There's a new day dawning

Whenever I think about the way I came to follow Jesus, I always think about a sunrise. How at one point it's definitely nighttime, and then it's definitely daytime, but you can't put your finger on precisely when that change occurred (seriously, I dare you to try - it's impossible). That's kind of my story.

When I was 9, my Dad died very suddenly of a heart attack. That's a lot for a 9-year-old to deal with. That summer I went to the annual holiday club run by some local churches. I was full of hurt and questions. I remember vividly someone talking about life after death - about how Jesus, God's son, had come and beaten death, and if we were best friends with him and were sorry for all the bad things we had done, then after we died, we would also come back to life and live forever with him.


I remember thinking about that. It made sense to me that my Dad hadn't just stopped, just ceased to exist, I hated that thought. From what I knew about Jesus, it was a happy thing to imagine my Dad hanging out with him forever. So when they gave us the opportunity that morning, I asked Jesus to become my best friend. 

Then I carried on living. I went to high school. I wasn't the worst teenager in the world but I made some bad choices that resulted in some hurt to me and those around me. I went to church, I sang in the band, I prayed (when I wanted something). I loved the idea of God being in heaven loving me, of having somewhere "nice" to go after I died. And that was about the extent of my faith.


Then I came to uni in Cardiff, and I made some wonderful friends. They were lush (to coin a phrase) and they were also...different. They spoke about Jesus as if they actually knew him. He seemed to make an impact on every part of their lives. Whatever they had, that was what I wanted. As I hung out with them, their lives encouraged me to seek God for myself; I asked him to make himself real to me.


And one day I looked at my life, and realised I had found what I was looking for! I had a living relationship with Jesus, I knew him and I wanted to make choices that honoured him in every way. The sun that started to rise on that day when I was 9, had climbed the sky and suddenly it was a gorgeous sunny morning!


And that's great, but why am I writing about it now?


If you've been keeping up with this blog, you'll know that recently I've been going through a dark time. Last week, I made it to an evening that happens once a month at our church. It's called Refresh and it's - well - refreshing! A group of people come together to worship God, spend time with him and pray for one another. I used to be a regular, but haven't felt up to it for the last few months.


On this evening there came a point where people were sharing stuff they thought God might want to say to encourage the people there (if you're not used to that sort of thing, I'd recommend giving it a try, amazing-ness tends to happen!) When one of the leaders, mentioned a sunrise, my heart beat faster and butterflies filled my stomach - I knew God was speaking to me.


Some lovely ladies came to pray for me, and the sense I was left with was that there's a new day dawning. That right now I may be in the dark of night, but that something else is beginning and I'm going to be able to watch a glorious sunrise in my life.


I have to a large extent lost all confidence and belief in myself and my abilities. I'm questioning what I am capable of and whether I will be able to do the things again that I used to do before. But I still have faith and confidence in my God. I still know his goodness. I know he has been with me in the darkness, and I believe that he is going to cause my sun to rise again.


I'll keep you posted on its progress!

This is a warning

First of all, thank you from the bottom of my heart to the many people who got in touch about my last post - your love and support means SO much, and it's also great to hear that some of you were able to take encouragement from what I wrote. It's humbling to realise how many lives are touched by issues like depression and how much power there can be in something as simple as writing/talking about it.

I am still on the road to wellness, I'm not progressing as quickly as I'd like, but when I look back there is definite improvement. I don't feel like myself yet, but I don't feel like the me who went to the doctors that awful first week either. In fact, when I look back to that time I honestly don't know how I was managing to do anything at all. Literally anything. How was I even getting out of bed?! How could I not see how ill I was?

That last thought has been preying on my mind recently. When I look back now, it is starkly obvious how sick I was, how much I had been struggling for a while. Yet when I was in it, I was paying no attention to the warning signs, I was just trying to keep my head down and press on through. Which was dangerous and as it turned out, impossible.

What I would like to do today is make a record of what some of those warning signs were. I'm hoping it may help me to take notice of them if they ever come around again, and take action sooner. And maybe keeping that record here could help someone else to look around at their life and take some notice and some action too, if it's needed. (Obviously no-one else will experience things in exactly the same way I have - but you never know what might strike a chord.)

So, in the order in which they fall out of my (more than usually haphazard) brain, here goes...

I wanted to hide from people. (In my healthy state I am Little Miss Friendly so this should have been a big clue). It started as people I felt responsible to in some way, but gradually extended to everyone except my closest friends and family. Then everyone except my husband.

I wanted to sleep a lot. (I've always liked an early night but this was different).

I found it really, really hard to pray or read the Bible. (This one's easy to excuse with the help of the last one - I'd tell myself I was too tired right now and I needed to give it my best so I would do it "later" or "tomorrow".) I guess I was shutting God out along with everyone else. 

I couldn't motivate myself to do anything with my free time except watch TV or go online, and once I was doing either, I didn't want to stop.

I stopped feeling hopeful and optimistic. (Two words I would probably have used to describe myself previously). I didn't really look forward to anything or get excited about stuff in the way I used to.

Having a random chat made me feel exhausted and I started getting snappy with people for no reason.

I found it hard to concentrate/talk about anything apart from the stressful time I felt I was having at work. If I didn't get a chance to offload in minute detail (usually onto my poor husband) I would feel unable to cope. 

I put off simple things in work because the thought of responding to emails or listening to voicemails made me feel anxious.

I couldn't bear silence. (Even when I am well I'm not at all good with prolonged silence, I like the radio or the TV on to keep me company - but this got ridiculous. I couldn't stand my 8 minute walk to work with just my thoughts, I had to be listening to my ipod constantly. I think it was both a distraction from how I was feeling and an excuse not to engage with others.)

I'm sure there were more, but that feels like enough to be getting on with! Being honest, I'm still struggling with every single item on this list to some extent, but they are no longer overwhelming me, and I no longer accept them as "just the way things are".


So my advice to myself (and please feel free to take some of it if you want to!) is to learn to pay myself a little bit more attention, and treat myself with a little more kindness. I can't prevent this stuff from happening again, but I can work to pay attention to the warning signs leading up to the cliff before I head straight over the edge. And that's worth it. 

Dark Times...

Well it's been a lot longer than I would have liked since I last posted. And that is mainly because I've been going through a particularly difficult time. It's funny that the last post I wrote was about joy - as since then I've been diagnosed with anxious depression (you've got to appreciate the irony!)

When I think about it, I've not felt "right" for a while now, but I've been pushing it under the surface - I'm worryingly good at hiding stuff from myself. A couple of months ago, I had a conversation with my husband where I managed to verbalise that I felt I'd changed, that I'd lost the hope-filled, optimistic person I have always known myself to be.

Then one day in February half-term as I walked to work I started to feel panic-stricken. (For some years after my Dad died when I was nine, I suffered from panic attacks. Yes, sometimes they were put on as a way to get out of cross country, but most of the time they were truly petrifying and completely out of my control. I haven't experienced anything like that for a long time, and I've got to say, I didn't welcome the sensation as it came flooding back.) My boss had actually already told me to take some time off that week (which I had of course ignored up to that point), and now it seemed like a good idea, so I was able to head home and rest.

The next week, I came in for staff meeting as ususal on Monday morning. As the room filled with people, I filled with terror. I clenched my fists and dug my nails into my palms, literally having to will myself not to get up and run from the room. Perhaps unsurprisingly, by the end of that morning I had cried myself out, been sent home, and "strongly encouraged" to visit the doctor the following day.

I truly expected the doctor to tell me to pull myself together, stop wasting her time and get on with things. At a push, I thought she may tell me I was suffering with stress and to rest for a few days. Instead, around a week later, after some blood tests which showed nothing but that my iron levels were a little low, I was prescribed anti-depressants and signed off for a month.

Well, I'm through that month now, and I'm starting to come back to work part time. (Which is blumming hard by the way.) And I've been throwing around the idea of writing this post for a little while. Am I ready to be this vulnerable with just anyone who may come across it? Will people look at me differently, judge me in some way or think I'm weak because of what I'm going through? Can I handle that? Is it anyone else's business? Will anyone even care or be interested?

I've made the decision to post this because over the years I have stated over and again - to young people I've worked with, to interns I've led, to friends I've journeyed with - that there is no shame in mental illness. That if they had a broken leg, they wouldn't feel they had to hide it. That if they had the flu they would seek treatment. It's time for me to prove that's what I believe (which it is!) If I had broken my leg, I wouldn't hesitate to share my story. If I had the flu I would probably seek out all the sympathy I could find. What I'm going through may look and feel different to you - it does to me - but it's not.

It's the same.

I'm ill. I didn't do this to myself, I didn't choose it, and I can't control it. I would like nothing more than to pull myself together and be fine - to be able to do all the stupid everyday things that I "should" be able to do without it costing me so much. But I can't. I will come through this. So I am told, and I do believe it. I'm already so much better than I was just a few weeks ago. But for now, this is me and this is what I have to live with.

And I'm glad I wrote about it.

What's the point of joy anyway?

Lamentations was quite the journey.


Along the way I was challenged to consider my future in the way I live my present. I was prompted to ask some big questions about the society I find myself a part of and how we ended up in this current mess. I pondered how you even begin to bring Jesus to someone whose wounds run "as deep as the ocean", without becoming incredibly trite.

I was made uncomfortable by the huge difference in the actions ascribed to God (everything from mangling like a bear to showing unfailing love and compassion) and totally shamed by the massive faith shown by Jeremiah despite what was going on around him and inside him. 

But the thought I'm left with as I move on to new pastures is about joy.


Joy is gone from our hearts;
Our dancing has turned to mourning
(Lamentations 5:15)


When I first read this, I started thinking quite deeply about the concept of joy. I thought about how the Bible often tells us to be joyful all the time. And then I thought about how that's simply not possible, because we all face situations and go through circumstances where we simply aren't joyful - like the Israelites did. So then I wondered whether actually I don't understand joy; whether "biblical joy" is different from my everyday definition. And further and further I went down a rabbit hole of confusion...


(It may help you to know that a couple of years back, I did one of those personality inventories, this one was called Birkman. Now whatever you think about those tests, or about Birkman in particular, I found it really helpful in a number of ways. One of those ways was that it highlighted that day to day I prefer to work with shades of grey as opposed to black and white. That's fine, and actually I already knew that. However, it also showed that my underlying need is to be able to boil things down into black and white - which I didn't really know before, but makes sense when I think about it. And the killer is that when I can't do this, I tend to try to cope by over-complicating things and making them more confusing. So basically, if I can't get my head around something quickly and easily, I assume that it must be the most complicated thing on the planet and I treat it as such, going round and round in circles until nothing makes sense any more...)


So I was getting myself in a right old pickle over the concept of joy. Only I didn't realise it. I thought I was being all cerebral and intelligent and deep (because those are so the three words my friends would use to describe me).


A few days later, I went for coffee with a friend and I decided to display my newfound profound thoughts with her. This particular friend has some mental health issues, and also has a pretty direct line to what God is thinking at certain moments. So she was politely listening as I waffled and confused myself and bored us both with my topsy-turvy thoughts about joy, when suddenly she looked straight at me (or perhaps straight into me) and said "You've got joy in you though Em." I was gobsmacked. "Yeah", she continued, "Even when you're stressed out and stuff, there's still joy in you."


Oh.


So there it was. And still is. The point of joy, as with so much I experience in my faith journey, is not to pick it to pieces and look at it from all angles and try to understand it, as though by understanding it, I will somehow be able to obtain it. The point is to open up my hands and accept it from the Father who loves me.   It doesn't matter if I get it, it matters if I've got it.


And I think I might. 

Guilt has me trapped in Lamentations

So the other day I was about to leave the house for my first day back at work since Christmas, when some big old guilt feelings started to kick in (mostly related to "it's your first day back and you haven't spent any time with God this morning and you work in a church and they'll all be able to tell"). So I quickly grabbed a Bible and dunked in a for a verse to contemplate while I walked to work. Somehow (a large amount due to its near-the-middle-of-the-Bible-ness) I ended up in Lamentations, and 3:25 caught my eye:


The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him


Lovely. Beautiful verse. Lots in there actually. I like the idea of my hope being IN God. So it's in him and IN him. I hope in him in a future tense kind of way, I have hope because of his promises and because I trust that he is who is says he is, but I can only hope like that when he is the holder of my hopes and dreams and my...self. You know? When I am IN him. In his hands. Seeking him - like it says right there. Not when I'm trying to wriggle out of those hands to drag my pathetic little self around on my own...


All day I found that God was speaking to me through those words. It was great.


My problem now is that (and I have an inkling this might be one of those "it's just me" things, like the fact that I have a really hard time throwing away clothes if I have happy memories of wearing them, not because they remind me of those times but because it feels like they've done something for me and I'm an ungrateful wretch if I just get rid of them) when I sat down this week to sort out properly where in the Bible I'm going to plant myself for a while I felt like I had to start with Lamentations. It felt mean to just hit and run like that when it had really come through for me in a time of need.


So I'm finding myself stuck in Lamentations for a while. Not the most motivational-speaker-esque place to kick off a new year. 


But interesting.