āWhen was the last time you felt deep, complete joy?ā she asked. āYou know, when you feel like everything is just about perfect in your world at that moment.ā
Iād already had several sessions with this therapist, and she knew a lot of the details of my life by now. She knew that things were generally pretty good. Iād had a solid upbringing, a happy childhood. I was married to a man I loved and who loved me, and our healthy, happy son was just over a year old. We had everything we needed. And yet, in five years, I could not remember a time when Iād felt deep joy.
I gazed at the floor, trying to come up with something. āDefinitely on my wedding day,ā I said. āBut that was over five years ago.ā I stared out the window, as if something out there would bring back a memory. āThere must be something since then. Surely something when my son was bornā¦ā Nothing on the ceiling jogged my memory either.
āYouāre thinking way too long about this,ā the therapist said. āIt shouldnāt be that hard.ā
* * *
It wasnāt just that I lacked joy. As our fifth wedding anniversary came around, the picture was more grim than that. Too often anger and frustration with this circumstance or that offense made me rage inside. Sometimes I couldnāt keep it inside, and I was downright ugly to be around. My husband bore the brunt of my foul mood. A few times I yelled at my son, but even when I held it inside I feared that he would sense my grumpiness and pent up rage and it would somehow scar him.
I wish I could say that I prayed fervently that God would help me find joy. But when I was seething with rage, I didnāt pray and I didnāt want to look to Scripture at those moments. My default nature, opposed to God, was firmly in control. I just wanted to be angry. Looking back I can honestly confess with Asaph the Psalmist, āWhen my heart was grieved and my spirit embittered, I was senseless and ignorant; I was a brute beast before you.ā (Psalm 73:21-22) The only prayer my troubled spirit was capable of was a feeble āLord, help meā¦help usā¦ā breathed into my tear-stained pillow from time to time.
Only God knows how long I might have let this go onāand how bad it might have gotten. But he had a plan to turn things around for our little family. We were preparing for my husbandās first deployment to the Middle East with the United States Air Force. I feared that our marriage would not make it through four months of physical separation. I feared that my mental state would prove harmful to my sonās emotional well-being. And so I sought the help of a therapist.
The diagnosis was dysthymiaāmild, long-term depression. I continued my sessions with the therapist. She coached me in coping strategies. I made sure I was getting sufficient sleep. I exercised regularly. I was faithful in my daily Bible study time. I read books about nurturing our marriage relationship and worked to apply what I learned. I ate nutritious meals. I allowed myself to relax and be unproductive once in a while. And yet, the brute beast was always there, ready to rage if provoked.
Then one day the therapist suggested medication. I balked, thinking surely if I really trusted Godāif I really had faithāshouldnāt the certain hope of salvation bring me joy? My Savior loved me enough to take the punishment for my sins upon himself. Shouldnāt that be enough to make me happy? Would I be relying on pills to solve my problems, and would that be a sin?
I talked with my husband about it. We agreed that if I did indeed have a mental disorder, it was okay to try some medicine. Besides, the time for him to deploy was approaching like a freight train, and if pills might help, we needed to give it a shot.
* * *
That was almost nine years ago. I have been on antidepressants ever since, with the exception of my pregnancy with my second son. God has allowed me to experience joy againāthe deep, complete kind. There are still problems in my life, and I still struggle. As a doctor once told me, āMedication can only make you normal. It canāt make you happy all the time.ā
I have also found that medication on its own doesnāt do the trick. Regular exercise helps a great deal, and I need daily time in Godās Word. I may end up taking those pills for the rest of my life. Iām okay with that. But I donāt rely on the pills to solve the problems in my life. I rely on the Lord, who led me to the relief that the medication provided.
God told his people through the prophet Nehemiah, āDo not grieve, for the joy of the Lord is your strength.ā (Nehemiah 8:10) I have come to know that the joy of the Lord is my strength, even when I donāt feel joyful, even when my emotions donāt express what my soul knows. And now, by Godās grace, I am often able to feel the joy he gives through faith in his Word.
Psalm 73, the one that talks about the ābrute beast,ā ends like this:
Yet I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand.
You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will take me into glory.
Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you.
My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.
Those who are far from you will perish; you destroy all who are unfaithful to you.
But as for me, it is good to be near God. I have made the Sovereign Lord my refuge;
I will tell of all your deeds.
God did not abandon me when my sinful nature was in control and anger and frustration made me rage inside. And thanks be to God that my husband loved me āas Christ loved the church,ā (Ephesians 5:25) because he didnāt abandon me either.
God waited until my spirit was quieted, and then in that still, small voice, he spoke to me gently through his Word. He showed me that his love is constant. Even when I am raging, his love is calm and steadfast. When I am a brute beast, he looks at me and loves me. And then he gently rescues me.
