Keep Me

The song

Singing a song in church on Sunday. The pastor doesn’t introduce it as a new one. He just plunges right in as if we should all know it. 

Wondering, why don’t I recognize this? Maybe I’ve never really paid attention to the words. That would be unusual for me. Maybe I tuned them out because I didn’t want to think about applying them in a personal way.

I don’t. I don’t want to sing them, to mean them, to ask God to make them real in my life. It would be too painful.

And yet those words reflect just what I should want. What I need. What Jesus encourages us to long for.

When I go online the next day to print out the words, I’m surprised to discover that it’s been about twenty years since they were first recorded. How could I have missed them in all that time?

The song: “Keep Me,” by the Crabb Family.

The part that I like

I can honestly sing and relate to some of the requests that it voices. “Keep me lost for words to praise you enough … Keep me praying, keep me trusting … Keep me coming back to you.”

I want a God who’s so big and mysterious and sublime that I can’t come up with all the right words to praise Him. I want a God who helps me to continue praying and trusting even when I don’t feel like it, who keeps drawing me back to Him when I wander.

I want a God who makes my life better in ways that I can see and understand. In ways that turn me from feeling lost to finding joy in Him.

The part that I don’t like

But keep me hungry, keep me thirsty, keep me falling, keep me broken? (That’s the one that really gets to me.) How can I sing these words and actually mean them?

Can I honestly say that I want God to keep me hungry for daily manna? No. I don’t want an ongoing hunger even after I’ve just eaten, as those words keep me imply. I want to be so satisfied that I don’t feel any hunger at all for at least a little while.

Can I honestly say that I want God to keep me thirsty for living water? No. I want to take another sip before my throat begins to dry out. I’ve heard that marathon runners are advised to start pre-hydrating a day or two before the race begins. Be prepared. Avoid the suffering and danger.

That’s what I want God to do for me spiritually. Don’t keep me thirsty. Keep me well-hydrated.

Can I honestly say that I want God to keep me falling on my knees in need of mercy? No. I don’t want to constantly carry such a deep sense of unworthiness that I actually collapse. I want to sit in my usual chair at my usual time of day, put my feet up, close my eyes, and go through my usual prayer routine, which sometimes includes a sentence or two regarding His mercy.

Besides, a need for mercy implies some kind of failure. Why can’t I be an overcomer instead? Isn’t that what God wants me to be, as John writes about in the book of Revelation?

Keep me broken??? Who would ever pray such a prayer? Not me. I pray, “Keep me safe. Keep me strong.”

This song isn’t asking God to see me through a tough time, like all the ones that I like so much do. It’s those two words that get to me: “keep me.” I don’t want Him to keep me in a needy state.

The benefits of the painful keep me’s

And yet there are good reasons for being kept in painful situations. Maybe the song hits me so hard right now because God has been reminding me lately that I can minister to others better in my brokenness. Instead of constantly praying for Him to take it away, He’s been encouraging me to appreciate the good that comes from it. To accept it. To be content. (Definitely not there yet.)

And when I’m hungry and thirsty and falling and broken, that’s when I see my dependence on Him most clearly. Somewhere inside, I know I need Him all the time. But when I’m feeling healthy and whole, I’m much less aware of that fact.

The Bible mentions other benefits to God’s keeping me longing and hurting. I’ve commented on them in my various articles, so I’m not going to try to list them here. What strikes me right now is how the thoughts I’ve just mentioned help me to defy Satan. Satan wants to keep me wallowing in self-pity and a sense of entitlement.

Finding balance

So yes, I should be praying the prayers in this song. Even the ones I don’t like. But maybe I could go too far in that direction, too. Just like I can go too far in asking for healing and strength.

It’s also good to nourish and hydrate my soul even in those times when I’m not aware of being hungry or thirsty. Like the marathon runner.

If I hadn’t started reading the Bible and becoming involved in my church as a baby Christian, I probably wouldn’t have had the strength to resist the suicidal impulses a few years later. I might have had a semi-conscious sense of hunger and thirst then, like when I take a sip of water before I really need it, but I didn’t have the constant feeling of deprivation that I’m hearing in this song. And that was okay.

And I remember the very simple truth that, when Jesus was walking this earth, He healed. He didn’t keep people in their physical pain and paralysis. Maybe what I was missing when this song hit me so hard is the idea that He can keep us continually hungry, and continually satisfy that hunger, at the same time.

Kind of like sitting down to an infinite banquet with a healthy appetite and enjoying every delicious bite forever. The hunger I’d feel wouldn’t be a painful thing. It would be a spur to take the next mouthful, which I could do without any of the negative consequences such as being uncomfortably full or gaining excessive weight.

A "keep me" prayer doesn’t imply that God stands back and lets us suffer in our brokenness without providing the relief that we long for. He still heals.

Maybe I need to pray in a more balanced way, like the song does. Keep me praying and trusting and coming back to You. I can’t do those things on my own, as much as I try to give myself credit for them. But also keep me aware of my intense need for You, even when that means being broken moment by moment and day by day.

 

 

 

Division and Unity

The lesson

I don’t remember exactly when it started. Sometime between fifteen and twenty years ago, I think. I’m still struggling with it, though.

The Holy Spirit has been grabbing my attention, pulling me along, hitting me over the head with it. Convicting me. Also making it possible for me to respond the way God wants me to, even though it feels like my progress has been painfully slow.

And now, today, I’m so glad He began working on me way back then. Because that lesson is one I need to put into practice now more than ever.

What is it? “Love one another” (John 13:34).

It sounds so simple. And yet Jesus waited until His last day on earth to give His disciples this “new command.” Maybe they couldn’t really do it until they’d spent three years in close fellowship with Him. Or maybe they wouldn’t be able to do it until after they’d received the Holy Spirit.

I’m a critical thinker, which can be a good thing. It makes it easier for me to analyze a statement and get to the root of what’s true or false about it. I’m less likely to be taken in by propaganda and fake news.

But there’s a downside. I’m too critical of other people, including other Christians.

I’ve always found it challenging to appreciate and love certain believers. Especially the difficult or immature ones. The ones who’ve been saved for forty years or more and yet have grown so little.

God began convicting me of my need to love even them. He began teaching me and helping me to do it better.

The challenge

Ever since Trump’s rise to power in 2016, I’ve had a hard time coming to terms with the reality that some of the friends I’ve known and loved for decades are on the opposite side of the fence from me. I have a hard time understanding how they can believe the things they do about him.

My natural response would be to pull away from them. Or fight and argue, with the mental attitude that they have to see things my way or they’re bad people. In other words, follow the world’s strategies for dealing with conflict.

Several years ago, I was listening to a program on NPR (National Public Radio) shortly before Thanksgiving. A caller was expressing her dread of sitting down to the holiday meal with her extended family, since different members identified with different parts of the political spectrum. But what could be more interesting or more important to talk about than politics?

She knew from past experience that those who disagreed with her would never be willing to accept the truth when she presented it, and of course she’d never stoop so low as to agree with their faulty view of the world. The entire time was likely to be spent arguing, with increasing hostility and without any possibility of resolving anything.

The host of the show sympathized with the caller. She couldn’t imagine any other way to handle the situation.

God has been working in me for many years now to love others better, which includes changing my natural response to conflict. The response illustrated by the NPR segment.

I’m not supposed to regard a fellow believer from a worldly point of view anymore, but as a new creation (2 Corinthians 5:16-17).

God's ways are not the world’s ways (Isaiah 55:8). He “is kind to the ungrateful and wicked” (Luke 6:35)!

One time, as I arrived at a relative’s wedding, I immediately (and unexpectedly) ran into several guests who were gay or trans. Instant discomfort. What should I say? What should I do? The Holy Spirit soon reminded me that His fruit is kindness and gentleness (Galatians 5:22-23).

God's ways are not our ways and His thoughts are not our thoughts. But our relationship with Him includes growing in our knowledge of His ways and His thoughts. And in our ability to imitate Him.

So how am I supposed to deal with those believers who take a stand on Trump that’s completely opposed to mine? It wouldn’t hurt so much, it wouldn’t be so tough if I wasn’t firmly convinced by God’s Word and by the Holy Spirit within me that my understanding is the one most in line with His character. Unfortunately, believers on the other side are just as convinced of how right they are.

Preventing division 

The Lord has been teaching me for years now that I need to respond to all my brothers and sisters in Christ with love and grace. By doing so, I can contribute to greater unity among His people. Shortly after giving them the command to love one another, Jesus prayed for the oneness of His followers. How dare I splinter our unity for something as trivial as the politics of the day?

Every four years, I hear the declaration that this is the most important election in decades, maybe ever. The fate of the world hangs in the balance.

But how does one American election look in the light of eternity? It’s a very tiny drop in an infinite ocean.

What’s vastly more important in God’s eyes is Jesus’ new command, “Love one another.” Love my brothers and sisters in Christ in spite of their flaws. Love them even if they seem to be following the wrong path. Love will have a greater impact for eternity than any laws we can pass (especially when they can be changed or overturned so easily).

Does this mean that I never correct an error in other believers’ thinking? No. But that’s not where He usually leads.

It means I need to be “quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry” (James 1:19). Quick to listen to the other person and to the prompting of the Holy Spirit. Slow to correct my opponent.

Several years ago, a Christian who I’d always found annoying was complaining to me about another believer. She’d asked the woman to do something for her that could benefit both of them. The other believer said no.

My initial internal response: Here we go again. Once again, instead of acting like a mature woman in Christ, this lady is griping and gossiping about a good friend of mine. I just wanted to put her in her place as firmly as possible.

But God was working on me. I knew that wouldn’t be right. Or loving. Or effective. I’d be betraying my own standard of “acting like a mature woman in Christ.”

I knew I couldn’t appear to agree with her either, though. She was wrong and I couldn’t affirm, even in subtle unintended ways, what she was saying and doing. I sent up a quick, desperate prayer for help. (I’ve never been good at handling sudden conflict. I need time to find the words to say.)

The Holy Spirit responded by bringing to mind an experience that I’d had recently. I was able to share it with her, identifying with her in her disappointment and frustration, but suggesting that maybe God had something better in store for her (as He did in my case) when our mutual friend turned down her request.

When it comes to Trump, during the last ten years I’ve stumbled over how to deal with the issue, but I’ve made some progress. I started out being too outspoken, too ready to fight. Most of the time now I simply don’t bring up the subject with other believers, especially if I don’t know them very well.

If someone else mentions Trump, I try to focus first on listening, as James recommends. I’m thrilled if we agree. In my natural human weakness, I need their support and encouragement and wisdom.

If we disagree, I remain silent to begin with. But if they seem to be mistaking my silence for approval, I try to be matter-of-fact in briefly stating my position. If I share more openly, it usually drives a wedge between us.

We can be friends. We can talk, and even debate, about other topics. But in this area, it’s better to agree to disagree. I’m thankful that this seems to be the unspoken policy in my church. And I’m so thankful that the Lord has been leading me for many years to the point where I can respond in a more godly way than I naturally would.

The hardest part now is handling my internal turmoil regarding the conflict and the negative feelings it generates toward my opponent. But I’m finding that the more I treat people as if I love them, the more I’m able to genuinely love them.

I never intend to state in this blog which side of the Trump issue I stand on. I won’t post any comments supporting one view or the other. It would only distract from a more important message. The message of love and unity triumphing over the division we see all around us.

 

 

 

Praising and Cursing

Thankfulness and bitterness

Jeremiah 20:13-14: “Sing to the Lord! Give praise to the Lord! ... Cursed be the day I was born!”

In just two verses, Jeremiah expresses the extremes of thankfulness and bitterness. Unlike the psalmists, he pours out the thankfulness first, then the bitterness.

Isn’t that backwards? Aren’t we supposed to work our way up from pain and doubt to singing and praise? Are we allowed to follow Jeremiah’s example?

Yes! That’s one of the reasons I’m so thankful to the God of the Bible.

He knows who we are. He knows how quickly we can plummet from praising Him to wanting to die. So He gives us the examples and the encouragement in His Word to express ourselves honestly (even when it means venting anger and self-pity) and to keep coming back to Him no matter how low we’ve fallen.

The Christian life is never a smooth and easy road from repentance and conversion to Christlikeness and glory, always walking in perfect faith, with no setbacks and no stumbling. We shouldn’t expect it to be. We shouldn’t expect it in ourselves or in other believers.

And yet, Christians seem to feel a certain pressure to believe that we can defeat our fears and doubts effortlessly, trust God completely in all circumstances, and shun sin every time. Doesn’t God promise us that He’ll enable us to do all that right from the start (1 Corinthians 10:13, 2 Corinthians 5:17, Ephesians 4:22-24)? And if we do slip up, all we have to do is repent and it will never happen again.

When I was participating in a small discussion group at a church several years ago, the pastor leading us defined repentance as a total 180-degree turn-around. Period. Permanent. Anything less isn’t true repentance.

I understand that that’s the literal meaning of the word. I know that God expects and enables me to continue becoming more like Jesus. But I look at real life and wonder if anyone has ever truly repented, if that pastor’s definition is accurate.

How often do my thoughts and behavior turn around completely, never to turn back again? How often does my genuine sorrow and regret for having fallen short of my Lord’s high standards result in never again disappointing Him in that same way? How often does my turning away from doubting His love and provision result in never again facing that same doubt? Not very often. We’re all slow learners.

Jesus seems to take the opposite view from that pastor when He says in Luke 17:3-4, “If your brother sins, rebuke him, and if he repents, forgive him. If he sins against you seven times in a day, and seven times comes back to you and says, ‘I repent,’ forgive him.” Sounds like Jesus expects us to keep repeating our sins, even after truly repenting.

Reality

One of the strengths of Alcoholics Anonymous is the recognition that an alcoholic in recovery usually returns to his old habit at least one more time. Do they kick him out of the group at that point? Do they tell him that he never really repented of his drinking in the first place, since he’s doing it again?

No! They help him get back on his feet. After additional falls, and with the group’s support, he can eventually stop drinking. He can look back and tell you the number of years that he’s been sober. Initially, he could only give you the number of days he’d made it through before starting over at square one again.

The Bible is real. In Jeremiah chapter 20 we have a prophet, chosen and trusted by God to preach His word to the people, saying in one breath, “Praise the Lord!” and in the very next breath, “Cursed be the day I was born!” That’s an example I can follow.

Not because I want to. Not because I don’t really care about pleasing God. But because I’m human.

Jeremiah’s example

Verses 1 through 6 of this chapter describe how Pashhur the priest, “the chief officer in the temple of the Lord,” has Jeremiah beaten and placed in the stocks for the prophecies that he’d declared. As soon as he’s released, Jeremiah pronounces a scathing rebuke against Pashhur and a dire prophecy about Judah.

At this point, I’m filled with admiration. This guy’s got guts. He’s speaking God’s truth to one of the most powerful religious leaders in the country when he’s just been released from a painful and humiliating punishment for his earlier offensive prophecies. Don’t think I could do that.

This is a great man of God. I want to be just like him.

Until I read the next section (vs. 7-10). Depending on the translation, Jeremiah starts out by accusing God of deceiving, persuading, enticing, fooling, tricking, or forcing him to do what he’s been doing. The general sense is that God isn’t playing fair and Jeremiah feels used. How could the same man who stood up so bravely for his Lord suddenly turn on Him and question His very character?

Jeremiah then complains about the life God has called him to. Because his message is one of violence and destruction, he’s ridiculed, mocked, insulted, and reproached. Including by his friends. And yet he can’t help proclaiming that message.

Verses 11-13 express his faith and hope and thankfulness. He knows that the Lord is with him and that justice will prevail in the end. He asks the Almighty God to avenge him for his undeserved suffering. He praises Him in his gratitude. Back to the good-guy, this-is-what-a-prophet-should-be personality.

Until he steps off the cliff and curses the day he was born. He continues along that line for the next four verses. The passage ends on a negative and depressing note.

What are we to think of this waffling prophet? His great courage in facing Pashhur. His bitter complaint as he questions God’s trustworthiness. His praise for the Lord’s faithfulness. His height of brief but intense thankfulness. His plunge into despair.

Should we try to be like him? Yes, when he’s at his best. But I’m not sure that that’s the right question to ask. I should be asking, “Am I like him?” Honestly, I’m more like him when he’s doubting and grumbling than when he’s speaking boldly to the one who has so much power over him.

But even in his complaining, Jeremiah sets a good example for me. He addresses his words to God as a sort of prayer. He doesn’t go to the people around him, badmouthing Pashhur and telling others how the Lord has disappointed him. He works through his confusion and bitterness and weariness in God’s presence. And those moments of strength and conviction follow. Even if they don’t last.

So I’m thankful for this book of Jeremiah. It’s a hard read. There’s so little in it that’s uplifting. Unlike the book of Isaiah, there are few promises of a glorious future. But there’s the example of a great prophet expressing exuberant thankfulness, only to fall into despair in the very next verse. I can relate to that.

And I’m thankful that at this time of year, nearly every year, I can honestly celebrate a day of Thanksgiving without immediately following that thought with cursing the day I was born.

 

  

Drawing Nearer

Drawing nearer in the storm

“Jesus Draw Me Ever Nearer.” One of my favorite worship songs. We first sang it in church when I was going through a tough time.

The initial plea: “Jesus draw me ever nearer as I labor through the storm.” I felt like I was lost in the darkness of a raging storm, alone in the middle of nowhere with no sense of direction, being drenched and blinded by the downpour and blown about by the wind. Laboring hard but not getting anywhere.

I needed Jesus to draw me nearer to Him. I was too helpless to approach Him in my own strength.

Over the next few years, as I sang that song in my head in difficult situations, I took the prayer to mean that special kind of drawing me closer temporarily to comfort me in a time of pain. Like a child sitting in her mother’s lap after she’s fallen and bumped her knee. When the storm passed, I wouldn’t need that same kind of help.

But recently, as I thought about the words, I realized that God’s been answering that prayer in an even bigger way.

Remaining nearer

A loving mother snuggles a crying child in her lap. When he’s feeling better, she encourages him to go back to playing with his toys. Even though he’s physically more distant from his mom, he remains just a little bit closer to her emotionally because of that moment of snuggling.

In the same way, even after my need for comforting has passed, my relationship with God remains stronger than it was before He drew me into His lap. Having a fresh taste of His nurturing love, I’m more aware of His presence more of the time. I know Him better, I understand Him better, I see the beauty of His character more clearly, than I ever did before.

When it comes to thinking about how God grows me through suffering, my thoughts have a tendency to go in two main directions. One, there are many lessons that I couldn’t learn any other way. As a fallen human being, I can’t understand the most important things in life when I have an easy time of it. I need the pain.

Two, one of the primary purposes behind my suffering is to enable me to minister to others. God comforts me so that I can comfort others (2 Corinthians 1:4). Suffering is intended to take my eyes off of myself.

Both of these ideas are biblical and important. But that’s not the whole story.

I get so focused on how God’s comfort makes a painful moment more tolerable that I don’t even think about the long-term effects of that comfort. The drawing ever nearer, not just for the moment.

Being comforted builds a bond that doesn’t simply go away when I no longer need that personal sense of comfort. And each time He comforts me, that bond grows stronger.

Strength for the future

Sometimes, when a child who’s been abused is fostered or adopted by new parents, she becomes clingy. She runs to them over and over again, seeking comfort in what might seem to be trivial situations. She has a hard time venturing out into the big bad world.

Although it might seem like an unhealthy need for attention, this behavior has a purpose. Each moment of comfort draws her nearer to her new parents, not just temporarily, but for a lifetime. Each moment of comfort builds a greater bond that keeps on growing until the child has the strength to play with friends for hours without having to continually turn back to her family. And that’s a good thing.

She isn’t cutting herself off from them. She’s not declaring her complete independence. She’s carrying that comfort and that bond with her as she stumbles out into the wider world. A world that she’s meant to be a part of.

In the same way, God’s comfort strengthens me, not just for the moment when I feel it so intensely, not just to give me a temporary high that I can treasure, but for my long-term growth. When I’m not feeling the immediate need for His comfort, that doesn’t mean that I’m walking away from Him or declaring my independence from Him. It means that His comfort has done the work that it was intended to do.

Because I was comforted for a moment, I’m now strengthened for a lifetime. I can venture out into the world having that greater bond to my Lord. I can love others better and serve Him more effectively.

My life has been tough in certain ways. I almost had to laugh when a woman at church commented to me a few years ago that we’ve reached that age when life starts getting harder. Starts? I hit that point in my early thirties. Didn’t have to wait till my sixties, like I was apparently supposed to do.

So I’ve thought a lot about suffering. I tend to think that the most biblical view is one that confirms that growth comes through pain. It hurts, God gets us through it, and we learn some valuable truths that we wouldn’t pick up any other way. I knew that, with each lesson, I would grow in my understanding of God’s love. I knew that He would comfort me in my trials. And that I could look back on those times of comfort to provide hope when the next trial came.

But I didn’t really think about the ongoing effect of that comfort in drawing me nearer to Him. I’ve sung so many times, “Jesus draw me ever nearer,” without recognizing until now that that’s exactly what He does. His comfort doesn’t just have a short-term effect. A moment of comfort draws me nearer for ever.

 

 

Broken Body, Broken Mind

The emptiness

Sitting down to do my morning Bible reading. A few chapters in Job, one of my favorite books.

Having a hard time of it lately. A new chronic digestive problem struck six months ago, sending me to the emergency room for diagnosis and treatment. It’s generally manageable by diet alone, but occasionally medication is needed.

Many people my age have this condition. It runs in my family. And yet I feel completely alone in my suffering. Why?

When I have that sense of discomfort in a certain part of my gut, it’s always accompanied by weird emotional symptoms. A gloomy darkness. A heaviness. A gulf between me and God. As the discomfort passes, so do the other symptoms. Does anyone else with this condition experience that?

I’m afraid to ask.

Afraid of facing skepticism or judgment. Afraid of being told that it’s all in my head, that a good psychiatrist can fix it. Or that I’m just feeling sorry for myself or giving in to fear. While self-pity and anxiety tend to enter the picture whenever I get sick, with this condition it’s not that simple. There’s some kind of strange connection between my gut chemistry and my brain chemistry.

Can anyone else relate to this? Or am I truly alone?

This latest flare-up has been especially hard emotionally and spiritually. Those symptoms have been building up as time passes. Now the physical discomfort comes and goes throughout each day, but the bad feelings continue 24/7.

It started on a Sunday afternoon. I wanted to get over it without taking medication, but made a mental note to call my doctor for a prescription if it went on for too long.

Somehow I misplaced that note.

The gut symptoms improved little by little for the first week. Then they kind of plateaued. At the same time, the emotional symptoms bogged down. God drew further and further away. A sort of spiritual deadness hit. I reached the point where I was wallowing in the dark, begging for healing, wondering where He had gotten to.

Over the decades, I’ve learned many ways to draw nearer to Him when I’m hurting. I tried them all. Nothing worked. Like Job in 16:6, “If I speak, my pain is not relieved; and if I refrain, it does not go away.”

God, why won’t You heal me? Why are my emotions stuck in such a difficult place? Why do I feel so far from You? Why don’t You pull me in closer?

A week and a half after the worst of the symptoms hit, I was filled with fear and dread. Fear that this time it was more hopeless than with previous episodes. Dread of a drastically reduced diet for the rest of my life. Fear of being told that I needed surgery. Fear of losing my independence.

Then somehow that mental note popped back into my head. I called my doctor, got a prescription, and began to heal again. But I had another minor episode when I’d almost used up the medication, and God was still too too far away.

The refilling

So I sit down for my morning Bible reading. It’s in Job, but it’s not touching me, reaching me, strengthening me like it usually does. There’s a wall inside that I haven’t been able to break through.

I’ve written before about how Job actually struggled emotionally and spiritually. He didn’t just take his suffering in stride, as some evangelicals seem to think. They cite chapters 1 and 2 as evidence of his unshakable faith.

But I look to chapter 3 and hear him cursing the day of his birth, followed by the heart of the book where he openly challenges God, and I’m grateful for the model that he provides, because I need to know that God can handle our questions and complaints with compassion.

As I’m reading the opening chapters this time, my heart is heavy and my spirit is lonely. I’m more critical of my own thinking and assumptions. Job really did say some pretty profound things in chapters 1 and 2. It’s not until chapter 3 that he seems to fall apart. What happened?

First God allowed Satan to attack Job’s family, servants, and belongings. Job’s faith remained strong. Then He allowed Satan to attack Job’s body. Job broke down.

There could be different reasons for this change. Coincidence. The straw that broke the camel’s back. The natural irritability and self-pity that come with illness. Moving through the stages of grief from denial to anger.

Or Job could be so self-centered that even the loss of his children didn’t affect him that much. It was only when his own body was damaged that he couldn’t handle it. That seems to be what Satan expected. With all the uprightness attributed to Job at the beginning and end of the book, though, that doesn’t seem likely.

Then something I’ve never thought of before comes to mind: Maybe the physical changes in his body included physical changes in his brain chemistry. Wow.

Did Job, my hero, my role model, go through the same thing I’m going through? Did Satan’s attack include not just the natural emotional response to physical distress, but a biological change that brought on almost irresistible* emotional and spiritual symptoms?

I can’t say an absolute yes, that’s definitely what happened. But it would explain so much. Job’s strength in chapters 1 and 2. His weakness in chapter 3.

Some evangelicals won’t like this idea. One reason I’m having a hard time getting my memoir published is because there are many Christians in positions of power who deny the possibility that biology can directly influence emotions.

Some publishers won’t consider my manuscript because it clearly declares that my first depressive episode wasn’t cured through spiritual practices. They helped a lot—they saved my life!—but only an antidepressant could restore my brain to its normal functioning.

There’s a link between our physical bodies and our minds and souls. Changes in brain chemistry can badly damage our emotions and our spirits.

I always feel so alone and misunderstood when this happens to me. But now, for the first time in my many years of being blessed by reading this precious book of Job, I’m seeing something new and profound. Job himself just might have suffered from the same problem. (And if he did, then maybe other people in the Bible did, too.)

I’m not alone.

I’m in good company.

The company of one who was declared by God to be blameless and upright. One whose story God has chosen to include in His inspired Word.

And God loves me enough to come to me when I feel like He’s so far away, and to open my eyes to see an incredible truth that I’ve been missing for all these years.

My head collapses onto my folded arms on the desk in front of me. I cry hard. I release the tears that have been bottled up inside, unable to escape for the last couple of weeks even though I’ve tried to let them go. I pour out the pain and frustration and emptiness. And, eventually, the joy. God has brought me home to Him once again.


*A note to my evangelically-correct friends who might think I’m saying that we have no responsibility for thoughts and emotions that spring from biological causes: We might not be able to control the thoughts and emotions themselves at the instant when they strike, but we have at least a little bit of control over how we handle them.

The more we practice responding in more biblical ways to the feelings that seem so unmanageable, the better we’ll be able to handle the next attack. Christians also have the Holy Spirit inside strengthening us when we’re at our weakest, enabling us to deal with these challenges in more godly ways.