To Give Testimony

It’s come home to me a bit in the last few weeks that I have a story to tell, and that my story, may, perhaps encourage other people.

It is very easy to write off my experiences as inconsequential, as hardly worth mentioning or discussing. I am, after all, young. I’m twenty three. I took a “life experience” quiz on the internet last night, and scored quite low on the scales of things in life to experience. Some would say that I’ve lived a sheltered and uneventful life, hardly worth pausing to consider.

And yet, last week I held a celebration that brought about conversations with coworkers and others. And those conversations brought home that I need to tell at least parts of my story whenever I get the opportunity.

On November 1, 2006, I celebrated one year depression free. God healed in a way that was gentle and forceful, and baffling, and beautiful.

Some months ago, as I shared the fact that I had been healed from this thing that had plagued my life for over five years with a group who were praying over me, someone spoke out a word, saying that she believed that God would use this to encourage and bring healing to others.

Last week, I mentioned that I was celebrating to two separate women, in two separate conversations. Neither conversation was in a place or with a person where I would normally have chosen to discuss the fact that a year previously I had been suicidal, questioning each day whether it was worth it to keep getting out of bed in the morning for a meaningless existence. In fact, I tried to discuss my plans in a very generic form. “Oh, I had a celebration dinner with friends last night.” It didn’t work.

Both women wanted to know what I was celebrating. The first one I told commented, “That’s incredible. I haven’t managed to be depression free for even two months.” The second woman shook my hand. “Congratulations. I’m being treated for that right now. The medications are helping. Things are a lot better than they were two years ago.”

That’s as far as either conversation went. But what spectacular opportunities have now arisen for me to quietly pray for these women as I go about my day in close proximity to them, to look for openings in conversation where I can encourage them. To wait for the inner promptings of the Spirit, and then to act in obedience to those promptings.

Maybe this story is something that shouldn’t be carefully hidden – told only to those few whom I trust. I am not ashamed of the fact that for years I lived under a blanket of depression. But these conversations have reminded me that so very many people are. That it is not widely accepted within the Christian church for someone to suffer from mental illness. That even outside of the church, in a society that is educated, and even bombarded with information about illnesses such as depression, there is still a strong stigma attached to the words. I should know. I was fired from a job within the probationary period a few years back because of my depression – I was apparently not “up-beat” enough for the employer.

And really, I act as if I am ashamed, not only of the depression, but of the fact that I have been healed. I’m not, I’m ecstatic, filled with joy at the changes God has formed in my life this past year. I can hardly believe that a year ago He was gracious enough to draw me from darkness into light. That He has placed his calling on my life, and marked me with a love for the broken and messy things.

And so, I’m going to jump at every opportunity to tell this story – to stand and give testimony to this crazy thing that God has done, this thing of beauty and grace and mercy that has been poured out upon my life.





p.s. If you want to read someone else's story, told in a masterfully funny manner, check out the ongoing saga at Rik Leaf's blog.