Christian clichés and the blunt prayers of depression
In my labyrinth of complex sadness, God keeps showing me that truth and hope is often so, so simple.
Trigger warning: I talk about depression and thoughts which touch on ideas of death and suicide.
“Every morning I wake up, my ideas and fears are jumbled. I feel overwhelmed with doubt and regret. But if I just pause for a moment and remember I have only one thing to do today: follow him. The rest takes care of itself.”
This quote from The Chosen last night hit me right in the gut. Perfectly timed after a conversation that God and I had a few days prior. It was eery how much I could have written it myself.
This is a total side tangent, but it’s safe to say that I don’t get through a single episode of The Chosen without crying. If you know, you know. If you don’t, well, all I can say is that it’s worth the hype, and if you’re resisting watching it because you specifically don’t like to give into hype (an excuse I’ve heard a lot of people say), well, I’m gonna be a real sassypants and tell you to get the heck over yourself. It’s the single most stunning piece of television that has been made in the last 50 years at least. If you know Jesus, it will make you feel closer to him. If you don’t know him but you’re curious, this is a beautiful introduction as you dive into the gospels. The production level is high, the acting is excellent, there is a real commitment to historical and cultural accuracy (i.e. Jesus is refreshingly Jewish and not European), and the writing cuts to the very heart of some of our deepest theological questions, like why does God heal some people and not others, how can we be expected to forgive those who have wronged us, and why is there evil in the world if God is good? Yeah. It’s that epic.
End tangent.
The quote I mentioned at the beginning of today’s newsletter was spoken by Matthew the tax collector, and it was poignantly timed given that I’d had an astoundingly simple yet deeply profound conversation with God as I was putting my laundry away last Thursday. But first, some back story (in case you’re new here):
The reality is that on paper, my life is postured to be as perfect as this world can offer a person. I have a beautiful home in a lovely little village in the English countryside. I have a good husband, an adorable dog, an army of incredible friends, a great family. My husband is fully supporting my dream to work remotely, writing and podcasting and teaching. Every time I wake up to little victories in my business and here on Substack, he is cheering me on. I get to spend time, every week, writing and contemplating Jesus and sharing his goodness with the world.
Genuinely, I’ve thought to myself: “If I can’t be happy right now, will I ever be happy?”
But there is another reality that doesn’t live on paper. Or, I guess it does now. It doesn’t sit neatly in the enclosed squares of Instagram, though. It is not so easily chartable. This reality is that I live miles away from my home town and my church and my community, and I am lonely; my anxiety and depression are so fragile and easily inflamed that one day I can seem totally chipper and the next I can barely make eye contact with my husband because all I want to do is cry; my dog and I are both suffering with undiagnosed illnesses that are shaping my entire life; my husband and I are chronically exhausted; I am struggling to sleep at night; I want to claw my way out of my own body; I desperately miss my mom who lives 5,000 miles away; and I’m filled with so much grief and rage all the time that it sits heavy in my bones.
One of the reasons that I’m struggling to sleep is literally because I’m just so anxious about the prospect of getting up again the next morning, not knowing what new challenges my sick dog will present me with each day. Not knowing if I’ll be scared for his safety or my own. Not knowing if I’ll have an anxiety attack or fall into a depressive nap and wake up moments before my husband gets home, embarrassed and ashamed at how little I’ve accomplished for the day.
As I was standing at the foot of my bed last Thursday, folding t-shirts, I talked openly with God about this paradox of a life I seem to be living. I told Him how tired I am. How weak I feel. How useless and unproductive. How I don’t know how to move forward without bringing in an income yet how impossible it feels to grow a business that will bring that income – because I’m so tied up with caring for myself and my sick dog and keeping my house in any semblance of order for my poor husband who is also coming home tired and ragged.
“How am I supposed to get out of bed in the morning, when this monotonous sorrow that should be joyful is all I face each day? How am I supposed to help my family and build a business when we ended up with a dog who needs round-the-clock care, and I’m in so much physical pain, and I’m just so. dang. tired? How am I meant to be full of life as these monotonous days roll one into the next, and I feel empty?”
In essence, it was a wordy version of the prayer I’m sure we’ve all prayed at one point or another: This life is too much, God. How am I meant to do it? And how am I meant to do it well?
I remember exactly where I was standing when He dropped a reply straight into my heart. My hand was just shoving my dresser drawer shut, my fingers trying to push in the clothes that were bursting out of the sides:
All I ask you to do each morning, Christina, is follow me. It is allowed to be that simple.
The words sort of rung in my head. “But Lord, what does that even mean? Practically, what the heck does that even look like?”
I think it’s safe to say that every Christian has heard some phrase or other to the effect of “Your only real job in life is to follow Jesus.” But when you were raised in an environment where “following Jesus” was defined as only a select group of activities (and especially select if you’re a woman) – raising children, becoming a missionary, reading your Bible, being nice to the little old lady at the grocery store, going to church – it feels hardcore vague and big time cliché to just be like “Oh, no worries! THAT’S all I have to do? Just follow Jesus each day! Well, if I only knew it was that simple!”
Are you reading some bitterness in my tone? Oh yeah, it’s there. But not towards Jesus. No. My bitterness is towards years of receiving TED Talk sermons with lots of platitudes and fortune cookie phrases with scripture pigeon-holed in wherever it sounded nice, but VERY LITTLE practical advice for what it looks like to wake up and follow Jesus when I’d rather just die – because at least then I could actually be with Jesus and maybe also get a good night’s sleep.
I don’t mean to sound so dramatic. But this is where I’m at.
I’m not suicidal, and if you’re someone who is reading this and you ARE, please please please do me a favour and immediately get on the phone and call someone you love. Ask for help. Get them to remind you how much your life matters. Because it does. Don’t give up. Never give up.
The reason I’m speaking so candidly about wanting to die is because there’s a big difference between being suicidal and simply wishing you were dead, and I feel like those of us who sit in the “I just want the ease of non-existence” camp can’t often talk about it because the people around us are so scared that we’re going to push the red button.
I am NOT going to push the red button.
But I AM struggling to find much meaning in my days. I am struggling to feel like there is any point going through another weekly marathon of simply trying to survive. This is a state of depression I’ve experienced in varying degrees since (as far as I can remember) I was about 7 years old. Being sad is exhausting. I’m tired. And I believe in eternity. And sometimes, I just want the eternal rest of being with Jesus and not being on this earth anymore. But I love my husband, and I love my mom, and my desire for things to be “over” is way less powerful than my love for them, or my obedience to the Lord to carry on living for as many days as He has given me to live in this body.
I also believe that Jesus died so that I could make the best of this life, and this is why I get in conversations like this with him as I do my laundry.
But practically, when it comes to making the best of my days by focusing on that “one simple act” of following Jesus, I just don’t know what it’s meant to look like. How do I follow Jesus when all I feel capable of is feeding my dog and laying on the couch and maybe getting a bit of writing done? When even going to the grocery store feels like too much for my emotional capacity because the journey to get there plunges my mind down a painful memory lane that I’d rather not travel? When my thoughts are saturated in so much anger and loneliness that I just want to get in a car and drive and drive until I’m so far into the Peak District that I could scream and only the hills would hear me?
WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE TO JUST FOLLOW JESUS RIGHT NOW? Not in the abstract. In the practical.
In this prayer, I needed the practical.
It is going to sound insane, but I went through the entire thought process with God that I just took you through in about 5 seconds. Sometimes I don’t realise how intense that is until a friend reads my writing and goes “Whoa. You think through ALL of that?”
Yes, I do. I think quite a few of us writers do. And sometimes I do wonder if we need to be medicated, but thankfully, God can match our pace. So I had this conversation with Him, and He once again, very graciously, answered me:
“Here’s the practical. You get out of bed. You take care of your body. Nourish it. Move it. Breathe.
You do what is necessary to care for Humphrey, but no more – you do not wallow in guilt or sorrow any more than you already have.
You keep your house going for Chris. Do whatever is in front of you: the laundry, or the meal plan, or the dusting. But don’t get sucked into a cleaning frenzy. Do what’s in front of you. That is enough.
You write, and you stop feeling guilty for doing it. You write because I asked you to, not because you owe the world something or you need to hit a certain financial goal. Have you ever missed a bill payment? No. And you won’t. So you write because I gave you words, and I asked you to use them, and that IS the work. And you can let yourself enjoy it. You CHOOSE to enjoy it.
You trust me. You trust that loving me is enough. You talk to me, Christina. Just talk to me. Remember who I am. Remember the hope I bring. Remember that you’re living in eternity right now. You can rest right now.”
I stood at my dresser, semi-stunned. “It’s that simple?”
“It’s that simple.”
The irony, of course, is that in many ways, that doesn’t seem simple at all. Letting go and embracing the true idea that loving Jesus with whatever meagre scraps you have truly is enough for him – well, that requires a kind of humility and trust and surrender that comes natural to few. But this is why I truly believe that this conversation was indeed God speaking to me and not my own brain trying to figure itself out (we’ve all wondered that as praying Christians, haven’t we?) – God’s answer is in keeping with His character and Christ’s teachings in a few ways:
It promotes the kind of rest and peace which “surpasses all understanding” because it makes NO FREAKING SENSE not to worry about growing my business to earn an income. It makes no sense not to worry about my health or my dog’s health. It makes no sense to not worry. Full stop. Like, none. But it’s 100% in keeping with the way Jesus navigated his entire ministry – following God, doing what He asked, and trusting Him to meet every need.
It gives me the dignity to control what I can (like nourishing my body and caring for my dog), while letting go of what I can’t (like healing his illness or my own). It takes the exhaustion of striving away.
It reminds me that God craves my love. And He delights in my joy. He gave me this gift of a season where I AM just being allowed to write. Write – the thing I’ve only ever wanted to do my entire life. He just wants me to enjoy it. He just wants me to talk to Him and be with Him as I navigate these long days in a house alone with a dog, miles away from my community, hammering away at a keyboard, pouring out my heart because it’s the only thing that comes as natural to me as breathing. He wants me to know Him and to give myself permission to enjoy Him wherever He may be found in these endless days.
In this season that feels so open and full of possibility and yet so restricted and small at the same time, I am astounded by how the simple Christian cliché of “just follow Jesus and that is enough” has suddenly been made real for me.
It’s a reminder that God is a God of practical answers AND spiritual ones. His answer gave me directions – specific things which I can do – to find meaning in my days again. But His answer also gave me permission to find where joy and love and peace have already been laying in wait throughout my heavy days.
And then, by grace upon grace, last night as Chris and I watched The Chosen, Matthew reminded me of that same truth again: all we have to do is follow Him. Delight in Him. Talk to Him. Love Him. The rest really DOES take care of itself.
What might that look like for you? Have you asked Him? You might just find that the words which always seemed like a Christian cliché are suddenly dripping with the freedom of eternity.
Friends, I encourage you with only this today: talk to God. Ask Him whatever you need to ask Him. And trust that no matter how thick the darkness may seem, there is a match laying around somewhere, waiting to be struck so that light can flood the room and reveal the truth of His ever-constant goodness in your story.
All my love,
P.S. Did you know that clicking the little heart button at the end of this post does so much to share my work with others? If you can spare the time, I’d be so grateful. All of my writing only wants to get out into the world to share the love and hope of Jesus with more people. Bless you, friends.
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