A Gift of Depression by Susan L.

This is a piece I wrote for my writer's group tonight, posted early because I have an early start in the morning. I debated sharing but like always, a theme arose above and beyond the decided topic of writing a devotional or a piece based on a piece of scripture. It began in conversation. Trials and troubles, heartache and worse bubbled to the surface.
I know I often struggle with anxiety but underneath all lay a marvelous world of indescribable faith that was forged in the darkest moments of my life. I decided to share this for anyone else who has ever felt this way.

“Then He said to them, “My soul is exceedingly sorrowful, even to death.”               Mat 26:38

Those words touch my soul like no other. Each time I read them, my heart aches all over again. Jesus and I have knelt together in Gethsemane many times, the garden where choices are made. My heart breaks in hearing words uttered by Someone else at the end of their rope; Someone who is unable to face the Tomorrow Pain. I want to hold Him close, brush the hair back from His face and tell Him everything will be okay.

It is so real to me, the Garden, that I can smell the night air. It has been a place of inner sanctuary within the depths of madness. I hear the crickets chirping in the dew covered grass. The trees whisper to each other over the evening breeze. A moon dances shadows with a blue and merciless light. There’s a roosting bird somewhere overhead ruffling its feathers as it dreams birdie dreams. Beneath it all lay an agony of the soul unlike no other.

I hear His prayer, “Father, I am so alone, so afraid. Those who I thought were My friends have failed Me. One I love will soon betray Me. Another beloved will deny he ever knew Me. It hurts so much. What’s the point? There is no one to help me bear this burden. Father, I am going to die anyways. Why should I wait? Why should I suffer for those who so quickly abandon Me?”  He begs for the cup to pass Him by as I too have begged when the weight of the Tomorrow Pain was simply too much.

But, I hear our Father answer us, “Choose life, My Son... my daughter. I will give you all you need to sustain You in the dark hours to come. I will send angels in the form of men to help you bear Your cross. You are not and will never be alone. I am with you always.”

I am alive because of Jesus’ choice. The song of suicide is simply a haunting melody with no meaning anymore. And I still visit Gethsemane. It’s a beautiful garden. It’s the place where life won.

Your will, my Lord, not mine.