No Man Cared For My Soul, Part One
Monday, November 29, 2010
I looked on my right hand, and beheld, but there was noman that would know me: refuge
failed me; nomancared for my soul. Psalm 142:4
Have you ever felt like that? Have you ever wondered if there was anyone who cared about you? I have! There was a time in my life when I felt exactly like David did when he wrote this Psalm. I felt that no man cared for my soul.
I want to share with you my struggle with depression. This is a long story, so please bear with me. The struggle began when I was a small child and has continued up into my adulthood. My disclaimer is that I am not trying to "generalize" depression. There are WAY TOO MANY situations and circumstances that people go through for us label them and try to put a bandaid on their hurts. Christians can be so cruel when they pretend to know why a person is suffering from depression and they think the "fix" is to just "trust God more". We need to be careful to be sensitive to others' hurt and pain.
My story started way back before I can even remember. In my mind, I have always been sad. My mother did her very best to bring my sister and I joy and happiness. We did not have a television, so at night we would make up plays and act out Bible stories. One of my greatest childhood memories is when we acted out the story of Ehud from Judges 3. We had a great time as long as my father was gone. When he came home, it was Hell on Earth!
I am sure that many good things happened in my childhood, but my mind can mostly only remember the bad things. I would lie awake in bed, as a little girl, and listen to the sounds. The sounds were what scared me the most. My stomach would hurt so badly that I would be doubled over in pain, waiting....waiting for that dreaded sound that would mean my father had come home. Then it came and the horror would begin. For hours, he would hurt my mom and I would lie there....listening...guilty that I could do NOTHING to help my poor mom. I will not go into detail about what I heard and saw as a child because that will not help anyone. To my child-sized mind, these incidents left scars that are still present.
You may be wondering why my mom stayed with my father for so long. My mom desperately wanted to do right and please the Lord. She was told by her pastor that to divorce would be wrong and so she had to stay with my father.
One night, the last night, my father threatened to kill us all. That was the last straw for my mom! She left that night. We never went back. They divorced shortly after that incident. We went to see our father for visitation sometimes, but he quickly lost interest and we quit seeing him.
My father was killed in a car accident a few years later. I was fifteen years old. To be totally honest with you, I was glad when he died. I didn't have to be afraid anymore. I remember feeling guilty at his funeral for not crying. Now that he is gone and I am older, I regret not seeing him more. I would give anything to talk to him and introduce my children to him. He was a good man that got trapped in sin. Like many before and after him, he died without experiencing the true freedom that comes only from Christ.
To Be Continued....
*there is MUCH MORE to the story, so stay tuned and PLEASE do not pass judgment on me until you have heard the whole story :-)