Yesterday as I was driving home I was listening to Jan Karon’s book In This Mountain. I’ve read the book a few times before, but needed to be reminded of the sermon Father Tim shares in chapter 19 on 1 Thessalonians 5:18. Here’s a brief excerpt:
“In everything, give thanks… Generally, Christians understand that giving thanks is good and right. Though we don’t do it often enough, it’s easy to have a grateful heart for food and shelter, love and hope, health and peace. But what about the hard stuff, the stuff that darkens your world and wounds you to the quick? … A deeper spiritual truth, I believe, lies in giving thanks… in everything. In loss of all kinds. In illness. In depression. In grief. In failure. And, of course, in health and peace, success and happiness. In everything. There’ll be times when you wonder how you can possibly thank Him for something that turns your life upside down; certainly there will be such times for me. Let us, then, at times like these, give thanks on faith alone… obedient, trusting, hoping, believing… Whether God caused it or permitted it, we can rest assured--there is great good in it.”
So with that reminder yesterday, along with a similar sermon on Psalm 107 this morning, I’m giving thanks for this season of depression in my life, and endeavoring to find the good in it-- strengthening relationships with some friends; new relationships with others in my church family; opportunities to encourage those in similar situations; a job that allows me the time I need for rest and recuperation; reminders of God’s presence in good times and in bad; learning to pray more frequently and faithfully; and most of all a Savior who knows me better than I know myself and loves me more than I can yet imagine.
For a variety of reasons, I’m not inclined to believe that I’ll ever be completely free from depression, one of which is that God has to keep reminding me that I need Him as well as His people. Otherwise I’m quick to become self-reliant. Only when I am weak can His strength show through. I found the following poem by Benjamin Malachi Franklin that my grandmother had copied into the back of a book:
“My life is but a weaving, between my God and me.
I do not choose the colors, He worketh steadily.
Oft’ times He weaveth sorrow; and I in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper and I the underside.
Not ‘til the loom is silent, and shuttles cease to fly
Will God unroll the canvas and reveal the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful in the weaver’s skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver in the pattern He has planned
He knows, He loves, He cares; nothing this truth can dim.
He gives the very best to those who leave the choice to Him.”
