Going to church today was wonderful. Participating with this community of saints validates my faith, my hope, and my desires to be happy. It may seem odd for someone who is "depressed" to say, but I am deeply grateful for the joy the gospel brings. I think that is a lot of the point of the gospel, and the commandments and the truths we have been given about the atonement and the eternal perspective. With those things, our lives can be rich and happy and purposeful, even through depression or sickness or sorrow or anything else the world throws at us.
We talked about the story of Job, and his struggles and faith. A wonderful quote was shared that struck a chord with me: Elder Orson F. Whitney said "No pain that we suffer, no trial that we experience is wasted. It ministers to our education, to the development of such qualities as patience, faith, fortitude and humility. All that we suffer and all that we endure, especially when we endure it patiently, builds up our characters, purifies our hearts, expands our souls, and makes us more tender and charitable, more worthy to be called the children of God. . . and it is through sorrow and suffering, toil and tribulation, that we gain the education that we come here to acquire and which will make us more like our Father and Mother in heaven." (quoted in Spencer W. Kimball, Faith Precedes the Miracle, 98.)
Yes! That is how I feel. That is what I know. Pain and sorrow can come from many, many sources and combinations of sources in this life. Nevertheless, they can all lead to the same Source of comfort, of strength, of humility and courage and Truth. I have said that I was grateful for my trials, and thought masochistic. I didn't mean that I was happy to be sorrowing, or taking pleasure in pain. That, I think, would be Satanic. Job, also, did not enjoy his suffering, and begged for it to stop. However, I can be grateful for the refining influence of the trial. I have felt very clearly that the Lord's purpose is to purify and refine me. I have felt the heat of the fire, and known deeply its pain, and I have come out of the fire and seen the change in my heart, and rejoiced. I found there more tenderness, more hope, more trust and faith in the Lord, and an unshakable Foundation. Just as Alma's people, who petitioned the Lord and were strengthened, rather than having their trials removed, I experienced the Lord's strengthening power while in the face of sometimes overwhelming adversity. It was powerful to feel His presence, and to know that He knew me and walked with me, that He shared intimately in my trials.
When I emerged from the experience of having Sam's family with us, my understanding of the Lord and His ways and perspective was such that I knew that no trial could come that would confound me. I understood what was going on with this life--the dealings of the Lord. Further trials would hurt and be unpleasant and hard, yes, but they would not cause me to doubt God's character or love. Job "sinned not, nor charged God foolishly." He didn't "curse God and die." He didn't suppose that these horrible calamities meant that God was actually aloof and capricious and something like those manipulative, selfish Roman or Greek gods. He said "Though he slay me, yet will I trust Him. . . He also will be my salvation."
I am human, and forgetful. Coming out of the time with Sam's family, I was very close to the Lord. When Isaac was born two weeks later, his troubles didn't trouble me (I felt sad, but not troubled in Spirit). The Spirit was strong, and I knew that eternally, everything would be alright. As the weeks pressed on in the NICU, and I grew tired with lack of sleep and raging hormones, I dwindled spiritually. I wasn't praying as much as I needed to, nor turning to the scriptures for sustenance. I began to forget the power of the testimony. I didn't doubt, I just didn't think about it very much. Some months later, at church, someone brought up a situation that reminded me of the testimony I had gained and forgotten. I was shocked that I had let the truth slip out of my daily interaction with the Lord, and out of my heart as a sustaining foundation.
It is there, though. Some months later, in the midst of depression, I read from the book "George MacDonald" which Margaret gave me and in which I have enjoyed pondering many truths: "Man is perfect in faith who can come to God in the utter dearth of his feelings and desires, without a glow or an aspiration, with the weight of low thoughts, failures, neglects, and wandering forgetfulness, and say to Him 'Thou are my refuge.'" Though I don't know about the "perfect in faith" part, I recognized perfectly what MacDonald was talking about. In depression, there is no "spiritual feeling," or any feeling that I would associate with having the Spirit. Yet even in that numbness, darkness, and almost oblivion, with the weight of my grumpiness with the kids and slowness of thought, there was no doubt about where to turn for companionship and strength, council and love. In the midst of my pathetic humanity, His foundation was firm. I neither lost hope nor felt ripped apart existential anxiety. I simply felt grateful for a refuge in that time of darkness.
How, how, how can I be grateful, and find peace in the midst of unhappiness and pain? C.S. Lewis wrote a whole book describing how it can be (The Problem of Pain.) It does not seem difficult to understand it for me, but perhaps only because I have found the way for myself. I have not found that my faith has made me perfect. I still lose my temper and forget to care for myself spiritually and am not living in bliss. Unhappiness and pain are a given in this telestial world. Having the perspective that allows me to put those in their place--temporary trials which can strengthen me and from which I can be healed and overcome--is essential for me to get through them. Gratitude is the oil in the machine. There is always something to be grateful for, and in being grateful, everything can go much more smoothly, though the heat is intense.
Well, this post is getting long. I don't suppose I will be able to answer all the questions of the universe or capture all the feelings of my heart just now. And so I will make an end.
It is there, though. Some months later, in the midst of depression, I read from the book "George MacDonald" which Margaret gave me and in which I have enjoyed pondering many truths: "Man is perfect in faith who can come to God in the utter dearth of his feelings and desires, without a glow or an aspiration, with the weight of low thoughts, failures, neglects, and wandering forgetfulness, and say to Him 'Thou are my refuge.'" Though I don't know about the "perfect in faith" part, I recognized perfectly what MacDonald was talking about. In depression, there is no "spiritual feeling," or any feeling that I would associate with having the Spirit. Yet even in that numbness, darkness, and almost oblivion, with the weight of my grumpiness with the kids and slowness of thought, there was no doubt about where to turn for companionship and strength, council and love. In the midst of my pathetic humanity, His foundation was firm. I neither lost hope nor felt ripped apart existential anxiety. I simply felt grateful for a refuge in that time of darkness.
How, how, how can I be grateful, and find peace in the midst of unhappiness and pain? C.S. Lewis wrote a whole book describing how it can be (The Problem of Pain.) It does not seem difficult to understand it for me, but perhaps only because I have found the way for myself. I have not found that my faith has made me perfect. I still lose my temper and forget to care for myself spiritually and am not living in bliss. Unhappiness and pain are a given in this telestial world. Having the perspective that allows me to put those in their place--temporary trials which can strengthen me and from which I can be healed and overcome--is essential for me to get through them. Gratitude is the oil in the machine. There is always something to be grateful for, and in being grateful, everything can go much more smoothly, though the heat is intense.
Well, this post is getting long. I don't suppose I will be able to answer all the questions of the universe or capture all the feelings of my heart just now. And so I will make an end.
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