Nobody understands depression like God does. Call out to Him. You will not be disappointed if you do.
“I am utterly bowed down and prostrate;
all the day I go about mourning.
For my sides are filled with burning,
and there is no soundness in my flesh.
I am feeble and crushed;
I groan because of the tumult of my heart.
O Lord, all my longing is before you;
my sighing is not hidden from you.
My heart throbs; my strength fails me,
and the light of my eyes—it also has gone from me.
My friends and companions stand aloof from my plague,
and my nearest kin stand far off.” —Psalms 38:6-11
“But for you, O Lord, do I wait;
it is you, O Lord my God, who will answer.” —Psalms 38:15
I am thankful for God’s varied grace. I am thankful that the whole body is not a toe, or a mouth, or a finger. I am thankful that God cares about the slaughter of babies as well as the perversion of justice, the rights of the poor, and the sanctity of marriage. I am thankful He cares, because that means He will (and does) move. I am thankful He works through different Christians in different ways. Some minister in foreign countries. Some minister under bridges. Some minister in operating rooms. Some minister on the battlefield. Some minister in courtrooms. Some minister in cubicles. But how is it that one lump of clay presumes to turn to another lump of clay and say that he is more like the Potter because he is doing the most important of the Potter’s work? If it were not by the grace of that Potter who poured out His Living Water in your heart, you would be nothing more than immalleable clay.