Depression

Depression is at the door, I think. It's knocking. And I'm trying not to answer. It's relentless, never ceasing in its constant calling to me. It pounds viciously on the doors and rattles the windows of my spirit like a thief in the night.  It feeds upon loneliness, unhealthy habits and fatigue. It makes me edgy, questions my decisions and mocks me in my failures. It makes me weepy and selfish and impatient. Depression's goal is to rape my spirit of all self worth and joy. It tries to cram hopelessness down my throat, and it tells me that my God can never allow me in His perfect presence.

I seek refuge, but have lost my center. Where is my Rock of Ages? Where is the shadow of God's wing? How can I claim "Sanctuary" when my sanctuary has been defiled by the abuse of my stalker?

So I do what I can. I pray, asking God to wash me clean and purge this intruder from my spirit. I SPIN, pedalling away faster and faster from this demon hunting me. I look my failure in the face and tell it, "You do not define me." I take refuge in my motherhood, and bask in the presence of my beloved children.  I send a letter to my sister at college. I prepare dinner for my husband, knowing that he will need nourishment after a long day of work, and hoping that he can provide comfort after the children are settled. I listen to Christian music, which transports me to specific events and moments and feelings in my life. I call my pastor for a referral to a Christian counselor. Every step I take adds a defense against this intruder. First I turn the lock on the door. Then I lock the windows. I add curtains over the windows. My alarm system is installed, and soon God hears. Soon my Lord will come rescue me--He will chase my unwanted guest from the perimeter of my spirit, and send it back to Hell. I will wait upon the Lord. He will come.