Thankful for Him

"All things denote there is a God; yea, even the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it, yea, and its motion, yea, and also all the planets which move in their regular form do witness that there is a Supreme Creator."

A week ago today, I heard the voice of God.

Rest eternal grant them,

Lord our God,

we pray to thee:

and light perpetual forever shine on them

It came to me in a concert hall, during a dress rehearsal for my chamber group.  Dancers, singers, orchestra, and soloists, had all prepared for weeks and months, and as I found, lifetimes for this night.  I hoped that it would be enough, hoped that the music would be done justice.

The orchestra was good!  My heart went out in gratitude to them for the countless hours of preparation they invested to master their instruments. The amount of time and talent and God-given goodness sitting in those chairs blew me away.  

Lord Jesus Christ, thou that rulest in majesty,

O free the souls of they faithful departed

out of the lion's jaw...

Grant them, Lord, 

Grant them deliverance from death unto life,

We pray thee, as of old thou has promised to our fathers

The vocal soloists were masterful, tender, fervent, and sweetly floated their voices fifty feet to the ceiling on their own power.  My heart soared with those voices in the praise of Him who made them.

Light perpetual shine upon them, shine upon them, Lord, we pray.

With all thy saints in endless glory, for thy tender mercy's sake

My favorite piece of the work, "Sanctus," features a violin obbligato of such tender sweetness, words completely fail.  Give it a listen:

I was overjoyed that the violinist did it absolute justice.  How could I be so lucky, to be sitting in a room with so much beauty, all devoted to the Master of the universe?  It was as if He was there in the harmony, there in the dance, there in the perfect sweetness of the violin and the voice.  It was as if He was showing me His greatness through all this beauty.  

Heaven and earth are full, 

Full of thy glory, O Lord.  

Hosanna in the highest!

Hosanna, indeed!  The God of creation has endowed this earth more beauty than can be seen, more loveliness than can be heard or felt.  He is in the taste of a perfect mango.  He is in the joy of a happy marriage.  He is in the great bodies of knowledge to be found in libraries all over the world.  He is in the majestic power of waves breaking on the shore.  He is in the works of masters like Gabriel Faure, and he is in the work of the musicians who work to bring it to life.

I am grateful for who He is.  I am grateful for what He has done for me.  I am grateful I can see and hear him when I'm looking and listening.  Not only is he the Great Creator, but he loves me enough to make himself known to me.  

Bedtime Battleground

You might say my house resembles a battleground all day.  There is deafening noise.  There are piles of rubble and debris everywhere.  There are blood-curdling screams.  There are projectiles.  There are strange smells.  There are displaced persons on occasion.  Sometimes there is even violence.

Here the forces of order and wisdom battle the forces of confusion and anarchy.  Here I am a lone soldier striving to overcome the noise and disorder of a large family.

The first skirmish of the day sees me fighting to get four kids out the door with lunches in hand-- without letting them completely destroy the house.  Sometimes we start with a clean house, most of the time not, and sometimes I win this first battle.  Either way it's only the beginning, because people come and go all day, gleefully scattering personal possessions like Tinkerbell flinging pixie dust.

I do that early cleanup, the after-lunch cleanup, and an after-dinner cleanup if I'm on my A game.  In between times, I nag, cajole, remind, plead, and threaten my kids in order to get them to clean up.  I dream of the peace and quiet and cleanliness that will come once my darlings are all packed off to bed.  I fight valiantly through dinner, through dishes, through stories and sometimes even through baths.  I get sooooo close.

And here is where I typically fall apart, because lately I have been fleeing the battleground as the kids get ready for bed.  I barricade myself in my bedroom with a good book and smuggled brownies while TJ sings the two youngest to sleep.  After about a half hour of haranguing the oldest four to go to bed, he, too retreats, knocking pitifully until I'm sure it's him and that he's alone so I can unlock the door and let him in.   We cower in there together, shouting bribery and threats from the room to get our older kids to pipe down and go to sleep.  They pretend to be contrite for about two seconds before the raucous victory party continues.  We pass out at some point and hopefully they are kind and don't wake us up.  And in the morning?  Big surprise!  The house I fought so hard to get clean before bedtime was reclaimed by the enemy while I slept.

Snacks on the counter.  Shoes on the floor.  Cushions scattered all over the living room.  Backpacks, papers, journals, pencils, clothing, hairbrushes, toothbrushes, towels!!!  How is it possible to do so much damage in less than an hour?

I blame myself for being such a coward.

But recently I realized that some of my younger siblings still do bedtime the old-fashioned way.  You know, the parents tell the kids to go to bed, and the kids go to bed?  I have faint memories of when my kids were smaller and less intimidating.  Glorious memories of driving the enemy out of my territory.  I remember when every night I proudly retained the battleground of my living room.

And so I have taken courage, and with the promise of self-respect lighting my way, I tell my older kids that they are welcome to stay awake for an extra half hour after family prayers--if they would like to quietly read their scriptures in the living room.  During this time I fight the urge to flee to the security and peace of my room, and instead enforce peace or drive out the unpeaceful.  Too much noise and they're off to bed, shoes and clothing and books in tow.  Somehow, under my watchful eye, they just don't have the courage to produce new mounds of detritus.

Victory is sweet.

Humble Pie, Part II

As my marvelous cousin said, "Eat organic, take your meds!"  This is my new motto, and since it's such a reversal for me, I'm glad that humble pie goes down easier with a good antidepressant.   

I've been thinking about all the reasons that have prevented me from taking an anti-depressant all these years.  I started the excavation of all those ideas in my first Humble Pie post, but there were a lot more.  They were always so nebulous, but a phone conversation with a trusted friend helped me crystallize my thinking and I came out feeling that I knew myself better.  I'll share my thoughts with you if you promise not to laugh at me for being a weirdo.

Identity

I'm starting with this one because it's probably the one that startled me the most when I heard it coming out of my mouth.  I've been dealing with the illness so long and have been so open about it, that I have really started to identify myself as a depressed person who makes the best of it.  The love and positive feedback I get from friends about how bravely I face this challenge has become a bit of an addiction.  My inner martyr just loves the attention.  Could it be, I wondered, that I'm so content with the counterfeit happiness of praise, that I'm actually not willing so seek healing anymore?  I know.  It's so sick.  

My second identity question has a little more credence.  There have been so many real and wonderful compensatory blessings flowing from this disease.  As Ether 12:27 teaches, this weakness brings me to my knees over and over, teaches me humility every day, gives me gratitude for those who help me, and keeps me from forgetting how pathetically dependent I am on the Lord's grace.  I wondered where all those blessings would go if my struggle with depression ended. In the end, I had faith in the adversary to present me with plenty of opportunities for humility and growth.  That's his job, not mine.  


Diagnosis

"There should be a blood test," my friend told me, and she's absolutely right.  Depression is such a subjective thing.  I was diagnosed with depression after a couple of sessions with an LCSW.  I told my doctor, who will prescribe anything I ask him for, that I wanted an antidepressant, and he really didn't even ask me any questions before scribbling my prescription.  What if I'm not really depressed?  What if I'm too lazy to create lasting happiness, or too negative and ungrateful to see my blessings?  

I grew up laughing at people who need a pill to feel good, at a society that over-prescribes pharmaceuticals.  Doesn't everyone suffer?  Why should I be different?

I believe this paradygm has kept some of my dearest loved ones from seeking treatment, and I've thought all these years I was smarter than that--truthfully it's been influencing me anyway.  

But when I'm honest with myself, if a doctor told me I was not depressed, that I was just too lazy or too negative--I would know he was wrong.  I know the truth about who I am and what I struggle with.  And that's enough for me now.  I don't have to prove myself to anyone.


Existential

"Existential" being the only one-word title I could come up with that conveys the idea that I'm depressed because I deserve to be depressed. 

This one was tough to pinpoint, because it goes against everything Jesus Christ wants me to know about myself.  But it's been there all the time anyway, subtly and constantly influencing my decisions for my whole life.  

I don't remember ever feeling like I was good enough, even when I was very, very young.  I've only ever seen my failings and weaknesses, and so when things go wrong in my life, I'm not really surprised.  It kind of seems like if I could just be a better person, I'd be happier.  And so I try harder, I run faster, I pray longer, and when I'm still unhappy it's just another failure.

Depression is so very difficult to distinguish from spiritual problems.  We talk every week in church about how unhappy we are when we're not living gospel principles.  And so if happiness is not a good yardstick for worthiness, then what is?  

I'm working on this one, and I don't have all the answers yet.  But I'm trying to take my worthiness on the word of those who know me best: my bishop, my parents, my siblings, my friends, my wonderful husband.  Heavenly Father, too, makes contact once every ten years or so to tell me what I'm really worth to Him--and I treasure those experiences with all my heart.

And what if my depression does stem in some part from some of my own bad choices?  Does Heavenly Father want me to punish myself by not seeking treatment?  Of course He doesn't.  He wants me to repent. He wants me to trust in Christ's grace to make me clean.  He wants me to be as happy as I can.

If my sister were in my shoes, I'd tell her to be nice to herself.  So I finally decided to cut myself some slack.  I decided to assume the best about myself and to get the treatment that might just lift my burden.  I finally decided to be kind to myself.



And for those of you still reading and just dying to know how my medication is working--haha!--it's working great.  It took five whole weeks to kick in, and then one Sunday, I felt normal and cautiously optimistic.  Then I had a normal Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and so on until today.  I feel whole and well.

I still cry sometimes--my family is still in turmoil and there's still grieving to get through--but I only cry for good reasons now, and I don't carry the constant weight of despair.  I feel emotionally sound and strong.  And that's way more valuable than my pride, any day.  

2016 can die.

And don't tell me about the law of attraction, because this year was a disaster right out of the gate.  I gave it plenty of chances to reform itself, but it continues to break my heart.  Every couple of weeks brings a new crisis, and I've pretty much stopped fighting it.  2016 is a black-hearted villain.  This year our extended family has dealt with serious illness, abuse, loss of faith, addiction, betrayal and divorce, and depression.

Lately more than ever I have felt that my "adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour."  And I have had the deep grief of seeing him rip and tear at my family.  He is the master of chaos, filth, and despair, and he has surrounded me in a whirlwind of his finest work.  I have seen so much evil this year that I never wanted to know about, and sometimes it has threatened to extinguish my hope.

But you know what?  Bring it.

I am not afraid of the darkness anymore, because the darker it gets, the more Christ shines by contrast. All the ugliness and pain of this year have given me a clearer view of the One who has already conquered it all.

"The future of this world has long been declared; the final outcome between good and evil is already known.  There is absolutely no question as to who wins because the victory has already been posted on the scoreboard.  The only really strange thing in all of this is that we are still down here on the field trying to decide which team's jersey we want to wear!"  -Jeffrey R. Holland

I don't know Him as well as I someday will.  I have been showered with evidences of His love for me all my life.  But this year, when other helpers fail and comforts flee, I am amazed to find I believe in Him even more.  I don't see Him in the light, I see Him in the dark, fighting my battles and vanquishing my foes.  And the darker it gets, the more I marvel at his might.

Evil as the world is, He is that good.
Disloyal as the world is, He is that faithful.
Brutal as the world is, He is that tender.
Selfish as the world is, He is that generous.
Hurtful as the world is, He is that healing.

The louder the lion roars, and the more power he displays, the more I glory that my Lord has already defeated him.  Christ must be pretty amazing if he has already conquered 2016 for me.  I praise Him.

Wellbutrin Tastes like Humble Pie

I hope you like the title, because I'm pretty in love with it myself.  It doesn't match the tone of this post, though, so if you're in the mood for witty observations, I'm not your girl.  In fact, I want to take this moment to say that I'm sorry for being a little too chipper sometimes.  To be perfectly clear: I'm messed up.  What you read here is the healthiest, most positive, shining version of Kari, cheerleading her sad little heart to the finish line--and it's funny that I chose that metaphor, because I find cheerleaders annoying.  The nature of blogging is such that you see me on my best days and not my worst. The idea that anyone might think I have all the answers is too ridiculous for words, especially given the awful state I've been in lately.

Even accounting for the grief I'm still going through, which I consider a separate matter, I'm in pretty tough shape.  Anxiety, hopelessness, frustration, guilt, and deep inadequacy are my constant companions these days.  I spend a lot of time crying, avoiding, hiding, being mean, begging for forgiveness, and watching lame Youtube videos.

My therapist recommended medication, which idea I rejected out of hand.  The whole idea behind seeking counseling in the first place, was to do the cognitive work that would help me heal without the use of antidepressants.  After all, I am the cheerleader of drug-free depression here.  Please don't stop reading.  I hate what I just wrote, too.

I experienced a lot of relief when I took Zoloft about ten years ago.  After awhile, it started losing its effectiveness, and the side effects were bugging, so I went off and tried one or two other medications with no success.  Finally I sought out other options, such as light therapy and exercise, which have been huge for me.  So huge that I write about them here all the time.  But back to why I didn't like my counselor's suggestion that I start on an antidepressant while continuing my cognitive therapy--why was my goal to heal without the use of antidepressants?  Shouldn't my goal just be to heal?

So I've been digging into all my reasons for not taking an antidepressant, and finding most of them to be irrational.  I've found so much food for thought that I'm sure this post is just the first of many.  But I think one of my biggest obstacles to taking medication is my perception that it would just mask my symptoms without addressing the underlying causes of the disease.  To consider the possibility that medication may just be my very best method of treatment for the rest of my life, feels like giving up on real healing.  But here's the thing: all these years I've been trying to get to the root or cause of the depression and fix it.  It must be that my body needs more light in the winter.  It must be that I have unresolved issues from my childhood.  It must be that I need more exercise.  All these things are probably true, but years of attacking the problem from that angle have brought only limited success.  Maybe the "root" really is the chemical imbalance, and I'll be better-equipped to address peripheral attacks on my sanity if I can just get the baseline right.

I started Wellbutrin yesterday.  After all I've written here about beating depression the hard way, I feel like you deserve to be the first to know.  I believe in the easy way, too, if it can be called that.  Facing the very real stigmas still associated with antidepressants isn't easy.  The exhaustive search for the medication that will work for your body isn't easy.  Dealing with side effects isn't easy.  Really, out of all the steps I've taken to beat depression, this may end up being the hardest.  Isn't that just classic depressed thinking--I'll seek medical attention only after I've exhausted every other possible hope for healing.

So here I go, trying another option.  I really hope you find me here in a few weeks telling you how well it's working.  I remember the way the world's weight rolled off my shoulders when I started Zoloft, and I long for that relief.  I remember feeling truly myself for the first time in years: like I didn't have to fake being me anymore. I know that finding the right medication can be a journey.  In fact, from my experience and observations I may well be dealing with this illness for the rest of my life.  Oh, how I long for the permanent healing that will come when I arise to meet the Lord!  Until then, it's my job to cope and to hope.  Maybe I won't have to wait that long.  

Bearing Depression...Cheerfully

I know my title is hilarious.  In fact, the whole premise of this post is a little outlandish, so if you're not able to stomach it today, I totally respect that.  But this is something I've been thinking of a lot for the past few months, and I'm excited to explore it here with you.

Just about every time adversity comes up in the church, it comes with the exhortation to "bear it well" or to "endure cheerfully."  Our beloved President Hinckley used to tell us to "cultivate an attitude of happiness."  And strangely, if you suffer from clinical depression, these words of encouragement can sound like rebukes, and can even exacerbate classic symptoms, such as low self-worth, hopelessness, inadequacy, and guilt.

What is the meaning of bearing your trial cheerfully when the very definition of your trial is a clinical inability to feel cheer?  Does it mean pulling yourself up by your boostraps each day?  Because most of us have done plenty of that.  And to tell the truth, that's where this blog post was headed originally, because I consider myself pretty good at "bootstrapping."  After all, the dark thoughts and feelings I struggle with would alienate me from most people in the world if I shared them as constantly as I felt them.  This disease requires a good filter or it will spread. 

But there's a difference between putting on a happy face--which is actually an essential skill whether you suffer from mental illness or not--and showing true cheer.

First, let's look carefully at what cheer means in an LDS context, because when I think of cheer, I tend to think of skipping down the road singing "Zippidee Doo Dah."  (And to be clear, I think we could all use a lot more of that song in our lives.)

But does the Lord require skipping and singing on the toughest days of our lives, even figuratively? President Thomas S. Monson's 2009 talk, "Be of Good Cheer," provides a window to our answer.

How might we have joy in our lives, despite all we may face...'Wherefore, be of good cheer, and do not fear, for I the Lord am with you, and will stand by you.'  The history of the Church in this, the dispensation of the fullness of times, is replete with the experiences of those who have struggled and yet who have remained steadfast and of good cheer as they have made the gospel of Jesus Christ the center of their lives. This attitude is what will pull us through whatever comes our way.  It will not remove our troubles from us but rather will enable us to face our challenges, to meet them head on, and to emerge victorious.  Too numerous to mention are the examples of all the individuals who have faced difficult circumstances and yet who have prevailed because their faith in the gospel and in the Savior has given them the strength they have needed.  (Emphasis added.) 

President Monson goes on to describe the harrowing experience of a German mother who mourned the loss of her husband and her home, and who walked many miles in the freezing cold with her four small children, whom she lost to starvation and cold, one by one.  Her despair almost drove her to take her own life.

Does this sound like good cheer to you?  Then why on earth did our prophet and seer even bring it up?  Look again at the quote.  He defines cheer a little differently.  He defines cheer as an attitude of faith that allows us to face great challenges and emerge victorious.  And our German sister did exemplify this cheer, this faith, in just the way that we can, yes, even those of us whose minds aren't working quite right.  President Monson shares her conversation with God during that terrible time:

Dear Heavenly Father, I do not know how I can go on.  I have nothing left--except my faith in Thee.  I feel, Father, amidst the desolation of my soul, an overwhelming gratitude for the atoning sacrifice of Thy Son, Jesus Christ.  I cannot express adequately my love for Him.  I know that because He suffered and died, I shall live again with my family; that because He broke the chains of death, I shall see my children again and will have the joy of raising them.  Though I do not at this moment wish to live, I will do so, that we may be reunited as a family and return--together--to Thee.

Not too many days later, while still in the advanced stages of starvation, this amazing woman bore testimony that she was the happiest of the exiles because Christ gave her hope for a glorious reunion with her loved ones.

So cheer looks a little different in the toughest times: if it wore a grin, truth would revolt and the Spirit would flee.  When there is death and despair, or when mental illness makes you feel like there is, cheer will look more like sincere and honest prayer.  It will look like reaching, believing, hoping for better times, because Christ is still leading the way.

Let us cultivate faith and hope in Jesus Christ every day.  It might look like "bootstrapping" to people who don't understand, and that's okay.  Because when we let our faith move us out the door to help others in spite of our own pain; when we let hope put smiles on our faces even on tough days; when we keep our hearts open to the possibility of joy--then Christ can do miracles. 

Praise God For Hope

This picture used to be my pride and joy, but the past six months or so, I've tried not to look at it too much.  This family of mine has been through a pretty rough period, and it's not over.  

I never knew before that one I loved so much was capable of causing so much pain.  

But the healing process has begun.  We are rebuilding.  And would you believe it, we're already celebrating.  Tonight for Mother's day some of the siblings and their families went to Mom and Dad's house.  We had great food.  We shared laughter and memories.  We talked to Elder Monnett via Skype.  And when the guys were cleaning up in the kitchen, they randomly paused to serenade me in the living room.  Dad got Youtube to play accompaniment while Kendall sang the Philippino national anthem and Spencer danced the River Dance.  It took me straight back to the good old days. Growing up in a family of entertainers, there is never a dull moment.

And the truth is, the good old days weren't as good as I thought they were.  There was pain I couldn't see.  And now that pain is out in the open where the sun will dry it up once and for all.  We are moving forward and there is hope.  

Praise God for hope.