My Christmas Miracle

After months of thought, I have decided to publish this post. It is deeply personal. For that reason, I have been reluctant to share it. But I can't escape the nagging feeling that perhaps it may be of comfort or use to someone else. So, for that reason, I publish it. Merry Christmas!

Last year, around October, I became aware of some of my flaws and weaknesses. The contrast between who I wanted to be and who I was seemed jarring. It wasn't that I had done something terrible. There was no great sin or misdeed. It was simply a consciousness of all my human failings and the distance between my aspirations and reality. There were some additional worries as well--finances were particularly vexing at the time. 

As I struggled with these feelings of inadequacy, I began to grow tired, more than that: exhausted. I had no energy and work became difficult. 

I soldiered on as best I could. With a family to support, there weren't many other options. Some days were better than others, but the trajectory was bad and getting worse. 

I went to work, doing the best I could. During spare moments, I took small naps. 

This was all the more vexing because I had started taking care of my health. I'd given up soda, most carbs, and eaten lots of vegetables. Until I got so weak, I had exercised every day since Father’s Day. 

My wife and I prayed with growing desperation and anxiety, uncertain how much longer I could simply continue to tread water. That triggered even more stress, and the downward spiral got worse.

In addition to being sick, I got very discouraged and terribly depressed.

Then, early on in December, it came to a head. By Thursday of that week, I could barely walk. I got to work and did what I needed to do to start the day, then I went to some mats to lay down. I had some Christmas music going, turned out my lights, and just went and poured out my heart to the Lord in one big jumble. 

And then I was just too tired and sick to think anymore so I tried to go to sleep.

A Christmas song came on then, one with special memories. I had sung it in the Christmas program during my first Christmas as a missionary. It brought back memories of that time.

I remembered walking around all day during those first years as a missionary. No one wanted to talk with us, so we spent a great deal of time walking. And as we walked, I filled the hours with daydreams of the future--dreamed of being a teacher. I'd do plays and conduct choirs. I'd have a classroom I could decorate, a place where we could do fun things...

I felt a little jolt of energy as I realized that my deepest wishes back then had come true. I was, at that very moment, experiencing everything I had once dreamed about.

And then the Spirit taught me. In quick succession, and in a way that transcends words, I realized that every Christmas since then had been better than the last—with a few exceptions. Each year, Christmas had been a time of healing and renewal, a time when the Lord’s blessings had been poured out on us.

Realizing all the God things God had done for me over the years changed the course of my thoughts, bringing gratitude and hope instead of despair.

I got up and started writing down some thoughts and then a quiet, but strong, impression came.

What if the problem did not stem from my weaknesses? What if it was not that I was deficient and weak and prone to error—in other words, human. What if it had more to do with the way I reacted, the way I carried the burden?

As I thought about question, an image came into my mind, the smallest glimpse of a back being whipped and beaten. Just a flash of torn and broken flesh. And then a thought, an idea, filled my mind and heart: “I was already beaten for your sins. Must you beat yourself?”

And then I thought of Isaiah and remembered that it is with His stripes that we are healed.

My body started to shake and I wept while staring at my computer screen.

In that moment, something changed. The heaviness left. I was no longer exhausted, and could easily function at work, during a demanding time. 

It’s not that I was incorrect about my flaws and weaknesses. They are real and large. But the Atonement is infinite--sufficient for all of our foolishness, malice, weakness, and even our sins. 

Without doing so consciously, I had somehow forgotten this, at least in practical terms. I had allowed myself to be so focused on my weaknesses that I had shut myself off from the source of my strength. I had, as the scriptures say, refused to be comforted.

Life is hard, and it is messy, mostly because we are so very messy. Each of us is a collection of aspirations, efforts, hopes, and many, many mistakes. Our fallen natures trip us up so easily, so often. But the Atonement is real. Christ’s suffering and triumph are real and available. They can touch every aspect of our lives and heal us, spiritually and physically. That’s the truth that I went door-to-door so many years ago trying to teach people. Over twenty years later, I am rediscovering that truth for myself.

Dancing in Despair: The Redemption of a Marriage and the Ongoing Miracle of Christmas

Somewhere about seventeen or eighteen years ago, my wife and I sat in our small apartment. Like many other young Mormon couples our age, we were in school. We had small children, bills, laundry, and not much else.

Things were difficult, and getting worse. Finances were tight. Although we believed in what we were doing, we both felt burdened by our responsibilities and the pressures attendant in what we were doing, especially the sacrifices our young -but-quickly-growing family demanded of us both. In addition to, and because of, all these thing (and some others I won't go into) the marriage was under a lot of stress. Sometimes trials are like the ache that comes after a good rigorous work-out. Other times, it's like the pain that comes when a joint isn't working properly and injury is imminent. This was quickly closing in on the latter example.

Looking back, I suppose we were not exactly in a crisis, but we were getting close. I don't think we knew that, though. It just felt like things were difficult. I think the fact that I say we weren't completely in crisis is largely because the story ended happily. Had it not, this moment would likely have been where that unhappy ending became obvious.

I remember how empty it felt to put up our meagre Christmas decorations that year: a small table-top tree I'd bought as a teenager, and a bottle of potpourri with Christmas lights wrapped inside that my wife's visiting teacher had made.

It is a bit painful to type this, because I still remember the heaviness, the bleakness, and the other things: frustration, hurt, guilt, resentment. On and on.

When we finished, we sat not very close to each other on our hand-me-down couches and turned out the lights, so the room was lit only by the lights on the tree and in the potpourri bottle. Then I put in one of my most treasured possessions: a Mannheim Steamroller Christmas tape.

The Christmas lights softened the room and made our cinderblock apartment seem more beautiful and inviting. Reality didn't exactly change, but it seemed more palatable, more enjoyable and less stark somehow.

If the lights softened the room, the music softened our hearts, a little. The songs brought back happy memories of Christmases past, of easier times, and happier days. The softness wasn't all pleasant, though. Some of those memories were also painful. Our engagement had happened in November and our marriage in February, so Christmas was a big chunk of that time. Remembering the excitement and promise of those days made the bleakness and disappointment of the current situation all the more painful.

But we kept listening, just sitting there on the couch in the softness.
At some point, we danced. I'm not sure how it started. Dancing isn't an activity we do often or naturally, certainly not spontaneously. But somehow, for some reason, we started dancing. I held her and she held me and we swayed, our movements animated by songs about the birth of Jesus. It was probably the first time in a while that we were on the same page about anything, the first time where were were together, in synch and in harmony.

Something happened that night. The dancing didn't solve our problems. But it helped open us to each other again, helped us move together again--truly together, not just the shared pain of slogging through a rough patch.

That was the first miracle.

We decided that no matter how busy we got, we'd try to spend a few minutes each night during the Christmas season sitting on the couch, looking at lights and listening to music.

We kept to that commitment, and it saw us through. One night, I was alone. I'm not sure if my wife had gone to bed, or was just occupied at the moment. But I remember looking at the lights in the potpourri jar and hearing a song. I want to say it was "O Holy Night," but I'm not sure. At any rate, for whatever reason, at that moment, it hit me: the whole point of Christmas was so a Savior could be born. A Redeemer who could repair broken things, and heal what was sick. He could even bring back things that were dead, past all other help.

That was the second miracle.

I knew all of that before, but it really hit me then. Really hit me. I felt it in a way I had never experienced. The promise of redemption suddenly seemed a deeply personal and precious thing: my personal redemption as well as the redemption of my marriage.

Things didn't get better overnight, or even over years. Life still had some curve-balls to throw at us, and we certainly had a few to throw at each other.

But tonight, I'm sitting here with my wife. We're looking at our Christmas tree. I have a Christmas mix shuffling through iTunes. And that song just came on.

 Our living room is still modest, but it's in a house we own, and the fact that the house is small simply means that every inch of every wall and piece of floor has been baptized by laughter and tears and memories.

We're sitting on a lovely, comfortable couch that is only a year old. They were Christmas presents last year. Our first new couches ever, and we still love them.

The tree is larger now, and the room is also lit by other lights from treasured decorations we've accumulated over the years. We just got home from a work very satisfying work event, which reminded us how blessed we are, and how useful that education has proven to be.

To be honest, we don't have a lot by some standards. But our lives are happy and feel abundant. It doesn't seem like we could go under at any minute. Our family has grown and matured. We still have young children in bed, but the three babies in this story are now away at college, returned from missions, and possibly on the brink of starting their own families soon.

Our marriage isn't perfect. But we're to the point where the happiness far outweighs the struggle, where the joys far outnumber the tears and stress, and we don't have to try so hard for it to work well.

In other words, our marriage isn't perfect, but I believe it was redeemed. And I believe that promise is active and continuing and available to every one of us in every aspect of our lives.

To me, that is the miracle of Christmas: redemption and renewal. Every year, it hits me again--fresh and wonderful. And once more, I stand all amazed.

A Short Reflection on Empathy, the Root of Christ-like Love

I have been making a concerted effort to address several areas of my character I find lacking. One of the most pronounced of these areas is a tendency to get irritable and cranky--usually over things that are fairly small. I've also been trying to be a good listener, one who is sincerely concerned about other people and their lives. And, I've been working on being kind and patient.

C.S. Lewis said, "No man knows how bad he is till he has tried very hard to be good....Only those who try to resist temptation know how strong it is. After all, you find out the strength of the German army by fighting against it, not by giving in. You find out the strength of a wind by trying to walk against it, not by lying down."

Well, my efforts in these areas have pointed very clearly to my deficiencies, and I've been pondering what to do.

I want to be more patient and less irritable. I'm convinced of the need; I'm willing to make a consistent effort, and so...what? What are the steps? What are the action items that take me from where I am to where I want to be?

I can just bite my tongue more, I suppose. That's progress because at least I keep my irritability inside and it doesn't hurt anyone around me. But I am not sure it works on addressing the problem itself.

I know that ultimately, change comes through the Atonement of Christ. But I also believe that He expects action and striving, that it is not simply a quick change He zaps into my heart.

So, I've been praying and pondering. What do I do?

The answer came with quiet force, and in a short time it has been quite transformative. The answer is empathy.

If I can truly see the world from another's point-of-view, I have very little room to be irritated or frustrated. If I truly understand the limitations and challenges of another's life, what he or she is struggling with and worried about, I don't have to clamp my lips shut. The feelings of irritation dissipate--they just don't matter anymore.

I think empathy is a virtue that is talked about so much now that it risks becoming a cliche, or a passing fad.

However, to the Christian, it is much more than that. It seems to me that empathy is the root of Christ's unending love and mercy for us.

Consider the words of Isaiah: "Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows." (Isaiah 53:4). Hebrews 2:17 tells us that Jesus was made like us so he might be merciful.

The Book of Mormon takes this idea into great depth. Speaking of the Messiah, it says, "And he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind; and this that the word might be fulfilled which saith he will take upon him the pains and sicknesses of this people. And he will take upon him death, that he may loose the bands of death which bind his people; and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities." (Alma 7:11)

In other words, it is not some supernatural knowledge that gives Christ His mercy and tenderness for our human weakness, spiritual and physical. It is empathy, something He gained first hand by experiencing that weakness himself. The one that knows us most--including our weaknesses and failings--is the one who also shows us the most compassion, the most patience, the most love. I am coming to believe that He is not patient, loving, forgiving, and empathetic; it appears to me that He is loving and forgiving and patient because He has empathy.

That is not a new idea; I'm not sure why I never quite put it together. But in the meantime, I am finding efforts to be empathetic to be a powerful tonic for irritation and unkindness. I have long believed that empathy was an important virtue; I'm now coming to see empathy as the root, source, or fuel for many virtues.

A Few Thoughts on the Seer Stone: This is Kind of Old News

*Update: The title of this post--about the old news--comes off a bit snarky, which was not my intent. I'm bad at titles, and was trying to sum up my post in a few words. A better title would be: "Not Quite a Secret." I would change it, but that can mess up URLs and stuff.

Yesterday, the Church released the pictures of Joseph Smith's seer stone and there has been a great deal of furor, with some people saying that they felt lied to, or at least that the truth was kept from them.

I don't mean to minimize these concerns, and I'm sorry that some people feel so troubled by this news. I am not trying to argue with anyone's feelings, nor address larger issues.  But a lot of the discussion I've seen seems based on the premise that the Church has been covering this story up, and that's the idea to which I want to respond, because it's a fairly factual sort of thing.

This seer stone/hat thing has been public knowledge, at least since at least 1993 when then-Elder Nelson's talk to the Mission Presidents was printed in The Ensign. It may well have been out there before that, but I started paying attention to stuff like this in 1993.

In the talk, "A Treasured Testament," Elder Nelson acknowledged, "The details of this miraculous method of translation are still not fully known. Yet we do have a few precious insights. David Whitmer wrote: 'Joseph Smith would put the seer stone into a hat, and put his face in the hat, drawing it closely around his face to exclude the light; and in the darkness the spiritual light would shine. A piece of something resembling parchment would appear, and on that appeared the writing. One character at a time would appear, and under it was the interpretation in English. Brother Joseph would read off the English to Oliver Cowdery, who was his principal scribe, and when it was written down and repeated to Brother Joseph to see if it was correct, then it would disappear, and another character with the interpretation would appear. Thus the Book of Mormon was translated by the gift and power of God, and not by any power of man.'(David Whitmer, An Address to All Believers in Christ, Richmond, Mo.: n.p., 1887, p. 12.)"

The Ensign is a pretty public forum, so this doesn't seem like the Church was hiding much to me.

Beyond that, the account published in the text of The Book of Mormon talked about the Urim and Thummim. It is the account I learned in Primary and Seminary. Is a seer stone all that much more unusual than the old account, which basically amounts to two seer stones attached to an ancient breastplate?

In other words, it's not like the Church has been putting forth a rational, logical explanation for years and was suddenly caught suppressing the bizarre truth. Now, if Joseph had claimed to have translated this according to his own knowledge of ancient languages, or to have written it himself, this would be shattering to those claims.

But Joseph claimed to translate this by the gift and power of God, including various seeric objects (the presence of which are mentioned in The Book of Mormon) Is the specific method or instrument really that important?

The coming forth of The Book of Mormon has always required a degree of faith and suspension of disbelief. It required believing in angels, visions, and the translation of an ancient record by an uneducated boy on America's frontier. It required faith to believe yesterday. It requires faith to believe today*.

I sincerely believe it to be the word of God. It's power in my life is beyond dispute. I feel closer to God when I read. It feeds my soul and convinces me that I want to be more like the Savior, Jesus Christ. It teaches of grace and love and mercy, of the hope for redemption, and of the physical reality of Jesus in persistent and profound ways. But these feelings have always had to be arrived at in a way that had nothing to do with the physical creation of the book.

**Update: Based on a comment, I want to make it clear that I'm not saying this doesn't matter at all, nor do I mean to imply that if someone is struggling they simply need to have more faith (in a glib sort of way. All of us need more faith, I suppose). But I did want to point out that this account has been published in an official, very public Church source and is, technically, not something new. And, that accepting The Book of Mormon has really never been a strictly rational proposition.

Tender Mercies on the Spiral Staircase: A Personal Reflection on Struggles, Blessings, and the Eternal Round

Fifteen or sixteen years ago, we lived in New York City, where we had moved so I could pursue a doctoral program. We had three small children, lived in a tiny apartment, and because of serious concerns about the local school, my wife home-schooled. We both had demanding Church callings in our small branch, and I worked full-time and went to school full-time, taking as may credits as possible to graduate as soon as possible.

We loved the people we met--neighbors, members of the Church, and colleagues at school and work. They were kind to us and so wonderful. But, we were far away from home and our accustomed support network, doing difficult things in a place that was so different than what we were used to, it seemed like a foreign country some time.

All of these factors took a heavy toll. These years were incredibly difficult in just about every dimension of life: financially, emotionally, physically, and that included a lot of stress on the marriage. It triggered some pretty severe depression and anxiety in me, and things were very bleak. (It was hard for my wife as well, but she's a private person so I'm not going to talk about her as much).

I don't mean to imply it was all bad. God certainly walked with us, and supported us, mostly by sending some of the wonderful people I mentioned above. We had some great adventures; our children were exposed to the richest cross-section of people I can imagine, saw some important historical sites, and had a bonding experience we still reference. It was hard, but it also served as crucible in some important ways.

Early on in this adventure, our district had a visitor, Elder Craig W. Zwick of the Seventy. Many of the members of our little branch had never seen a General Authority. Our branch took in some of the worst projects and areas in Brooklyn, and probably New York City. People lived very humbly, and it was beyond exciting to have a visitor from headquarters.

Because I played the piano, I was usually asked to be the accompanist at any meeting, and this was no exception. I played the hymns for a priesthood leadership meeting, the Saturday night adult session, and then the two general sessions (we always had two of everything: one in English, one in Spanish). Elder Zwick was inspiring and he fed our souls, helping us feel the Spirit, and conveying the love of God in such a powerful way it nearly felt tangible.

And then he left, and life went back to normal. Back to the day-to-day difficulties and the challenges and the intense stretching as we struggled to be parents, and struggled to pay bills, and struggled to go to school, and struggled to homeschool, and struggled to work, and struggled to be there for each other and on and on. Suffice it to say, we struggled.

For a large part of that time, we lived next door to a senior missionary couple from Utah, Elder and Sister Hymas. They adopted us and showed us great kindness in so many ways. A number of other couples did the same thing, but Elder and Sister Hymas were closest to us geographically, and also had the longest tenure there.

Sister Hymas did her laundry at the same time as my wife and she became an anchor for her. This wise and loving woman had lived through hard times, had raised a family and was now well into grandchildren. She gently gave advice sometimes, but mostly, she listened and just allowed my wife to have someone to talk to.

Well, fast-forward sixteen years or so. Saturday, I was asked to play the piano at a large Church training meeting. Because of other callings I've had, I haven't played the piano at a meeting in eight or nine years. But I was happy for the chance.

The visiting authority was Elder Craig W. Zwick. He was accompanied by Elder Hymas, also of the Seventy--the son of the Elder and Sister Hymas we loved so much.

The meeting itself was good (and that is saying something since I generally don't like meetings). But more than that, I was overwhelmed with powerful emotions.

Playing the piano in a meeting with Elder Zwick reminded me of that meeting years earlier, and I could not help but note the contrast in our lives.

Those three children have grown up now; all three of them will be heading off to college this fall, two on full scholarships. Two have returned from missions, and the other isn't old enough, but has a list of academic accomplishments that make me proud. They have all worked incredibly hard this summer, saving money and giving every indication of being successful adults.

We've since been joined by two more children, both of whom bring life and joy to our home and hearts. They will be our companions now, and we are excited to have an adventure with just the two of them.

The doctorate is done, and it has gone on to bless our lives in more ways than I can name. It has been profoundly helpful and positive for our family. Likewise with the experience I gained working full-time as a teacher in NYC.

We live now in a quiet, tree-filled place. It is a modest house, but it is more comfortable and much nicer than the old apartment where we lived. Our yard is larger than the entire block we lived on in NYC. I still go out at night and enjoy the silence, the lack of smells from uncollected garbage, and the silence--the absence of yelling or sirens or honking, or the loud garbage truck with flashing lights that came every Wednesday night at 1:00 AM to empty the dumpster in the factory across the street.

Perhaps most of all, the stress and difficulty of those years formed a bond between my wife and I. We are not perfect, nor is our marriage. But it has gone from being something we had to constantly work at, to being something we enjoy. The comfort we have with each other, the connection, and the confidence bring deep stability and comfort to us.

God has blessed us in ways I never could have imagined, and probably wouldn't have dared to dream. Our life isn't perfect, but it is so good. And so much better. In addition to the tender mercies he gave us, then--and there were many of those--I am struck by another things.

The choices we made in those years have yielded tremendous dividends. Because we were desperate for blessings, we lived the gospel as best we could, following prophetic counsel, keeping commandments and covenants. All those things--covenants, counsel, and commandments were enormous gifts from God because they taught us how to receive blessings we didn't even know were possible. They were investments in long-term blessings and happiness.

 I believe Stephen Covey was the one who suggested that when the Lord says his course is "one eternal round," we might consider that as an upward spiral.

I have noticed over the years that my spiritual life often seems circular, or at least cyclical. A wonderful scriptural example of this is the fact that the angel who was originally sent to reprove Alma the Younger was the same angel who came years later to comfort him during a trying time in his ministry (Alma 8:14-16).

I suppose the point of these experiences is to encourage us by allowing to look down that long spiral staircase and see just how far we've come. This pattern seems to me to be one of the tenderest of the tender mercies of the Lord.

Lord, is it I?

Today on my way home from work, I listened to a cd my mother gave me that sets to music some of the key moments of Jesus' life. One of the more moving songs reminded me of a moment I've always found to be incredibly profound.

It occurred during the Last Supper, when Jesus told his apostles that one of them would betray him. Their response resonates so loudly in my soul, pushing me perhaps more than any other single verse of scripture.

Their response to the news that one of them would betray him was simple--devastatingly so: "Lord, is it I?" Matthew 26:21-22

It appears that Judas did know the Savior referred to him with the question. But the innocent ones did not know, or at least did not know with enough certainty to remove their need to ask.

I find this profound for so many reasons. These were men had already given up their lives to follow him. They had walked and talked with him and been present at some of the most significant moments of his ministry. Having given up the last few years of their lives, they would, in coming years, give up their lives once and for all, killed because of their conviction that Jesus lived. They did not lack certainty, nor did they lack understanding.

But apparently, while certain about Jesus, they were uncertain about themselves. It seems they doubted their own strengths and their own ability to be faithful. It seems that they, who knew and loved Jesus better than nearly everyone else, did not know if they were also capable of a terrible betrayal.

In our world, there is so much certainty. I am tempted to call it a plague. So many people are so often sure they are right about so very much. The news, and our individual newsfeeds, witness the loud surety that most people have. It is human nature, I suppose, to suppose that our convictions are true and right. Of course, that is not only arrogance. Most of us have arrived at certain conclusions for certain reasons, having made honest attempts to do so in good faith. Unfortunately, by definition, that makes other people wrong and, often, evil.

We have moved from, "Lord, is it I?" to "It's all you!"

It seems to me that the question the apostles asked is worth asking again today. Is it I?
Am I wrong? Am I part of the problem? This question is worth asking at work, at church, in society at large, and, especially, in relationships.

Asking that question, and placing that particular pronoun in that question requires a great degree of humility. Indeed, it is so difficult to do consistently that I begin to wonder if the apostles were perhaps not doubting themselves so much as they were demonstrating tremendous strength. Or were they simply honest enough to know that they were mixed bags, like the rest of us--competing parts of good and bad, strength and weakness, virtue and vice?

The ability of these early disciples to believe Jesus, totally and completely, to follow him by hazarding literally all they had is inspiring. But their ability to hold fast to him while questioning their own goodness, and refusing to succumb to the very human temptation of looking to blame others, that is remarkable. Stunning, in my mind.

The older I get, the more tightly I cling to a few core convictions. These have been proven in my life over and over. Among them is absolute belief in Jesus Christ and his gospel. His reality illuminates my life, as do some other truths that flow from that central source.

At the same time, I also see that I now question much that I once felt sure about, usually because I have come to understand something I did not earlier realize. Opinions I once held with perfect clarity have tended to get cloudier with time and distance. Especially when these opinions had to do with my evaluation of others, or my interactions, and my certainty of my own rightness, intelligence, and understanding.

I have learned enough to know that I am a mixed bag, as capable of folly as I am of wisdom. Actually, if I am honest, far more capable of folly than wisdom. My own imperfections and flaws bring me to me knees, seeking guidance from the only one who was not a mixture of good and bad.

And while I am on my knees, I find myself asking more often the question only I can ask, using the pronouns only I can use: Lord, is it I?

The answer is bracing. For usually, in almost any human interaction, the answer is, "Yes."

Some Random Thoughts About Depression

Why I think it's important to talk about depression:
I'm not sure I'll actually post this. It may be too personal. And, I'm not entirely sure I have anything to add to the discussion. But I'm driven to write this in the hope that it might help someone somewhere. And, after writing and deleting a few times, I keep feeling like it needs to be said. 

Years ago, a fellow teacher with lots of experience changed the course of my career when he shared something with me. It was just an incidental comment, something he did in his class. To him, it was just a mention of what worked for him. To me, at that time,  it shifted my perspective and made a big difference.

But that shift couldn't have happened without the conversation. I hope that if enough of us talk about depression, perhaps one of those conversations will be the game-changer (oooh! sports analogy on the drama/writer guy's blog!) for someone sometime. 

I recently came out of a gaping depression. I didn't even realize it was happening until it was almost over. After all these years, it still snuck up on me (yes, I know it should be "sneaked" but that sounds so pretentious to me). Because of that I want to make some notes while it's still fresh. Please understand that I am fine. I'm happy and well and life is good. I'm not asking for sympathy and I'm a little uncomfortable discussing it. But I do hope to contribute to a conversation that I hope may help someone. 

It seems important to be open about this, regardless of any stigmas or the fact that it sometimes makes people uncomfortable (including me). One doesn't want to wallow, after all. But silence, I believe, can be deadly in this case. 

I want to say three quick things that I think are important and I hope people will read them. Then I'll pontificate and blather a bit and talk about what has worked for me and so on and everyone can tune that out. But the first three points are important. They aren't unique but I think they are terribly important.

Three important points: 

1. If you have depression you are not alone. It is an illness that many, many people struggle with. One of the most pernicious symptoms of depression is a feeling of isolation. A terrible certainty that you are deeply, utterly, and irrevocably alone, and that you deserve to be. There is a sense of being broken and flawed, and of being unique in your brokenness. Depression feeds on this confidence that you are alone and awful. As much as you know it's not the case, it is still so easy to simply believe that you are weak and/or bad. I have found it useful in the past to know that other people struggled with it. It comforted me and helped fight the isolation. So, I find it important to speak up. 

2. God loves you in the most powerful, radiant, and constant way possible. I know that's true. There have been times that I had to cling to that knowledge, lashing myself to it like a sailor being tied to a mast in a hurricane. There were times when that's all I had. But it turned out that it was enough, and it's always carried me through.

I fear that it's very easy to mistake depression for a sign of Divine displeasure. I've known many devout Mormons over the years who have thought this. I've also had friends from other faiths who struggle with that, so I believe it's quite common. Please, I beg you, do not give in to this temptation. It's an ugly, ugly lie. 

God loves you. You have worth and value and purpose. Your life is his masterpiece and you are his joy and hope, his work and glory. The fact that you don't feel it simply means that the clouds are covering the sun, not that the sun has gone. It's still there. The clouds will pass and you will walk once more in beautiful, live-giving, soul-warming light. Hold on. Please, hold on. 

3. Depression is very real. It's not just in your head. It's not a sign of weakness, and you can't pull yourself out of it anymore than self-discipline and a positive attitude will cure your heart disease or diabetes. Treat this as an illness and get qualified help. As science advances, we get hints and revelations of a very complex, but very real condition. All kinds of well-meaning people have no idea what this is and what is involved and what it does. Over the years, I've heard terrible advice and things that were just wrong from people. Be careful about allowing people who don't understand to have too much influence on the way you think about this. 

A few things that help me:
II'm writing this next part because there is a high likelihood that most people either struggle with some form of depression, or know someone who does. In the spirit of the conversation I mentioned above, I have a few thoughts to pass on, for whatever they may be worth. While depression isn't something I think people can just pull themselves out of, I have come to believe that there are choices I can make that either minimize or maximize depression's hold on me. Of course, I'm not a mental health professional. These are just my thoughts and if anyone is struggling with depression, they need to seek competent professional care. What I say here is based on my own experience, and others may have different experiences. 

Two of the things I've slowly learned over the years are sort of contradictory. The first is that when I'm depressed, I'm going to feel crummy no matter where I am. My inclination is to curl up in my room and shun the whole world. But, while that's what I want to do, it doesn't really help anything get better.

It's brutally hard, but I find it's better to focus on my responsibilities at home, at my church, and at work. Pushing myself to go and be present for my family, to keep going at work, and to show up at church meetings has saved me I think. In the very worst case, I don't feel any worse in these places then I would at home. And, t I often end up feeling better to some degree.

Attending to these responsibilities reminds me that I have a purpose in life and that, no matter how flawed I may be, there are people who depend and rely on me. Since depression often brings intense feelings of worthlessness and a desire to simply cease existing, this can be a useful tonic. Beyond that, simply having something to occupy my mind helps a great deal.

The other day, I was at the bottom of this recent spell. I wanted to be alone and to crawl under my blankets and just vanish, or at least sleep. My family was on a visit to my wife's family at the time, so I wasn't on my home turf. My mother-in-law very gently invited me to go out and get a bite to eat with everyone. She didn't push or apply pressure. She just invited me.

My immediate response was to decline. But between her invitation and my own tiny spark of rational thought, I accepted. And I had a great time. The longer we were out, the better I felt. I doubt I was sparkling company. But chatting with people, though difficult in some ways, took my mind out of the endless loop. It didn't make everything better, but I ended the night in a much better place than when I began it.

In almost every case I can remember, going out, doing things, and engaging with the people around me helped minimize the depression. Maybe that's not true for everyone, but it is for me. But it's really hard. It's always the last thing I want to do. My natural introversion feeds this tendency, but I've learned it's not helpful.

The caveat to this--the contradictory part--is that I also know my limits and there are sometimes when I just can't. I don't understand what mental or physical mechanisms are at play, but I just can't. There are times when I need to retreat and rest and rebuild my strength. 

Although I talked about using what bits of willpower I have to meet my fundamental responsibilities, I am also careful not to push myself to do other things that would stress me out or require my emotional and mental resources. I have become very comfortable over the years excusing myself from various events and activities that just seem like too much. If I had the flu no one would expect me to attend a social event, right?

On these occasions, I am grateful for supportive friends and family members who accept my assessment of my limits and give me the space I need to rest while the episode passes.
(If you are close to a depressed person, this is a fine line and I wish you well. It's hard to know when to push and when to give space. I wish I could give you better advice. The one thing I would suggest is not discussing it during a bad spell. When it appears your l0ved one is doing better, I would gently bring it up then and ask for guidance. )

Another lesson I've learned is that I will not, simply will not, make any decisions when I'm depressed. Everything is too foggy and murky during these times. So, I won't make decisions, including and especially decisions about my value and status as a human being. 

During spells of depression, excessive feelings of guilt can develop. In more rational times, I can say, "You know, I'm a pretty good husband, but I could improve in XYZ." During a depressed period, I slip so easily into, "I'm a terrible husband and I've brought nothing but misery to my wife and it would be so much better if I had never been born." In the light of day, that is simply not true and I know it. So that's why I don't make decisions. I essentially hire myself to be a secretary for myself. When thoughts of any kind come, I say, "I'm sorry. Mr. Bell isn't taking calls right now. Call back when he's himself again. Good-bye." I have to do that relentlessly, but it works. 

As a corollary to that, I have found that it is useful beyond measure to strive for almost machine-like logic and rational thinking in day-to-day life. For a raging Type-B creative sort of person, this is a challenge. But I find that trying to discipline myself to be logical and linear when I'm not depressed creates a shield against the irrational, illogical thoughts that come so quickly and easily when I'm depressed. It's sort of like off-season training that allows me to compete when I need it. 

Of course, one of the challenges is recognizing that depression is starting. It's subtle, at least at the beginning, and you can end up being hammered by it for a while before you recognize it. 

Over the years, I've learned to recognize some of the triggers, but also something I think is more important, and that is the symptoms. Depression hits everyone differently. But I find that it is fairly consistent in how I experience it. So, I've tried to train myself to watch for certain patterns of thought and, as soon as I notice them, I go into my management plan. 

Something else that helps me a lot is exercise. I know that doesn't do it for everyone, but in my case, it's a game-changer. My doctor prescribed 45 minutes a day and when I follow this, it really helps. It doesn't make everything perfect, but it helps a great deal. Doing this every day helps me, but sometimes life gets busy and I struggle to do this. But when I feel a depression coming on, I make it a priority. 

Another thing I do is let my wife know it's coming. That way she can help keep me grounded. It's also good since it has an impact on her and the family, and she can be ready. It's good for her to know that if I am suddenly withdrawn and taciturn it's not because she did something, or that I'm mad etc. 

I try to keep very busy with things that occupy my mind but don't require me to think about myself. Reading is a big help for this. I try to find a good page-turner that I can get lost in. I may also do the same thing with movies. A lot of writers I know have depression. I wonder sometimes if depressed people turn to writing because it's a good way to help keep the mind active and away from depressed thoughts. 

I try to get extra sleep, and I try to do things I like. This is not the time to be tough and push myself to new heights of self-discipline. It's a time to circle the wagons and keep warm and cozy. 

I really believe that being too self-indulgent can allow depression to cripple you. But I also believe that pushing too hard is a recipe for disaster. It's a tricky balance, and I don't know that there is a right answer. I do think that carefully and prayerfully pondering that balance is very helpful BUT NOT WHEN YOU ARE DEPRESSED! That's time to go easy on yourself and not try to make decisions. 

One of the symptoms of depression is a desire to simply cease existing, to have never been born. This is difficult and painful, but it is fairly common, from what I understand. It is different from being in a place where you start to think about taking your own life. I am fortunate that I don't get to that point. But for anyone who does, I would beg you to designate a person you can talk to. Let them know in advance that you are their safe person. Maybe even come up with a keyword or phrase so you can let them know easily that you need help. 

One of the great lies of depression is that you'll never be happy again, that you are doomed to a life of misery, and that the world would be better off without you. In the throes of the spell, you really believe that. It seems so true. But it passes. It always does. That's why suicide is such a tragic thing. It is based on a lie, and is an irrevocable response to a real, though temporary, problem. 

(*Sorry for the weird highlighting thing. Not sure what's going on there)