and spelling teacher named Mr. Rhenberg. Once when I wrote a story called “Farla and the Flannel Nightgown,“ he wrote in big, flourishing letters at the top, “Beautiful story, Teresa.” Those words stamped something in my spirit and solidified a calling in me from that day forward: I am a writer.

What the enemy probably didn’t expect is that I would write through my depression and that God would even use it as a tool to lift me out of it. Yes, he may have shut me up at times and even slowed down my timeline (of getting my written words out to the world), but he has never been able to completely stop me from writing. And the more I write, the more I feel that call of the Lord well up within me.

I mentioned in my “sermon” (really more of a life story) that the enemy had tried to “take me out” when I was young—a rock being thrown through a window that almost hit me in the head as a toddler in my playpen; an incident with a window that cut my wrist and nearly cut my artery—another I didn’t mention was that at age ten I borrowed a ten-speed without asking and ended up running into a moving car. I came away with only bumps and bruises. And at age eleven, I experienced an incident of sexual abuse (by a stranger whom I never saw again) that, while not life-threatening in the mortal sense, did rob a lot of “life” from me—the enemy tried to use it to rob me of relationships, and particularly intimacy in relationships. He also used it to make me feel “dirty” and worthless. That was one of my earliest inductions into the realm of isolation and self-protection, within the much larger world of depression.

My heart was crying out for love, but I searched for it in some futile ways. I felt “ugly” and “low class.” So I was drawn to that environment—poverty—in finances, in emotional stability, in connection with God. It was a heist, designed by the enemy to rob me of everything of value the Lord had placed within me—a gift to write, a heart to praise, and a desire for close and intimate relationships.

For two years, I ignored the voice of the Holy Spirit—I had myself virtually convinced, in fact, that everything I was doing was “just fine.” I was still a Christian after all. But my relationship with my parents had taken a dramatic dive. I didn’t want to hear anything they had to say if it was contrary to the choices I was making. I told myself that they just wanted to run my life. They couldn’t see how “mature” I was. Looking back now, I know that my spirit longed for relationship with them—but at the time, I was not listening to my spirit; my soul and body were in charge. But each step I took down the path I had chosen led to shame—and inner discontent and turmoil. I just didn’t want to acknowledge it.

When I finally did come to terms with the mess I had made, God clearly illuminated the way out. It had been there all along, of course. He restored a good relationship with my parents—and I began to experience joy again. Not fleshly satisfaction, but actual joy. I was so grateful that God had rescued me. But never having developed a consistent devotional life (though I’d tried), I still felt I needed another person to complete me. I didn’t yet realize how precious I was to God—and that I was complete in Him.

When I met Byron (whom I’ve been married to for 27 years now), our relationship raced along—and fairly quickly I knew he was “the one.” The only thing wrong with it all was that I put him ahead of God. We married a year and two months after we started dating, and we were happy…except for when my unrealistic expectations of my husband made me feel unhappy. I began to focus on circumstances, and as I did so, it was harder and harder to trust God. The enemy capitalized on this—and I suffered great bouts of depression at times.

I was depressed—unfulfilled—feeling I wasn’t important to most people—struggling to connect with God. But what could I do about it? I have had many people come into my life who’ve spoken the truth to me, and I’m so thankful for them. I feel that their words were “like apples of gold in settings of silver,” truly “words spoken at the right time” (Prov. 25:11, NIV; HCSB). They lifted me out of some dark times and set me back on a well-lit path.

But I kept veering off the path—sure, I still prayed (as much as I could) and went to church (for years in a performance mode). But I kept going back to the enemy’s words instead of God’s. He would speak a lie that I would receive as the truth, and it would weaken my resolve to go after what God might have to say on the matter. I would simply settle for what my mind seemed to be saying was true. But in my spirit…I knew there had to be more. There was a cloud over my life. It seemed that every time I tried to move out from under it, it would just get bigger the next time. And I wondered if I’d ever be able to get past it at all.

The truth about who we are has to go deep, or it won’t have a lasting effect. For me, it’s been as though truth has been piled little by little, rock by rock, until the pillar was tall enough that I could finally see over  the edge of the pit I’d been in—and step out onto the grassy surface at the top to breathe the air I was always meant to breathe. I had to take a huge risk—I had to start believing what God said about me, and about my circumstances. My foundation of truth would only be as strong as my belief. Truly the choice came down to this: was I going to believe the enemy (who’d only worked hard to make my life miserable in so many areas), or was I going to believe God?

It has been a long, hard road—but I finally started to get the message—and not settle for less. Jesus didn’t say, “Come to me, and you will have a life of lack; deficit will be your portion; you will just have to learn to live with it.” No! He said, “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full” (John 10:10). Not only did he establish God’s purposes for us in that one statement—He exposed the enemy’s! Jesus gave everything for me; why would I not take Him at His word? And that is where I now choose to stand. Even if it looks bad, impossible, or scary, I desperately  want—no, need—to take Jesus at His word. He will never lie to me, never give me a stone in place of bread, never leave or forsake me.

And He’ll do the same for you. Shut off the rantings and rovings of your brain. Open your spirit to Him. He is faithful to speak to us—check what you hear with the truth of His written word if you’re not sure. See if it rings true in your spirit. But please let Him in! He wants to give you the keys to freedom, and you can start collecting them today. “"Look! I stand at the door and knock. If you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in, and we will share a meal together as friends” (Rev. 3:20, NLT). It’s up to us to open the door.

Why write about depression? Because it matters. God cares where you’re at. He sees you. And He doesn’t want to leave you in the pit.

“Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast. If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me,” even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you” (Psalm 139:7-12). God’s got you—He’s never left, not even in the midst of your deepest, darkest depression. God is light, and He is able to illuminate the darkness so that it no longer exists. You are not hidden from Him, beloved.

Why write about depression? Because Satan doesn’t want me to, and because the God who loves you infinitely is passionate about your freedom. It’s time to open the door—and turn on the light.