Right with God
*This blog post was first published on meglynchwriter.wordpress.com on May 20, 2019.
If you follow me on Patreon, Instagram (@meglynchwriter), or Facebook (Meg Lynch Writer), you know I recently announced publicly that I’ve been on an anti-depressant since mid-April.
I took place in a class called “BRAVE, not broken” from August, 2018 through April this year, and during our second-to-last class, I finally opened up about the apathy I had been feeling. They asked me some hard-hitting questions, and I finally reached my breaking point. I cried for the first time since my dad had died; I cried for the first time in years.
It was at that moment that my pastor, the lovely and wonderful Jessica Lenox, told me she was concerned I couldn’t shake my depression on my own. She wanted me to go see a doctor. It jarred me because she is a woman who does not back down from any challenge; if she really thought I needed help, maybe I should actively seek it out. As I chatted with my mom about it that night and thought about it late into the evening, I realized there was one thing I knew for sure: It had been years since I felt like myself.
If you know me, you know I don’t like asking for help. It has made me stronger than most, but it’s also my biggest fault. The thing about my depression is that it makes me apathetic to the point where I honestly don’t care what happens. Apathy + that stubbornness to admit my weakness = toxic laziness that keeps me spiraling toward rock bottom.
It’s not that I saw taking medication for depression as an admission of failure; I know it’s not. It’s just – I want to be the strong one and to be seen as the strongest person you know. However, I can tell you that surrender really was the best decision for me, and I am grateful to be surrounded by a church family that knows when to tell me to surrender my heart to God, even when that means taking medication to help me do so.
The thing is, my depression didn’t just keep me apathetic. It kept me layered down with such a thick fog that I couldn’t see my own hand two inches in front of my face. I couldn’t hear the call of God on my life; I couldn’t see any of His vision for my life. That’s probably part of what made it so bad. I lost sight of my identity and why I’m here on the planet. Without any purpose, I could barely get myself up in the morning.
The thing that gets me the most is that I don’t feel like I have to get myself right with God. I was never wrong with God; I just couldn’t see it. After years of living with my soul flooded with apathy, I was nothing but angry with myself for all the things I did not accomplish, but God isn’t.
I’ve been finding God in all the ways I used to find Him, and, holy cow, did I miss that the most. I mean, it’s so wonderful to be finding joy in all the little places I used to and to be writing again, but to feel God’s presence while standing in worship is so phenomenal to me. I cannot believe it’s been years that I’ve been standing in the middle of a drought while everyone around me connected to God immediately. I almost forgot the sheer beauty of it.
One thing is for certain; I will not allow myself to take this for granted. Not everyone is able to feel the presence of the Holy Spirit when they walk into a room, but now, I do. Not everyone can see the joy in how the flowers bloom toward Heaven, but after years of searching, I see it again. Not everyone can sleep peacefully in the midst of insecure life circumstances, but by God’s good grace, I do.
And, Lord, please help me never forget that.