Deep Dark Secrets

You know how sometimes, when you feel hurt, you think that no one understands you? When people ask you how you are, you say "fine" or "alright," when you're dying inside, and the most you can do is wince the tiniest bit to hint that you're lying, and hope that maybe they get the signal, maybe they will signal back, though you don't know what that would look like since no one ever has. Do you know what that's like?

Go read this. Ok, now you can't pretend you don't understand depression at all.

I used to think I had depression, or wish that I had depression so that I had an excuse for why I felt bad, because all I could do was get upset at myself for being sad for no reason. Why? How can I be so stupid? See how easy that is, to judge yourself? Dang.

God, how can I learn to forgive myself for hating myself for feeling sad? I can't even understand what I'm feeling, it's too convoluted for reason to apply here. Thank God I'm not in the place I was four years ago. 

Introspection is a necessary life skill, it helps us retain direction and remain consistent with our beliefs; without the ability to think about ourselves and where we are headed, life really would be drifting in an open sea, directionless. But when we live inside of our heads, introspection can become an infinite loop, a never ending struggle to understand our irrationality.

Two years ago, when asked to describe my life's journey, I drew this picture. I had some smart-ass explanation about how I was descending into the unknown, a place where nothing is solid, and I had to walk by faith. It was bullshit, as always.

But looking at the picture on my wall tonight made me think about life, struggles, and success. Everyone thinks about 'mountain-top' experiences they've had, and I'm reminded of Don Miller's recounting of the Aztecs' journey to the holy city via Machu Pichu. The destination is made sweeter by the difficulty of the journey. The higher the mountain, the harder the climb, the more breathtaking the result. But what about the descent?

Mountain climbers will probably say that you can't simply run down a mountain after reaching the summit; you still have to make camp and pace yourself. But I will say this: the way down is easier, for sure. Climbing a mountain is difficult but brings reward; what can be said of descending? "For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction" says Matthew 7. There are so many ways to destroy yourself, to stop in your tracks and sit down in a huff over how unfair life is. It's easy to go down, to fail, to give up, retreat inside yourself, decline communion, refuse a hand.

The measure of your life should not be the ease with which you have glided by, or how high you have climbed. The measure of your life should be, when descending from a mountain, no matter how high it was, or how hard the climb, where were your eyes fixed? It is so easy, when experiencing failure, to become stuck focusing on the seemingly devastating moment, and expect things to remain a shadow of the past, or continue to worsen. To err is human, and I say to accept a false fate based only on the moment is also human.

Where is the power of God? If we have anything to show for our belief in Christ, it is that we hope for things unseen, that God uses even our tragedy to form us into His likeness; there is no moment wasted, and God is not so short-sighted as us. Descending this mountain top, I shall fix my eyes on the base of the next peak ahead, not because I am a glutton for pain, but because I've lived the easy, reclusive life. I know now that running from adversity, hiding from growth, and ignoring the call of God to be uncomfortable is as foolish as Jonah sailing to the wrong city. I don't want to climb another mountain because I love the outdoors, I want to climb another mountain because, after all of the shit we do to each other, after all of the earthquakes that kill helpless people in Haiti, and the mindless murders over playstations, somewhere along the way, in the cleft of a rock, God whispers by and I get a glimpse of his back.