Christians and depression
“God will fix a fix to fix ya”, Pastor Phil Harris said, as we sat with them in their living room. He was referring to someone else at the time, but it stuck with me because I thought it was deep and catchy. A few years later, God fixed me a good fix, in an area of my heart I didn’t know needed fixing.
I sat on the edge of my bed with a few glasses of wine in me and a safety pin in my hand. I was listening for the kids, making sure they were distracted with their movie with no chance of one of them walking in on what I was about to do. Then a thought occurred, “What if this gets infected? How am I going to explain this away to a doctor, especially when I work for a ministry?” So I took out a lighter and held the pin in the flame to clean it, then pressed the tip into the skin on my arm just far enough for it to look like a cat scratch, and pulled the pin all the way down my arm. I was desperate for escape, but couldn’t go through with going all the way, though that was an option I dwelt on frequently. I still have the letters I wrote to my kids, just in case I couldn’t handle the darkness anymore. “How did I get here? How did I get here?’
It was the perfect storm, really. A constant pain in my side from cysts that lasted for weeks and weeks. Some days, I couldn’t stand up straight for a whole day. I started taking Vicoden to help with the pain. When that stopped helping, I was upgraded to Percocet, round the clock. I had surgery to remove one ovary, and when that didn’t help, I had another surgery to remove the last one. I remember coming home from that procedure, and as if someone had flipped a light switch, I was drowning in inexplicable sorrow. I should have been so happy that my pain was finally gone, but instead I couldn’t stop sobbing. I was coming off a painkiller addiction while transitioning from my natural hormones to synthetic ones. And while hormonal issues may have been the straw that broke the camel’s back, God wanted to use that time to bring to the surface deeply rooted troubles in my heart, and I fought Him tooth and nail.
I am a bit of a rules girl. It’s just common sense, really. Obey the rules, avoid the consequences. In hindsight, there has been a part of me that applied that principal to walking with Jesus. I would read of Job’s trials and listen to testimonies of people who walked through difficult seasons and the lessons they learned along the way, and none of that sounded appealing. I didn’t really recognize it then, but I was too afraid of being hurt for the sake of spiritual growth to let God in to change my heart. So I just came up with my own work-around: Being the best Christian ever.
Follow the rules, no refining necessary.
I never missed church. I read my bible. I didn’t break the speed limit. I went to small group. I didn’t swear or drink (Oh, how times have changed). I didn’t burn CDs or listen to seedy music. I had to do everything right.
The problem? That pesky old fallible human thing we all have. It makes it kind of a drag when you’re trying to walk out your faith in your own strength. I didn’t know just how badly I was hating on myself for falling short of perfection until it was highlighted by the emotionally dark place my medical circumstance had thrust me into. And I needed that perfection to avoid the need for a possibly painful heart lesson.
Grace for salvation, I understood. Grace for the journey, I didn’t.
And I didn’t want to understand it, because that meant letting go of control. It meant really trusting the Lord to hold my heart. It meant believing that, though the refining may be rough, the product at the end would be something beautiful. And I didn’t know if I could really believe that. It also meant surrendering the pride that built up from years of believing that my efforts made me spiritual.
Depression for me, as miserable of a feeling as it is, was a bit of a hiding place. I hated it, but it was familiar, comfortable, and allowing myself to wallow there never challenged me to face my problems. I ran from God for a year on the inside, while trying to keep up the charade on the outside. I didn’t want to be fixed, but I didn’t want to just walk away from 14 years of a faith I had given my life to, either, and I was tormented trying to decide on one or the other. So I just stayed where I was: drinking, cutting, crying, look like I have it all together at work and church, repeat.
Then one night, last January, the Lord woke me up in the middle of the night and took me to John 13:3-9
Jesus knew that the Father had put all things under his power, and that he had come from God and was returning to God; so he got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist. After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him. He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” Jesus replied, “You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand.” “No,” said Peter, “you shall never wash my feet.” Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no part with me.” “Then, Lord,” Simon Peter replied, “not just my feet but my hands and my head as well!”
Then, I HEARD (like, with my actual ears), the voice of Jesus say to me, “Courtney, let me wash you”.
The King of Heaven was pursuing me, and my eyes were starting to become opened to see grace for the journey.
“Let me wash you”
I did. I cried and cried, and thanked God, and cried some more. I asked Him to wash me, and felt His presence move in with a peace I had been missing for so long. I remember waking up and looking at the world through new eyes, much like I did when I met Him. Prayer was better, more real. Worship was better, more awe of Him. A rush of joy was only a God-thought away. But I wasn’t completely out of the woods. I don’t know that I will be until I am standing with Him in eternity.
It’s been two steps forward and one step back, and as time goes by, it’s become 3 or 4 steps forward. I still struggle with depression, but it is no longer my life. As each wave presents itself I have to make a choice: Am I going to go to the dark place, or am I going to worship and let Jesus wash me? Those are the times when I really, really, don’t feel like worshiping. I’ll just be honest, I don’t chose right every time, but I’ve never been disappointed when I have.
I used to see this whole “grace for the journey” thing as someone trying to keep their balance on a fence, and on one side of the fence is sin and lawlessness, and on the other side of the fence is religion, works, and self-righteousness, and to do it right, one would have to always be checking themselves to make sure they’re not leaning too far to one side or the other. It took these dark days for me to see that such grace is not a balancing act. It’s a dance with Jesus. That makes it even more amazing. Sara Young says it so beautifully in her devotional book, Jesus’ Calling:
“Because you are human, you will continue to make mistakes. Thinking that you should live an error-free life is symptomatic of pride. Your failures can be a source of blessing, humbling you and giving you empathy for other people in their weaknesses. Best of all, failure highlights your dependence on Me. I am able to bring beauty out of the morass of your mistakes. Trust Me, and watch to see what I will do. Romans 8:28; Micah 7:7”
I am amazed by His love. I am so thankful for what He’s brought me through. I am so humbled to be pursued. If that was what it took for me to learn all of that, it was worth it. Now that I have tasted and seen for myself what the light at the end of the tunnel looks like, I can say with all confidence that the trail is worth it. The refining is worth it. If you are where I was two years ago and don’t believe me, you don’t have to take my word for it. God will fix a fix to fix you.
I leave you with these lyrics from Kim Walker-Smith’s song, Unstoppable Love
Try to stop Your love and You would wage a war
Try to take the very thing You gave Your life for
You would come running
Tear down every wall
All the while You’re shouting
“My Love, you’re worth it all”.
God you pursue me with power and glory
Unstoppable Love that never ends
You’re unrelenting with passion and mercy
Unstoppable Love that never ends
You broke into the silence and sang your song of hope
A melody resounding in the deep of my soul
You have come running
You tore down every wall
All the while you’re shouting,
“My Love you’re worth it all”
No sin, no shame,
No past, no pain
Can separate me from Your love
No height, no depth,
No fear, no debt
Can separate me from Your love
Special thanks to my awesome Pastor, Lori, for her loving patience, and prayerful counsel during this time.
This is Dianne’s Real Abortion Story
“My boyfriend and I had been dating for 1 ½ years when I got pregnant. When I told him the news, he panicked. Without asking, he made an appointment at an abortion clinic and called to let me know.
My world was crushed! The man whom I thought loved me, was unwilling to do the right thing. We had talked about marriage and I had been anticipating a proposal in the near future.
As Dave drove me to the clinic I was consumed with fear and felt the pressure to follow through with the abortion. I wanted to talk to my best friend but I was too ashamed and afraid. I felt I couldn’t talk to anyone.
As a Christian I was carrying the shame of being pregnant out of wedlock. While I bought into the world’s claim that my baby was mere tissue something inside me made question if this was really true.
I was very afraid. Everyone that day was telling me that everything would be fine.
Laying on the table as the doctor’s wife held my hand I was dying inside. I felt overwhelmed with guilt, and then … it was too late. I was devastated and filled with regret.
Still laying on the table, I was sobbing and begging God to forgive me. The nurse tried to console me saying, “Everything’s alright.” And I remember telling her, “No! Everything is not alright!” I had been deceived. I had been lied to. I felt like I had been thrown to the wolves. I was just a dollar sign to them. I left that place empty; a broken woman.
I was in shock and in mourning. I had to plaster on a fake smile and pretend to my family and friends that all was good.
Dave and I stayed together as a couple, even though our relationship was now anything but healthy. I still loved him but I hated what he had done to me. He made me feel so worthless by pressuring me into an abortion, instead of taking on the responsibility like a decent, honorable man should. I had such low self-esteem, I felt unworthy of anyone who would have treated me any better.
Ultimately, Dave proposed and we were married. We began our marriage with baggage that would take years to sort through. There were constant reminders at every turn – TV commercials, a baby footprint pin on the lapel of a pro-lifer, seeing a newborn baby – they went on and on. I’ll never forget holding my first-born baby boy in my arms and knowing what I had done and feeling like I didn’t deserve such a beautiful gift.
From the day we left that awful facility in 1981 to the fall of 1987 we never talked about the abortion. I suffered in silence that screamed heartache, anger, regret and sadness, almost each and every day. In June of 1987 we were again blessed with another baby boy. There were some difficulties with my 3rd pregnancy and I miscarried. I was heartbroken and wondered if the abortion I had, caused me to miscarry. I pictured this baby meeting his or her sibling in Heaven and it gave me comfort.
In 1987 I attended a Concerned Women for America (CWA) National Convention in Washington D.C. to support Robert Bork, who was nominated to the Supreme Court by President Reagan. My Mom was a Regional Director of CWA and she had asked if I was interested in attending with her. Trying to protect my secret was consuming me. I feared my Mom’s friends would not accept me and even judge me If they knew my secret. Because of my passion for the protection of the unborn, I decided to go, even though I knew I would be uncomfortable.
When we arrived, we joined with other women making signs, which we would hold while marching on the Capital steps the next day. I felt like a hypocrite. But, I also felt like I was doing a good thing.
On the 3rd day of the convention, a woman who had adopted a baby who was close to being aborted spoke at the breakfast meeting. She told the story of her adopted baby girl almost being a victim of abortion. Then, she began singing a song she had written about her daughter called, “I Almost Didn’t Know You.” I started feeling sick to my stomach. I worked hard holding back the tears but I knew I couldn’t so I excused myself to my guest room telling my Mom I wasn’t feeling well. I reached the hallway and the tears began to flow. I reached my room and I couldn’t stop sobbing.
On the return flight, my mom began recounting the conference. She didn’t know I aborted her grandchild. She didn’t know the pain I was carrying. I struggled to carry on a normal conversation, like everything in my world was fine but I was overwhelmed with sadness and shame.
On my first day back home, after my husband left for work, I was thinking about my experience at the Convention. I was glad I went. I remember being alone in the living room. I closed the curtains. I cried out to God for forgiveness. Tears began flowing. How could I continue with this internal pain? I felt so alone and so sad. God spoke to me that morning. I heard Him tell me in that moment of my agony that he was going to use me for his glory. It’s not like I heard Him audibly, but He spoke to my mind, my heart, and my soul. I didn’t really know what it meant but I believed that somehow and someday God would use me, even if He were only to use me to help just one person. I felt God tell me that it was time to take a baby step – a baby step to begin the process of healing.
The next day I said to my husband, “We have to talk about the abortion. It happened. We’ve swept it under the rug all these years and we’re not going to make it in our marriage unless we talk about what we did.” This was the first time in over six years that I had even spoken the word, “abortion.” The pretending needed to end. All those years, I would sit in church and look around thinking that I was the only woman in church who had had an abortion. I felt so bad about myself all the time. It was way past time to seek help. Dave agreed to try to get help. We went to our first counseling session. It was the first step toward seeking healing and Dave and I were actually talking about the abortion.
Over the next few years, Dave focused on work and supporting our family and I focused on doing what Moms do. We found a church home where we attended a few more counseling sessions. These loving, caring, Godly men tried to help us but they weren’t trained to work with post-abortive women and men.
No one knew about my abortion except for the counselors we had gone to in the past. One Sunday an ad in the bulletin about a “post-abortive support group” caught my attention. It was to be held at the local Crisis Pregnancy Center. The problem with that was that I knew the Director of CPC very well and she did not know that I had had an abortion. Also, my Mom’s best friend served on the Board and she did not know about my abortion either. Finally, with God’s leading, I decided to tell them about my abortion. The time came and I was afraid, but God gave me courage. I started crying as I shared my story. I was afraid they would reject and judge me. Instead they cried with me. They prayed over me and I left feeling grateful and encouraged. I attended that first class, another step toward healing.
Shortly, after that, I attended, a new Bible study that was offered at CPC, for post-abortive women. I learned more deeply about God’s grace and his love for me on a fresh and new level. While I was indeed accountable for what I had done, God wanted me to accept the gifts He was offering me – Grace, Forgiveness and his Unconditional Love. God’s Word came alive to me and I finally received healing and made peace with God regarding my abortion.
In 2001, God placed on my heart the desire to go through leadership training to help other women find healing through His Word. I thought back to the time in my living room with my curtains drawn, when I cried out to God and He spoke to me. But, before going into leadership I would need share my abortion story with those closest to us.
Dave and I called a family meeting with our boys. At the time, our three sons were 18, 14 and 12. We were both fearful and didn’t know how they would react. I didn’t know if they would think less of me. As their Mom, I didn’t want to let them down. It broke my heart looking at them and knowing it could have been one of them that had been aborted. God gave me peace to finally share our story with our precious boys. Dave talked about his part in it, we wanted them to know that we messed up…that we were imperfect but that we had a perfect God who can take anything ugly and disgusting and use it for good. Because of being miles apart, I wrote my parents a letter to share my story. They were loving, and forgiving, and supportive. The next time they came to visit they brought me a bouquet of beautiful roses, sending a message of their unconditional love and forgiveness.
It is a miracle that Dave and I have now been married for 32+ years. Part of my healing process was focused on “forgiveness.” We are all called to forgive others for wronging us. God showed me grace and I in turn needed to show grace to my husband. It didn’t come naturally – I had some deep-seeded anger to deal with. But, God gave me the ability to love unconditionally just as He loves me unconditionally.
If I hadn’t had Christ in my life to carry me through my darkest days, I most likely would have turned to alcohol, drugs or something else to mask the pain. I am also thankful to those who prayed for us through the storms of our lives. Prayer works.
Abortion does not end in the clinic—that’s where the suffering begins. If you have your own abortion story, I pray that you will replace fear with courage so you’re able to take that first baby step toward your own journey of healing. It begins with truth – for the truth shall set you free!” – Dianne
Read C.C.’s story
“My abortion was 30 years ago and still impacts my life today.
At the age of 21, I entered into a relationship with a man that I felt was great marriage material. He had a good job and owned a house. I felt secure with him. We occasionally attended church and I liked his family. I hoped our relationship would restore the years of dysfunction, abuse and divorce I had experienced as a child. I now realize that was a lot to ask of one person.
Several months into our relationship, I found out I was pregnant. I thought that this would be an exciting new adventure and challenge for us. I remember waiting until just the right time to share, with excitement, the news of my positive pregnancy test. As I told him about the results, I could see his countenance change. He shifted in his seat and squarely told me that he did not want to be a father and he would pay for an abortion. I was reeling inside trying to process what he was saying. I loved this man and wanted to marry him. How could I reconcile that I was going to have to choose my boyfriend or my child?
I’ll never forget the day of the “procedure”. It was rainy and I remember entering the doctor’s office to see several women in the waiting room. These were not women, myself included, that were empowered by the choice to have an abortion. It was clear to see we were all uncertain about what was about to happen to us. Some were staring at the floor, others cried quietly. I remember signing in, thinking, “What am I doing here?” “How can I get away?” I don’t remember my boyfriend being there, although he must have been because he drove me and paid for the abortion. I felt entirely alone; a member of some club I had no desire to be apart of. Who was this person that signed in, numbly took the Valium, and silently waited for my name to be called? Where was my voice?
To this day, I can’t remember how far along I was but I know I delayed as long as I could in hopes that my boyfriend would change his mind about the pregnancy. I now know that it must have been an early second trimester abortion, because the prep started a couple of days before the procedure. When my turn came, I clearly remember shutting down emotionally, trying to ignore the sound of suctioning and coldness of the doctor and nurse. I asked the nurse if she could tell if it was a boy or a girl. She said she thought it was a boy but it was too early to tell for sure. I remember returning to a room afterward where other girls were laying on beds that lined the wall. I remember vomiting and wanting to die as I listened to others weeping, obviously feeling the same way I did.
As I walked out of that clinic I remember feeling the finality of the decision I had just made. I could never undo what had been done. I felt like my very soul had been removed from me. I was especially aware of how ashamed I felt because I knew my choice was wrong and that, even though I had recently become a Christian, I made a decision motivated by fear and a desire to please another person. I felt a separation in my relationship with God that I had never felt before. I had not trusted Him. I just wanted to hide.
Along with feelings of despair, I was confused because initially I made the decision to abort in order to maintain my relationship with my boyfriend. I hoped that I could remain in the security it afforded me, but the second the procedure was over; I wanted nothing to do with him. I had lost all respect for him and wondered how I could have made such a sacrifice for someone I no longer wanted. He had not stepped up and reassured me that we could make it through this challenge. He had not rescued me at the clinic but instead delivered me to the door and let me pay the price.
The days, weeks and months after the abortion were the darkest of my life. I had in the past turned to God for comfort when I was hurting but I found it difficult to cry out to Him because of the choice I had made. How do you approach a Holy God after taking a life? I tried many different things to try to fill the void in my life but nothing satisfied me. In those dark days, God heard the cry of my heart because slowly He began restoring my life and surrounding me with authentic Christian people. However, it would be years before I felt safe enough to share my “secret” with them. I faithfully served at church but had conveniently tucked my abortion into a locked safe and pretended it never happened. I returned to work and school and I later met my husband, who I’ve been married to for 27 years. I studied and became a nurse and went on to have 2 children.
Only 5 years ago, God began to reveal that only healed people can help others to heal and hidden things are not necessarily healed. In order to work with an organization that helps men and women facing an unplanned pregnancy, I had to attend a post-abortive recovery class. I am so thankful I did! This is when the real healing began. I was able to really look at why I had made the choice I did and how this impacted the choices I made after the abortion. The class also allowed time to grieve the loss of my child. And most importantly, I was able to “come clean” with God by discovering that Jesus sacrifice even covers the sin of abortion. There is nothing more freeing than having the weight of such an offense lifted. God revealed His incredible mercy, grace and restorative power, not only for me, but anyone who is crushed in spirit and asks in repentance for His forgiveness. Psalm 51 and 1 John 1:9 remain as some of my favorite reminders of these truths.
I now meet with men and women facing the challenge of an unplanned pregnancy, hear their stories and provide support and resources that might make it possible for them to choose options other than abortion. I also facilitate post-abortive classes for those who have chosen abortion in the past and are seeking hope and healing.
In retrospect, I can see how God has used my “mess” from so many years ago to become my message to this generation. Namely, that abortion is not empowering for women. It is not the magic eraser that so many believe it is. It is a big deal! It takes a life and can destroy or at least alter the lives of those involved for many years.
If you are post-abortive, I encourage you to find a safe place to tell your story and so begin the process of healing. You won’t regret it!” – C.C.