Sunday, September 9th Man’s Extremity is God’s Opportunity

Jeffrey R. Holland said, in speaking about Joseph Smith being imprisoned in Liberty Jail, “The lessons of the winter of 1838–39 teach us that every experience can become a redemptive experience if we remain bonded to our Father in Heaven through it. These difficult lessons teach us that man’s extremity is God’s opportunity, and if we will be humble and faithful, if we will be believing and not curse God for our problems, He can turn the unfair and inhumane and debilitating prisons of our lives into temples—or at least into a circumstance that can bring comfort and revelation, divine companionship and peace…

“…Whenever these moments of our extremity come, we must not succumb to the fear that God has abandoned us or that He does not hear our prayers. He does hear us. He does see us. He does love us. When we are in dire circumstances and want to cry, “Where art Thou?” it is imperative that we remember He is right there with us—where He has always been! We must continue to believe, continue to have faith, continue to pray and plead with heaven, even if we feel for a time our prayers are not heard and that God has somehow gone away. He is there. Our prayers are heard. And when we weep He and the angels of heaven weep with us…

“…We are not alone in our little prisons here. When suffering, we may in fact be nearer to God than we’ve ever been in our entire lives. That knowledge can turn every such situation into a would-be temple…”

I thought I was in the clear this time, but it seems that my anxiety and depression have come back in full force the past couple weeks. Since Logan was born, I have only struggled with it here and there a little bit, so I’ve been grateful that it hasn’t been bad. After babies, I tend to struggle with these issues pretty badly unless I’m on an anti-depressant. After I had Easton, I had no idea the horror that would follow for the next year of my life. I kept waiting for it to go away, waiting for it to get better, but it never did. It just got worse and worse until one day, in absolute desperation to feel something normal again, I finally had to swallow my pride and put aside all my apprehension and fear and go on medication. That was extremely hard for me to do. I like to do all things natural. I didn’t grow up in a family where people went to doctors and got on medications. I came from a natural family, and so whenever I can, I like to do things naturally. But when nothing was working and my anxiety became debilitating in every way, I took a leap of faith and went on an anti-depressant, and I seriously believe that it was an answer to prayers. It wasn’t the answer I wanted, though. I don’t think I saw it then as an answer to prayers because I felt defeated. I would tell myself, “Rachel, your life is wonderful. Nothing is wrong with it. Why can’t you just feel happy and stop feeling all these other things?” Or I’d think things like, “Good normal people don’t have these feelings.” And “members of the church aren’t supposed to suffer from anxiety or depression because the gospel is a gospel of happiness and if you aren’t happy, something is wrong with you.” That was six years ago, and sometimes when I find myself feeling like that again, I say the same things. You would think I would have learned by now. But somehow I’ve always felt like this puts me into the category that nobody wants to be in. I’ve always felt inferior because this happens to be a trial that I’m faced with every now and then, like I somehow did it to myself.

When I couldn’t talk myself into feeling good, I felt defeated. I can’t tell you how many times I tried to negotiate with Heavenly Father to bring me another way out of my misery, ANYTHING but medication. I didn’t want to be one of THOSE people. Maybe others don’t think like that, but I always did. I remember hearing about people suffering from depression, and I so foolishly would say, “They just need the gospel in their lives.” And then Easton was born and something went terribly wrong a few days after his birth. These horrible feelings of panic and anxiety swept over me and never went away. Then depression sank in, and it was like that for a year before I got any help.

I kept it to myself, besides telling my mother. I tried telling my ex about it, but he would just say, “Stop thinking about it.” He was no help at all, and I suppose it’s because he didn’t understand it. So I was quite alone in my misery, always trying to hide it from my husband and not wanting anyone around me to know how horrible I felt for fear they would think I was crazy. I don’t know how I lived like that, how I kept it a secret when I was dying inside and barely able to function as a human being. I probably cried every day for that year, and luckily my sweet mother had the same problems after a few of her babies, so she was a great comfort to me, as was the Lord.

Now I have an amazingly sweet husband who is so much help to me and probably one of the reasons I have been able to be off medication for 2 1/2 years. To know that he cares and that I am not a burden to him works wonders to lift my spirit and calm my worries. He is my rock, and when I think of him and his capacity to love, I see the hand of the Lord in my life. He knew that I would need a husband who could be compassionate and understanding, and he is so very good to me.

I have been very private with this struggle because of my own insecurities and previous way of thinking about people who suffered from depression. I’ll tell people all sorts of things about me, but this is one I like to keep secret. It is my way of feeling normal, feeling like I’m the same as everyone else. But I remember a sister in my ward in Idaho struggling with the same things after she had her 3rd child, and somehow I ended up telling her about it and was able to help her. Sometimes I wish I had known that other women had struggled so that I didn’t feel so disconnected and inferior.

Easton is almost 7, and I know now that other women struggle, but I never want to be one of those women. I still struggle to accept this as something that I have to deal with. I still try to tell myself to snap out of it, even though I would never tell anyone else that. Somehow I feel like I have to be perfect when others around me aren’t.

For whatever reason, this is one of my struggles, and as hard as it was for me to do, I had to get back on my medication. I started it on Friday. After so many bad days in a row, and after starting to feel disconnected from God and the people I love (which is my least favorite symptom of my anxiety), I went to my nurse midwife and got a prescription. I try not to see it as defeat, but I struggle with that. I try not to tell myself that I am weak and unable.  I try instead to thank the Lord for providing medications when natural things don’t work.

Sometimes you pray and pray and pray for God to answer your prayer in the precise way that you want it that you fail to see the way that He is already answering it. After Easton I prayed and prayed and prayed that He would take all the bad feelings away and that He would make me feel better because I knew He could. And when He didn’t, I almost wanted to curse the heavens and ask, “Where are you when I need you? How could you let me feel like this?”

It is humbling to know that the Lord always know what He’s doing. It takes a huge measure of faith to trust that when He denies you what you so desperately are sure that you need that He really does know better than you. I don’t know why He just doesn’t take this from me. If a pill takes it away, why won’t He just take it away? I’ve asked myself that, and I never know the answer. But I try to trust.

Man’s extremity is God’s opportunity. I’m not sure what He plans to do with me, but I trust that He knows better. And on my hard days, when I really feel my worst and can’t feel Him near, I love to read the quote above by Elder Holland. It is comforting to be reminded that God can turn every experience into a redemptive experience. It is comforting to be reminded that God is with us, and that when we weep, He and the angels weep with us.

I try to count my blessings and think about specific things in my life that I am grateful for - People that say kind words and act as the hands of God when He isn’t here on earth with us, my sweet children and the funny things they say, the warm grasp of my husband’s hand around my own, my sweet mother and her constant attention, my sister who is my best friend and makes me feel not so crazy, and the gospel that gives me hope. I love to read good talks, like the one mentioned above by Elder Holland, Lessons From Liberty Jail. I feel like the Lord pours down so many answers to my prayers, even if they aren’t the answers that I’m looking for. I have spent a lot of time praying for healing, but I’ve learned to change my prayers to ask for strength to bear my trials and to not feel them so heavy upon my back, the same way the people of Alma prayed and had their burdens lightened.

I am constantly learning, even in my worst moments. Holland said in his talk, “You can have sacred, revelatory, profoundly instructive experiences with the Lord in any situation you are in. Indeed, you can have sacred, revelatory, profoundly instructive experiences with the Lord in the most miserable experiences of your life—in the worst settings, while enduring the most painful injustices, when facing the most insurmountable odds and opposition you have ever faced.” I believe that to be true. And I always pray to know what the Lord would have me learn, even when I feel so bad that I can’t feel His presence which fortunately is not how I feel most days.  The good news is that I can use medication to help me for a while and accept that as a blessing directly from Him instead of seeing it as a personal defeat since it wasn’t what I wanted.

Today, after church, my mom called me and told me that my dad had an accident while he was cleaning his gun. The gun fired and shot him in the leg. It missed the femoral artery, but it went right through his leg and broke his femur. We spent several hours at the hospital tonight, and he’s in a lot of pain but doing well. They are going to operate in the morning and insert a rod into his leg. Instead of cursing God for our problems and asking, “Where art thou” we are giving thanks that he didn’t hit the major artery that could have killed him if he had done so. I know the Lord watches out for us and sends us blessings, and we have to be waiting with our eyes and hearts open to see the blessings that are lurking in disguise. Tonight I am grateful that my dad is okay, that he is still with us, and though he will have a good 6 weeks of recovery, I am so very grateful for the tender mercies of the Lord that likely saved his life.