I have struggled over the past year to post on this blog. I’ve shared my struggle with some of you and most certainly with the Lord: Why am I struggling, Lord? Do you want me to continue this blog?
And then He will encourage me with someone who mentions they have found hope in reading it or who checks back in to see if there is anything new. And I feel compelled to continue.
Yet nothing comes.
Until now. I have been studying Beth Moore’s Living Beyond Yourself: Exploring the Fruit of the Spirit. This past week we were taking a look at gentleness. I confess I kind of looked forward to gentleness. She even mentions it in her video—it sounds so sweet and hopefully not too challenging. That is until she began talking to us about the fact that gentleness in the fruit of the Spirit—generally speaking—is “humble submission to God’s will.”
Humble.
Submission.
Yikes.
Not necessarily two words I love to hear. But I am thankful for this week of study and the Lord’s grace of putting some more “Beth” in my life. He worked in my heart as I watched the supplemental video session on this week’s study of gentleness. He was making it clear that He’s not going to allow me to move on in this blog until I have humbly submitted to His will in it.
You see, when I first began this blog, you might remember by the very name I use—that it was an act of obedience—a humble submission to God’s will in my life. I don’t have social media, I’m not technologically inclined and yet one sleepless night, the Lord allowed me to create this blog to share His truth and the ways He is working in my life and struggles to hopefully comfort others in theirs (2 Corinthians 1:3-4).
It is certainly humbling to be honest about life. And this past year and a half, as I’ve alluded to several times without much depth, has been one of the hardest of my life. I believe the Lord desires me to share some of those struggles here before He will allow me to continue on with this blog. I believe He is calling me to “live beyond myself”—to gentleness—to humbly submit to His will.
So here we go…
I see a counselor. There you have it. I have been talking to a counselor since the first year I was diagnosed with MS. I remember the Lord’s grace in revealing His Word to me that MS had happened in my life “so that the works of God could be displayed in [me]” (John 9:3). And I remember, even in this blog, putting words to the page and mouth that I was okay. That I trusted God. That He would get me through it. It’s one thing to say it—it’s another thing to live it. And by his faithfulness, I did. For awhile. But life is hard and there is so much more to us all beneath the surface than we are often willing to admit. And we know God’s will for us is not to remain the same. It is to become more like Him.
But I did not see a need to see a counselor for my MS—I was reading my Bible, God was at work, and I had it all together.
So the Lord put other things in my life to force my hand. Other wounds that needed binding up—other wounds that would someday turn into testimonies of God’s faithfulness. So I found myself that winter and spring in a situation far beyond my control: one that was so hard and yet so meaningful I would do anything to see it through. Even pursue counseling.
It has been one of the greatest blessings of my life. Biblically-based, Christian counseling has been an answer to my prayers in ways far beyond anything I could have asked for. I believe I am at one of the most solid and helpful counseling centers in our area: Fieldstone Counseling in Green, Ohio (fieldstonecounseling.org). God used my struggle to get me to go somewhere I would not have gone if I hadn’t been so desperate. And this, I believe, is what He has done with me this past year and a half.
He brought me to a place of such desperation and despair that I would pursue help—both from Him and from people—in ways I otherwise never would have done. He was growing in me both humility and submission… .
Anxiety has been a struggle my whole life. It has become like an unwanted companion, making his home right in that area on top of my chest. I could give him a name and tell you he feels just like a knot—that if it was possible to reach down there inside of myself and just pull him out, things would be so much better. I can wake with him there for no reason at all, and honestly, my husband argues I can even go looking for him if he seems to go away for a little while. I have always managed to subdue him. To out work him. To pray through it. But i confess he is persistent.
And then came depression. I have not struggled with depression in my life until now, and I often pray the Lord will never let me go back to that place again. It was a place of darkness. A place where I met with the worst parts of myself and sat down for tea with Satan, while he coaxed me into believing all his awful lies. Depression and anxiety became the best of friends and my loyal companions, sure to be with me wherever I went.
They met with pride and fear and promised to make everyday as horrible as it could be. I would go to bed at night hoping I would not wake up the next morning. I never desired to kill myself but desperately hoped I wouldn’t have to live long. I confess I didn’t hope to die to see Jesus—I hoped to die out of selfishness, so that I wouldn’t have to experience the pain anymore. And that is partly why I knew it was not of Christ. That this wasn’t right.
And I’m so very thankful for the strong believing friends—the real friends—in my life who spoke God’s Word to me, who reminded me of God’s character and ultimately called it what it was: Abbey, do you think you need to pursue medication for anxiety?
Wait. What? Me? Medication?
And so i found myself again at this place of total desperation. Beth Moore tells us the Hebrew word for “wounds” means “pain, wound, sorrow, affliction, grievance.” And my wound was gaping open. As she illustrates in our video session from Psalm 147:3, our wounds need binding up. And so I begged the Lord for help, as I had done for months. And He had on my heart so carefully Psalm 46:10, “Be still and know that I am God.”
Are you going to trust me with the things you are struggling with, Abbey? Come to me all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest… (Matthew 11:28). Are you going to take the help I’m offering? Are you going to stop trying to do it all yourself?
And so, with help from the Lord, from my counselor, from my friends and my doctors, I was able to pursue two things:
First, another surrender. A surrendering to the Lord that there are some things in this life that will not go the way I hope, that will be completely out of my control. Will I trust Him? Will I not only know but BELIEVE that He is God and I am not.
Secondly, I pursued medication. This has been a process, one I am still tinkering with at this time. Please know I’m not a person who cries, “Medicine for all!” No, it took me to be so completely desperate to pursue it at all. But I am certain it is a gift of God and something that is helping me in my daily struggles.
And in all of this the Lord worked through my sinful nature, especially my pride. He was working out in me gentleness—a humble submission—even as He works it now in this very blog post.
At the end of the video session on gentleness, Beth Moore recaps on some of the illustrations she used from both Jesus and Job. She says, “Their resultant scars from wounds God healed became the marks of grace and trust.” She reminded us that perhaps we have scars left on us to bear the mark of Christ so others can touch them and believe. So that I can say to you today that my joy is back, that God is healing in His time and that my HOPE is still in Christ.
As I worked my way through this depression and anxiety, my neurologist later told me that they are now considering every patient who is diagnosed with MS to also be considered for anxiety and depression. Perhaps, they are saying, there could be something linked between the number of lesions in the brain or the chemicals being released… . I do not know the fine details, but I do know the incredible number of lesions (scars) on my brain. I have a disease that literally means “many scars.” But today I can say I’m thankful for the scars from depression and anxiety. I don’t say it lightly and without some trembling. But I’m thankful for the scars. Because the wounds brought me to submission to my God and they inevitably brought me very practical help. And most of all, the scars remind me that Christ is the one who heals.
I pray this will be an encouragement to you, my friend.