One of my challenges during these years has been keeping myself inwardly healthy in order to pastor a church. Our lives or ministries cannot often be suspended for personal crises, at least not for long. We must plod on, working through the pain, and tending to our responsibilities even when our own hearts feel numb with anguish. And we must do it without bleeding too much on others, and sometimes without letting too many people into the hurting places of our hearts.
During that same time, Katrina’s multiple sclerosis worsened, and our financial needs hit record peaks; after all, we had three kids in college.
It sounds melodramatic (even to me), but at certain moments I prayed earnestly for the Lord to take me to heaven. It felt as though someone had punched me in the stomach, and I found myself moping around, listless and benumbed, letting my entire ministry be colored by the current crises.
At times, I trudged through the day too emotionally paralyzed to focus my thoughts. Everything I said or did came from the sole perspective of an anguished heart. Returning phone calls, reading books, attending meetings, and giving counsel felt like impossible tasks, to say nothing of preparing and delivering sermons.
When Bill Clinton’s White House was engulfed in its infamous sex scandal, reporters expressed amazement at the president’s ability to compartmentalize his life, to set the crisis on one burner while he focused his energies elsewhere. I tried that, but couldn’t do it. Nor could I successfully mask my feelings or exhibit a countenance at variance with my heart’s pain. Yet I had a calling to keep, a job to do, and a church to lead.
Well, my plight is nothing new. David wrote some of his grandest psalms when in the severest pain. Paul was at his bravest when stranded on a storm-tossed ship with little hope of survival. Joseph and Mary’s deepest crisis produced the world’s greatest hope. Ezekiel’s wife died just when he needed her most, and we all know of the trials of godly Job, Daniel in the den of lions, and the three Hebrew children in the furnace.
The Lord, intending us to be “more than conquerors” (Romans 8:37), provides a spiritual arsenal for our benefit. Here are those things that helped me most during the darkest days.
I’ve kept a journal since college days, and over the past several years I’ve written hundreds of pages describing my anguish, recording my prayers, and listing the Scripture passages God has given me. I routinely record my morning devotions in my journal, but I find it especially useful late at night when I feel too tired to pray and too worried to sleep. I write out my feelings, often as a letter to God, and inscribe by hand the verses He gives me to keep me through the night. For me, making this record has been a tangible way to come into God’s presence and to hide myself in the shadow of the Almighty.
I also have found inestimable help by writing this book, which originally I intended for my eyes only. I wrote it for myself and called it Prayers and Promises for a Troubled Parent (Me!). I read through the entire Bible, listing Scripture passages I converted into prayers for my child. I wrote out hymns, the words of which were easily changed into prayers. I recounted for myself the stories of other parents whose prodigal children have returned to the Lord in answer to earnest prayer. I chronicled some of the great lessons God has taught me through my experiences. And I listed the promises God has given me from His Word. I return to this book nearly every day to remind God—and myself—of the prayers and promises He has shown me. You might want to write your own book of prayers and promises.
I thank God for the “Aarons and Hurs” He has given me as prayer partners. My mother was my most faithful prayer partner, and even now I believe her prayers, prayed in advance, remain at work. And there have been others. Just last week, a friend asked for personal prayer requests for his singles’ group to remember during their weekly Bible study. I indirectly alluded to my heart’s burden, and he picked up on it, writing back to assure me he would personally devote himself to confidential prayer if I wanted to share more information. I did, and throughout that week his e-mails and prayers were invaluable.
The Lord has also ministered to my soul through several books. How thankful I am for Ruth Bell Graham’s Prodigals and Those Who Love Them and that classic The Kneeling Christian. Amy Carmichael’s Edges of His Ways has also been a daily companion. Just last week after a fitful night I opened to this sentence: “It seems to me that we are often called to live a double life: in much tribulation (when we think of the poor world); and yet, in the deepest places of our souls, abundantly satisfied.” A fourth book I’ve kept at hand is Behind the Ranges by Geraldine (Mrs. Howard) Taylor, the life-changing story of James O. Fraser. Fraser, a missionary to the Lisu peoples of China, saw remarkable spiritual breakthroughs occur in his work through earnest, protracted prayer. Its applications to me seemed clear.
God has given me a supportive staff with whom I stay perfectly honest regarding my struggles. When things were at the worst, they covered for me, comforted me, prayed for me, and, at times, admonished me.
A psychologist friend talked with me at length one day, and insisted that I continue my exercise routine. I had no energy for exercise; my depression had drained all my reserves. “Exercise will release the tension from your body and the endorphins in your body,” he said. “Both are essential if you’re to get through this.” Another friend has since called every day to make sure my exercise time appears on the next day’s schedule. Often, when I don’t feel I can possibly run or work out, I do it anyway. Afterward, I find my energy and mood elevated, at least a little.
Katrina, despite her crippling MS, has been a tower of strength to me. She doesn’t worry as much as I do. She has ample faith that God will bring our child through these years in His own time. Sometimes we weep together, and we often pray together several times a day. Her confidence and faith exceed mine. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you!” she sometimes says when I want to curl into a fetal position and die. “You act as though God can’t deal with this. He loves our child more than you do, and she’s going to be fine. She’s a jewel, and we’ve committed her to Him every day of her life. He’ll bring her through. It’d be so much better if you’d just trust Him!”
The old hymn, “My Faith Has Found a Resting Place” (1891), says, “My heart is leaning on the Word, the Written Word of God.” For the past four years, I’ve leaned on God’s Word as never before and I’ve found light there for even the darkest days. Even as I write this, I’m thinking of last night. My daughter is away for the weekend, and I don’t feel at all good about her trip. Last night, my imagination might have wrecked my sleep, but the Lord gave me three thoughts from John 14: “Let not your heart be troubled; trust in Me; and whatever you ask in My name, I will do.” Whenever I’d awaken, I would hear Him, as it were, speaking those words to me, and I was then able to sleep.
I’ve learned so much through the process of working through the elements of emotional struggle and have gradually come to a greater degree of peace, one anchored on the sovereign faithfulness of a caring God who does all things well, and who intends to do a sanctifying work, not only in my child, but in me.21.