Doleful! This is the rather sombre verdict of Heaven with respect to how Christians allow the crippling effect of depression to overwhelm their spiritual, emotional, and physical well-being.
Ironically, there's nothing to stay positive about when submerged within its grip, regardless of how sound or fervent our level of understanding of the Lord is. Its absolutely nightmarish!
Interestingly however, Job, Jacob and even, prophet Jeremiah all had their baptism of fire fighting the illness. They were cracked open,and worn to bits; but the path these took to overcome theirs is similar to how Sharon Fawcett's personal account, in Hope for Wholeness.
Our spiritual growth and understanding as believers is crucial to living victoriously(whole) here on this planet.Most times God doesn't reveal all His plans, to take us through the crucible of life best suited for our optimum spiritual formation,to us.
Like Sharon, a thorough ministry of Deliverance in understanding the subtle operations of satan to kill, steal and destroy her joy,was the process that led to her recovery.
Like the three biblical characters whose lives were summarily suspended and subjected to seasons of torment at the hands of a vicious task master, believers ought to realize the gravity of the battle they are in rather than accept their fate. Knowing that Satan is never in the business of releasing his ignorant subjugated ones just without a fight. He'll burrow into our foundations as sharon's book outlines, for the faulty cracks we know nothing about.
Below is a taster of Chapter 1...
Caught in the Deluge of Depression
It should have been a day for tears, but I was no longer able to cry.Shrouded in a damp,gray fog of apathy, I had lost the capacity for emotion.It was April 22, 1990, three days after my baby’s first birthday. The winter snow had finally melted on Canada’s east coast, and the promise
of new life whispered in the warm, fragrant breath of spring. But my spirit was out of touch with the seasons, still trapped in winter’s long,cold night. I walked slowly across the yard to my house,soggy brown grass squishing beneath my feet. How long will I be gone? I wondered.
Hearing the door open, my daughters came looking for “Mommy.” One-year-old Jenna tottered into the entryway, still unstable with her new skill of walking. Four-year-old Lauren followed closely behind her sister, eyes wide, looking like a concerned little mother with arms ready
to catch Jenna should she stumble. As they made their way toward me, my soul sighed. How can I leave them? How can I help them understand what’s happening? Even I didn’t understand, yet I knew I was no longer able to provide the love and attention my daughters needed and deserved.
Just one year earlier, as I lay holding my newborn daughter in the birthing room, I had been overcome by a sense of peace and contentment unlike anything I’d ever felt before. My life seemed perfect. I had a wonderful husband, Tim, and two beautiful children. So what had
gone wrong? In the past few months, it had become apparent to me that my fairy-tale life was slipping away. Instead of looking forward to each new day, I dreaded waking up. Talking to my girls, telling them stories, and listening to their chatter once delighted me; now the sound of their voices grated on my raw nerves. I no longer wanted to talk, listen,or answer anyone’s questions. I craved solitude and silence.None of my previous hobbies or activities interested me anymore.I didn’t want to leave the house, or even my bed. I just wanted to
sleep — eternally, if possible. Who is this person I’ve turned into? I wondered. I had become an
empty arrangement of bones dressed in skin — warm, breathing, and moveable but devoid of any spark of life. It seemed that my spirit had died, and as each day passed, my longing to rejoin it, wherever it had gone, grew stronger. After I described my desire for death to my physician, he immediately referred me to a psychiatrist. Dr. Ahmed* agreed to see me the
next day. He diagnosed me with major clinical depression and recommended
I be hospitalized for my own protection.As I carried my bags down the stairs and stopped in the hallway to say good-bye to my girls, I waited for the sadness to well up and spill
over — but it never came. There was only a twinge of pity for these two precious children whose misfortune it was to have me as their mother.
Holding my daughters tight, I assured them I’d be back soon.Then I walked out the door, climbed into the car, and vanished. For nine years.Though I would return for weekend visits, or be discharged from the hospital for a few months at a time, the woman who came home
was not the mother my children remembered. She would not return before they learned to live without her.
Searching for the Missing Pieces
If I had known what lay ahead for me in my struggle with depression,I am not sure I would have persevered. But since I didn’t know healing would elude me for many years, each time a new medication was prescribed, I could hope that it might be the one that would cure my brain and restore my life. Each night when I went to bed, I could imagine that tomorrow might be the day the doctor would ask the “right” question and some revelation in my counseling session might help me discover the cause of my despondency.I am thankful that God keeps some things to Himself. Dr. Ahmed and his colleagues seemed to believe I should know why I was depressed, but I didn’t. My symptoms of depression didn’t begin until eight or nine months after Jenna’s birth, so postpartum depression was ruled out. Other than having a baby, nothing in my life had changed in the previous year, but a painful transformation had taken place within me, a transformation as confounding as it was profound. I began to wonder if anyone could help me or if I would be left to solve this puzzle on my own.As the days stretched into weeks, I searched for answers to a question that would turn my life upside down, a question that would take nearly a decade to solve: Why?
During my depression, I was an information junkie; I read everything about the illness I could get my hands on, thinking that if I learned enough, I could find my way out of the pit I’d fallen into. I tried to put into practice all the advice from each author and expert — to take my medication; change my thoughts; express my anger; make goals; visualize myself as a happy, successful person — but it seemed my efforts were in vain. Either I’m a failure or these authors don’t know what they’re talking about, I believed. I now understand that the authors did give
good advice for those whose depression is emotionally or biologically
sourced. It’s just that I was not one of those people. When I emerged from depression, I felt compelled to write a book that would help others, like me, who did not find complete and lasting
freedom through medical or psychological treatments. Hope for Wholeness is that book.
Have you anyone undergoing this sickness with no solution in sight, I'd recommend this book for their spiritual understanding from the perspective of a victim turned victor like Sharon Fawcett? Even believers can suffer from depression: it only pays to know the source!
This has been my précis from reading through Hope For Wholeness,courtesy of NAVPRESS Publishing House, and authored by Sharon Fawcett.
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