I'm nervous about some upcoming stuff...
Looking forward to it, but nervous.
I hate that feeling.
I'm tired. Recovering from some sort of stomach bug that's been draining my energy for the last couple of days.
I'm feeling lonely. Missing some favorite people. Missing living at home and having random conversations with my family.
I'm avoiding delving into some stuff from my past that has come up in the last while. I'm scared to go there. I know Jesus is there. I know He's asking me to go there. I'm scared. Working up to it, I hope.
And with that, a little more West Wing before a slightly earlier bedtime.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Telling my story - again
I was re-reading this post that I wrote earlier this spring. In it I talked about how I continue to discover that one of the most powerful things God has given me to speak is my own story of depression and healing.
What I hadn't realized as fully then, is how telling the story impacts me. Each time I speak honestly, and break the silence that had for so long surrounded that part of my life, I experience a growing sense of freedom.
I was with someone I've known my entire life last night. We met for coffee to talk about some upcoming church commitments I've made. And somehow, as we talked about those things, about the things I'm beginning to dream and plan for this year with the teenagers and young adults I'll be working with, we began to talk about my past. And the depression came up. So I very honestly mentioned that from about the age of 16 until about the age of 22, I was severely depressed, at times suicidal. The conversation went on from there, it wasn't something we dwelt on, but it stuck out for me.
There is a growing sense of freedom as I speak those words and tell that story.
I was thinking this morning as I walked from the train to my office about how very often I still wake up in the morning stunned at the miracle of healing that Jesus has worked and continues to work in my life. How over the top ecstatic I am to find myself in this place - to feel, to be alive, to know that freedom is an ever-increasing thing in my life.
What I hadn't realized as fully then, is how telling the story impacts me. Each time I speak honestly, and break the silence that had for so long surrounded that part of my life, I experience a growing sense of freedom.
I was with someone I've known my entire life last night. We met for coffee to talk about some upcoming church commitments I've made. And somehow, as we talked about those things, about the things I'm beginning to dream and plan for this year with the teenagers and young adults I'll be working with, we began to talk about my past. And the depression came up. So I very honestly mentioned that from about the age of 16 until about the age of 22, I was severely depressed, at times suicidal. The conversation went on from there, it wasn't something we dwelt on, but it stuck out for me.
There is a growing sense of freedom as I speak those words and tell that story.
I was thinking this morning as I walked from the train to my office about how very often I still wake up in the morning stunned at the miracle of healing that Jesus has worked and continues to work in my life. How over the top ecstatic I am to find myself in this place - to feel, to be alive, to know that freedom is an ever-increasing thing in my life.
The bad guys...
I was witness to a conversation on the train this morning that made me very sad.
Sitting in the seat behind me was a little boy and his uncle - a young man about my age or a bit older. As we rounded the corner to come out of downtown, we had a clear view of the drop-in center, a major homeless shelter in downtown Calgary. There was the usual crowd of people, milling around, sleeping along the fence. And this morning there was a larger than usual police presence.
As we rounded the corner and the little boy noticed the police cars, his uncle took it as a teaching moment. "Look at all the police cars. There's a lot of them. They have to get rid of all those bad guys."
The words didn't hit home until a few minutes later. The bad guys - these people who, for whatever reason, don't have a proper place to sleep at night, or a place to spend their days. And I was sad that we are teaching children from such an early age that these people are inherently bad because of their life circumstances.
I felt guilt, too. Because, to be honest, I wouldn't want to walk by myself in that neighborhood. It has a reputation for being very unsafe. I've wondered at times why the police don't clean the area up. Why these people can't just go get jobs in Calgary's booming job market.
This is an ongoing struggle for me. Both a calling to love those in the gutters, and a fear of that same thing.
And so, this morning, I'm a little sad, and a little convicted both.
Sitting in the seat behind me was a little boy and his uncle - a young man about my age or a bit older. As we rounded the corner to come out of downtown, we had a clear view of the drop-in center, a major homeless shelter in downtown Calgary. There was the usual crowd of people, milling around, sleeping along the fence. And this morning there was a larger than usual police presence.
As we rounded the corner and the little boy noticed the police cars, his uncle took it as a teaching moment. "Look at all the police cars. There's a lot of them. They have to get rid of all those bad guys."
The words didn't hit home until a few minutes later. The bad guys - these people who, for whatever reason, don't have a proper place to sleep at night, or a place to spend their days. And I was sad that we are teaching children from such an early age that these people are inherently bad because of their life circumstances.
I felt guilt, too. Because, to be honest, I wouldn't want to walk by myself in that neighborhood. It has a reputation for being very unsafe. I've wondered at times why the police don't clean the area up. Why these people can't just go get jobs in Calgary's booming job market.
This is an ongoing struggle for me. Both a calling to love those in the gutters, and a fear of that same thing.
And so, this morning, I'm a little sad, and a little convicted both.
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