May 25, 2016 - "The Cure For Depression"

Chaplain’s Corner

May 25, 2016

The Cure For Depression

Good Morning Patriots!

Well, now I understand. Okay, I already understood, but it makes a lot more sense to me now. In case you are not a mind-reader, I guess I should explain what I am talking about.

Post-Partum Depression. You ladies who have had children know it so well. You fathers who have lived with a new mother have seen it in action, and felt helpless to make a dent in it. It seems to be something that makes no real sense, but is a very real problem for many people. Let me explain why I feel like I can understand it better now.

I know that when a woman is pregnant, she has nine months of anticipation. She gets excited, she plans, she dreams of the big day. As she gets closer to the day she gives birth, she goes through a lot of agony over the changes in her body, her chemical imbalances, her hormones, aches, pains, etc. But, even in the midst of all of the pain and agony, she also gets to feel the baby move, and she is ever-aware of its presence inside her. She is comforted in knowing that a miracle is being worked inside her, and that soon, she will be blessed with a new life, a little "mini-me" to call her own, and someone to love and cherish for a lifetime.

The day finally comes, and through all of the excitement of rushing to the birthing center, going through prep and delivery, and the pain of childbirth, she still has a vision of the beauty she is about to welcome into the world. It is a source of comfort through it all, and when she finally sees that new creation in her arms, all thoughts of the negatives she endured fly away as she embraces motherhood with open arms. Tears of joy and thanksgiving overwhelm her as she is cared for, and the baby is taken away for the necessary things to be done, and the mother, somewhere along the line, falls into a merciful sleep, exhausted, but overwhelmed with a joy that cannot be described with mere words.

Minutes turn to hours, and hours turn to days, and days turn to weeks. As time goes by, the whole "anticipation" high that she had been experiencing for so long seems very much over, and is greatly missed. Though she is grateful and beyond happy about the privilege of being a new mother, day-to-day realities set in, and soon she finds herself crying for "no reason" and feeling overwhelmed and tired all of the time. She even feels guilty about feeling this way, but still has a hard time overcoming the pressing depression that lurks around every corner in the day. She thinks there must be something wrong with her for feeling this way, but soon finds out from loving family members and friends that she is not alone, and that many others have shared the same story. They assure her that it is normal, and that it will pass with time.

Well, you might wonder how it is that I feel like such an expert on this whole subject. To be honest, as a father of four children, three of which were born at home, the last two of which I had the honor of delivering, I could say that I have been there and done that in seeing it first hand with the mother of my children. But, really, I didn't have a clue about what she was really experiencing. I had to go through a Post-Partum Depression of my own, and recognize the symptoms, to even get a glimpse of what a woman experiences. The experience I have gone through is not childbirth, but something else entirely, yet profoundly similar.

I had been waiting with baited breath for a couple months for a revival that I was asked to participate in. It was called “Take It To The Streets,” and it was at 29th & Clifton Street on the West side of Indianapolis, IN, in the heart of what most people would call, "The 'Hood." I had been telling people about it for many weeks beforehand. I had been handing out fliers at my business. I had been in prayer daily for God to reach out to us, through His Holy Spirit, and touch the hearts of those who live in the neighborhood. I had been in planning sessions with the Pastors who were setting it up. I had been asked to preach a message on Thursday night, and so I had been wracking my brain on settling on a subject and scripture to support it. I had been giving away crosses and other things to people to inspire them to pray for the event, and for God to have His way with us there.

As the days that led up to it came closer and closer, I was in agony over what to expect, what God wanted me to say, what His plan and purpose was for me in this whole affair. I desperately wanted to be part of something wonderful, something so much bigger than myself, and something that would change the lives of my fellow brothers and sisters. I am accustomed to speaking in public about our Lord Jesus Christ, and sharing the message of salvation. But I was nervous about this event. I was on edge and didn't really know why, except that I truly did not want to let my Lord down. I wanted to be completely obedient to the leading of the Spirit, and I wanted to see Him move in a wonderful way in a neighborhood wrought and rife with drugs, prostitution, theft, and gangs. A place where the wicked one was having his way with the people there.

Finally, the day arrived. I closed my business down at the normal time, made the bank drop, and then headed over there to see what God was going to do. The tent was set up, and the folding chairs were out. The stage was set, the generators were running, the sound system was blaring gospel music, and there was the smell of hamburgers and hotdogs being grilled to feed the neighborhood. There were prayer warriors at the edge of the property with signs inviting people who drove by to stop, and if not, at least to have "drive-by prayer" as they sat in their cars at the curb. We were praying with people, handing out food, crosses, and love. The first night did not see as many people from the neighborhood as we had hoped or imagined, but we had a good turn-out of Godly people who wanted to support the event. Reading of Scripture led to prayer, which led to praise and worship, which led to a circle of believers standing side by side and holding hands and crying out to God to send His Spirit. I was taking hundreds of pictures, and crying the whole time. I could tell that this service was for us, the believers, to prepare us for the next two nights. We did have a couple of neighborhood people come forward and ask for prayer, and we were thrilled to accommodate them. We even had a man driving by quickly pull over to the curb and get out and ask to be prayed with. I was asked to go out and pray with him, and a circle of us surrounded him and laid hands on him, and as I was shaking his hand, I just held on with my right hand, and laid my left hand on his shoulder. I prayed. I prayed out loud. I said whatever came to my mind. I remember some of it, but really do not remember much. I just know that there were several times during the prayer that he gripped my hand much tighter, as if I had touched a nerve with what I was saying. After I finished, he looked me right in the eyes and said a heartfelt, "Thank You!" and he said that it meant a lot to him... then he reiterated that it really, really meant a lot to him. It is wonderful when the Holy Spirit helps you say the things that need to be said...

The second night there, I was privileged to have a turn speaking, and what I said can be seen on my Facebook page in the video I posted. I had my talk prepared, outlined, and ready. I kept praying that God would give me the words that he wanted me to say. During the last moments of praise and worship just before I got up to speak, I was overwhelmed with crying, and there were certain thoughts that kept flashing through my mind as I was choking out the words "Holy, Holy, Holy"... I started blurting out bits of laughter as my senses became overwhelmed with the moment. Suddenly, I knew what I was supposed to say. I didn't know exactly what words to say, but I had it on my heart what message I was supposed to deliver. God was working on me, and it felt good. There were parts of what I said on the stage that seemed halting and not worded very well, but the thought, the intent, the Spirit of what I was trying to say came through loud and clear, and many people let me know that they were blessed by what they heard. I really didn't even remember what I said, and am so happy to have the phone video that was given me a couple days later to share. I just know that when I stepped down, I was in another place in my senses and emotions, and it was sweet.

The third night, we had a Pastor speak who really felt the need to be there. His own sister had just died a few hours before, and he was dealing with his grief, but also felt a strong sense from God that he needed to be there and speak. It was powerful, and we, as well as the entire neighborhood, were blessed as he got on fire and preached against the forces of darkness and preached salvation in the name of Jesus. There was a real moving of the Spirit, and many people were given special, specific blessings through prayer. The service went late into the night, but it was worth every minute...

That was a lot to go through, and it completely wore me out physically, mentally, and emotionally. In the days since then, I have found myself to be in an unusual "funk" and have had a hard time shaking it off. I was a bit worried about it until I talked with my two brothers, Tim Trammer and Lane Seymour, who were instrumental in putting this whole revival together, and found out that they are completely spent, too. God is good, but He can overwhelm you to the point of pure exhaustion. That's not a bad thing. It's a wonderful thing. But in this flesh, we can take just so much, and it does have a lingering effect on us physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.

So, my therapy was to write about it, and that is what I have done here. No agenda. Just sharing. I hope that I may have said something here that blessed you, or inspired you, or gave you food for thought. Through it all, God is good, all the time. And all the time, God is good.

God Bless you, every one, and:
God Bless America!
Stephen King
Chaplain@3upi.com