Disciplined Helplessness

One of my favorite summertime memories from childhood is swimming lessons. The lessons followed a Red Cross curriculum, so in addition to learning strokes, we also learned water safety stuff.

One thing we did in every class was the survival or dead man's float. All you do is hold your breath and put your face in the water. The air in your lungs keeps you floating and you relax all your limbs to conserve energy while you wait for someone to rescue you.

One reason I stopped writing blog entries the past 10 weeks is that I've been relearning my spiritual dead man's float. Last fall was really rough and after months of telling my husband I wasn't depressed, I had to admit that I probably was.

Depression isn't a new thing for me. I'd say it's kind of like my right hip. At the tender age of 26 I had hip surgery to smooth out a cartilage tear. After almost a year of physical therapy, I'm generally out of pain, but it's a weak joint that requires extra attention.

At 25, I had a major bout of depression. After a lot of counseling, a year of antidepressants, exercise, sunlight, the whole nine yards, I've been generally ok, but it's a tendency I have and I have to be vigilant about it.

What I learned the first time and what I'm learning this time is what I call disciplined helplessness. When I find myself sucked down the toilet bowl of depression, I live in general helplessness. Life sucks and it will always suck.

Disciplined helplessness is different. I am tired; Jesus can give me strength. I am grouchy; Jesus knows and helps me to be gentle and kind. I don't know what to do; Jesus has wisdom for me. I am not enough; Jesus is sufficient.

The mental script is different and I have to fight for it to play louder than my general helplessness. The fight isn't an overcoming fight; I'm not trying to win. I'm not able to win. It's about consistently falling in the direction of Jesus. Falling into his hope, falling into his strength, falling into his love.

The spiritual dead man's float is about not thrashing in panic, but staying afloat, and waiting for Jesus's sure rescue.

That's ugly

Somehow in the awesomeness of Christmas, the part where Herod kills all the baby boys in Bethlehem has never really hit home with me,

¹⁶ When Herod realized that he had been outwitted by the Magi, he was furious, and he gave orders to kill all the boys in Bethlehem and its vicinity who were two years old and under, in accordance with the time he had learned from the Magi. ¹⁷Then what was said through the prophet Jeremiah was fulfilled:

¹⁸ “A voice is heard in Ramah,
weeping and great mourning,
Rachel weeping for her children
and refusing to be comforted,
because they are no more.”

~The good news according to Matthew, chapter 2

My son is in the two-and-under age range and I know many families with young sons. I cannot fathom how devastating it would be for all of us to lose our sons on the basis of such a decree. Just the thought of it brings a deep ache.

When I first read this yesterday, I felt how can the loving gift of baby Jesus sit in the context of so much senseless death and weeping?

Our church community is in the midst of a venue change as we handle the needs of a numerical growth. At the same time, we have suffered the early passing of several members from disease.

It is very hard for me to accept goodness in the midst of death and suffering. I want good to be good and darkness to be absent. I want answers and I want justice.

And I don't get what I want.

So today, as I continue to process goodness and, let's call it what it is, evil, the only thing I can say is that sin is ugly. Evil is really evil. Herod was wrong. Disease is something God is going to banish when his ultimate victory and reign in the world come to be. Let that day come soon!

In the meantime, I realize that I tend to want to let sin slide. Or at least, the sin in my life. It's not that bad. But it is. It is a gross, disgusting affront to God when I am not kind and gentle with my children, when I don't watch what I say and what my tone is. And that's true no matter how tired I might be or how honestly annoying they are. Thank God, that he is bigger than my tongue and with his strength I can do differently.