Thankful ... one year later

It’s Thanksgiving weekend.   I don’t as a rule do turkey, but the chickens are thawing and will go in the roaster this afternoon, to be served along with mashed potatoes and gravy.  The pumpkin pie is in the fridge (thank you, Costco!) and miraculously only has one piece taken out of it so far.

I remember Thanksgiving meals when my father would preside over the head of the table and once we had our fill of food, he would say, “Let’s go around the table and say one thing we’re thankful for.”  I inwardly groaned every time, not because I wasn’t thankful, but because every answer, every year, was along the same vein:  “I’m thankful for family and friends and people who love me.”  I meant every word, but I also knew it was the correct answer and what my father expected me to say.

I was thinking back to last Thanksgiving and reflecting on where we were then and what all has transpired in a year. 

One year ago, my husband was an owner-operator driving truck long distance.  He was released from his contract with the trucking company and the truck has been sold.  He tried his hand at selling cars, and might have made a go of it had the effects of his depression that he was trying to tamp down not gotten the better of him.  He is just coming off of 4 months of not working and being on short-term disability.  He is planning on going back on the road as a driver and may be in the truck as early as next week, and he’s OK with that.  One year later.

Sons #3, #1, #4, #2 ... one year ago

One year ago, my oldest son (son #1) was busy with university and a girlfriend and it seemed like he was moving forward with his life and by all accounts, was doing really well.  In spring, the relationship with his girlfriend ended and he was devastated.  It was almost as if he stopped living and put everything on hold while he grieved, and once he was mired in that emotional pit of grief and despair, he had a tough time climbing out.  He opted not to return to university this year and just last week actually found a job and soon will be among the ranks of the employed.  It’s been tough for him, but I think he’s doing better.  One year later.

Son #4 ... one year later

One year ago, my youngest son (son #4) was in his last year of high school, playing varsity volleyball and having a pretty good season.  He graduated high school in June and was accepted at one of the local universities, but was going to have to relinquish any hopes of playing volleyball at the university level.  He was nearly resigned to that happening, until he was contacted by a coach in British Columbia who had seen him play at club Nationals.  This coach saw something in my son that he liked, and he wanted him for his team.  A couple of road trips to BC later, and my son is getting settled in to school life half-way across the country, and if a recent Skype call is any indication, he’s doing fairly well!  One year later.

One year ago, sons #2 and #3 were both ensconced in their respective faculties at university, and that’s where they are a year later.  One year later, it is son #2’s final year of eligibility to play volleyball and he has become the bearded, mature one on the roster, providing the team with maturity and leadership.  He seems to have taken a rookie under his wing, a rookie who is the same age as son #4.   

One year later, son #3 is helping to coach his old high school varsity volleyball team.  He continues to grow (and not just his hair) and mature as a young man.  I’m so proud of these sons who are giving back to younger men; not just imparting their volleyball insights and expertise, but also encouraging growth of character.  

One year ago, I was busy managing life, work and volleyball schedules.   As I reflect back, I see where I have been pushed and challenged to trust God.   I find that I am still busy managing life, work and to some extent, volleyball schedules, but I don't feel quite so frantic and out-of-control.  One year later.

The things I’m thankful for haven't changed in the many years since I sat at that Thanksgiving table with my father and mother and the rest of my family.  I am still very thankful for family, friends and people who love me.  If anything, my list has been expanded.  

I’m thankful for my husband and my family, my sons, and their friends, for the people who love me and the people I love.

And I am most thankful for a Heavenly Father who is faithful and true in all things, year after year.

Psalm 106:1:

Praise the Lord!
Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good!
His faithful love endures forever.

Seeds of Hope

Victoria, B.C.

I appreciate beautiful gardens filled with flowers and greenery, but I wouldn’t claim to be a gardener.  I know that seeds need good earth, water, sunshine and perhaps some fertilizer to germinate and grow.   Gardens need a watchful eye and careful tending to pull the wayward weeds that sprout in close proximity, trying to rob the seeds and plants of nutrients and stunt their growth.

We were recently on the west coast, in British Columbia.  We stayed with friends on Vancouver Island who live in a beautiful setting only a few minutes from the ocean.  My friend has landscaped their yard beautifully and created a garden the likes of which you would see showcased in Better Homes and Gardens.  Unlike me, she has a green thumb and loves working in the dirt and among the flowers and plants.  I walked among her garden and admired the fruit of her work on display in the different colours, shapes and textures.

 

There’s a good reason why I don’t garden and have household plants … I have the uncanny ability to kill just about any plant.  Even an aloe vera plant (aka the “healing plant”) isn’t immune to my touch.  I think that the only garden I should be allowed to have is a rock garden.  A rock garden couldn’t be too hard to maintain, could it?

Fun fact:  The longevity of a sequoia tree can be up to 2,000 years or more, but I find it interesting that the seeds sometime remain in the cone for up to 20 years.  Forest fires help open the cones which then grow from the burnt, bare soil.  (from http://www.treehugger.com/natural-sciences/16-spectacular-facts-about-giant-sequoias.html)

How interesting for the sequoia that it may take a seemingly devastating situation like a forest fire for the cone to open, and for the seed to grow. 

Just living is a struggle most days for my husband, who lives with major depression.   It feels like we’re in a forest fire situation with his depression.  In the last few months, he has told me a number of times that even though the heaviness of living with depression is often overwhelming, deep down there is still a seed of hope in him.

Similar to a plant seed, this emotional seed of hope also needs a safe place to develop and take root.  Affirmation, encouragement, grace and unconditional love would be equivalent to the earth, water, sunshine and fertilizer that a planted seed needs. 

Ivy growing wild by our front door

I find myself clinging to my own seed of hope, praying that the hope that is in my husband will grow larger and stronger and take root.  There are some days I feel like my hope that I am clinging to needs to be big enough for both of us.

I’m trying to be patient while hope and health germinate in my husband.  Like any other seed, it’s a process and it takes time – sometimes longer than we would like.

   

Beauty among the weeds in my front "garden"

Despite my lack of gardening skills and a rather black thumb, there is still beauty to be found among the weeds.  There is hope in that.

Psalm 33:20-22
We put our hope in the Lord.
    He is our help and our shield.

In Him our hearts rejoice    for we trust in His holy name.
22 Let your unfailing love surround us, Lord,
    for our hope is in You alone

Just breathe ...

It’s done.  The time has come and gone.  A little more than a month of preparation and somehow it all happened.  Zackery has left home to go to school in British Columbia.  I find myself walking past his room now and wondering when he’s going to be home.  This morning I just stood in his room and looked at the things he didn’t take with him.  But that’s what Wal-Mart is for.

Just breathe.

It was a whirlwind road trip out to BC for Eric, Zackery and me.  We drove straight through, about 24 hours’ driving time in total, and once we found the house where Zackery would be living, we emptied the car and went straight to IKEA to buy his bed and a desk.  As if the day hadn’t been long enough already!   I’m not sure what we were thinking at that point in time, as it was a Saturday afternoon and it seemed nearly everyone in the area was also shopping at IKEA.  But having a bed seemed to be a priority! 

After basic groceries and essentials (a coffee maker) were bought at the nearby Wal-Mart the next morning, Eric and I drove off and left Zack to his new adventure, and we ferried off to Vancouver Island to spend a few days with friends.

Just breathe.

The days of rest on the Island were much needed for me.  For a couple of days, I left behind the stresses of life and getting a son ready to leave home.  I didn’t think about work except to send a picturesque photo of the seascape to my boss.

 

Eric and I had a good laugh when one of our friends suggested that we hit up the local coffee place, browse a used-books store nearby, and then find a beach to sit and read.  Hello?!  That’s just my ideal vacation!  The mocha at the coffee place was divine, and in the next couple of days, I finished both books that I picked up at the bookstore.

Just breathe.

Unfortunately the days of rest and relaxation were over far too soon.  It was time to start thinking about heading home and back to the realities of regular life.   “Regular” life.  I have a daily routine of going to work, cooking, cleaning and laundry, and praying that my husband is having a better day than he had the day before.  Depression doesn’t do “regular”.  We had a bit of a reprieve on our little holiday, but now it’s back to the tough work of living day to day.

For the past few months I have been more anxious, as I anticipated Zackery going so far away to school and with Eric not working because of his depression.  I have felt like I was carrying the whole load on my shoulders, and it was getting heavier every day.  But in those anxious moments, I knew that God was with me and taking care of me (us).   

Just breathe.

Through all my fears and my anxiety, I have had a strong sense that God’s timing was different than mine, and where I like to have all the pieces laid out and ready to put together, I have recognized that this has been a time for me to exercise my faith muscle and trust in God’s plan and timing.   I like to know how the bills and groceries are going to be paid for, and when we’re down to just my income, it’s been challenging to figure out how all those pieces are going to get worked out.   

But in the midst of my fretfulness, I choose to take a deep breath, exhale, and proclaim that God is good and that He loves me.  What more can I do than that?  It may seem trite to some, but He is my lifeline.

Just breathe.  

I heard this song on the radio and it has stuck with me, with the refrain on repeat in my head on some days.

Breathe, just breathe
Come and rest at my feet
And be, just be
Chaos calls but all you really need
Is to just breathe

https://youtu.be/hnjeMwxFuBA 

Philippians 4:6-7

⁶ Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. ⁷ Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.

Psalm 46:1-3, 10

¹ God is my refuge and strength,
    always ready to help in times of trouble.
² So I will not fear when earthquakes come
    and the mountains crumble into the sea.
³ Let the oceans roar and foam.
    Let the mountains tremble as the waters surge!

¹⁰ “Be still, and know that I am God!
    I will be honored by every nation.
    I will be honored throughout the world.”

Chapter Closed on Club Volleyball

Another club volleyball season has come and gone.  The last one.  Our ninth year in a row as club volleyball parents … done.  That chapter has finished.   I’m sure there will be time for some sadness and grieving … once the last load of laundry is done and I can purge the sports bag of that pungent odor.

I remember when we started out with our older son and everything about the club volleyball season was new and unfamiliar.  Thank goodness we were surrounded by other parents in the same boat and we all learned together.  I’m especially thankful for one volleyball mom in particular who had been in the game a little longer than me.   I learned so much from her, although I still couldn’t tell you if a player on the court is out of rotation.   We shared bleacher seats during club seasons and school seasons.  Thank you, Friend (I think you know who you are).

  

And just a quick shout-out to the WinMan Volleyball Club, which we have been privileged to be a part of these last nine years.  Who knows??  Perhaps our involvement will continue in some way other than as athlete parents.

The last hurrah was Nationals in Saskatoon this past weekend.  My son’s team was ranked somewhere in the middle of the 40+ teams, and that’s right about where their final ranking in the tournament ended up too.

Photo Credit:  WinMan Wave Camp

I remember when my youngest started out learning the sport of volleyball.  He had the advantage of having older brothers who played, so by the time young Zackery joined a club team, we had about 4 years of experience as club parents under our belts.

Zackery enrolled in Mighty Mites to learn the basics, and went to skills camps in the summers.  When he started out, the camp t-shirts came down past his shorts. 

He never seemed to have any difficulty learning the timing, techniques and footwork needed for the sport.  His love of the trampoline seemed to continuously flow through his legs even on the volleyball court, pushing him to jump higher and increase his vertical.

Photo Credit:  WinMan Wave Camp

We’ve watched him grow, not just in stature, but also in his mental game.  Mental toughness.  That was the mantra at our house one year as my husband drilled into the boys what it meant to play through adversity.  Zack has exhibited mental toughness in spades as he has dealt with various challenges on different teams.  My son amazes me at his positive spirit and never-say-die attitude; always wanting to improve and to be the best that he can be.

I love watching my son play.  He shows grit, determination and passion for a sport that he loves.  He works hard on the court and strives to lead by example.  

He is an encourager, offering a pat on the shoulder to a teammate to commend a well-placed shot or solid block, or to help shake off and re-set after a shanked pass or a missed serve.

This past weekend at Nationals, the team had a fairly decent first day and only lost one match.  That one loss came at the hands of the eventual bronze medallists.  The luck of the draw put them in a very tough pool on the second day against top-tier teams. 

Photo Credit:  Peter Seekings

The result from day two was not what the team was hoping for, as they lost all of their matches.  But the boys Competed.  That’s “Competed” with a capital “C” … and probably an “O-M-P-E-T-E-D” too.  They challenged their opponents in each match and kept each game close.  Parents from other teams commented on how well our team played against them.  Unfortunately, “close” only counts in horseshoes.

There was emotional anguish at the end of day two, knowing that the hope of finishing in the top tier was not to be.  This was their last year, their last chance, and a Tier 1 finish wasn’t going to be realized.

On the last morning of play, the boys lost their first match and their tournament was done.  They seemed to struggle a bit and their legs looked tired.  They finished playing the night before after 9 pm and the morning game started at 7:30 am.  Morning games have never been this team’s forte!  (Because how many teenage boys function well in the mornings?!)

Photo Credit:  Peter Seekings

Some commented that the boys just didn’t want it bad enough.  I don’t think that’s the case at all.  They wanted it.  But sometimes the legs can’t give what the will wants.  The boys had competed so hard the day before that I believe they left everything on the court and had nothing in the tank for the final day.  

My husband talked to a few of the boys afterwards and tried to encourage them with these words:

The measure of who they are as young men isn’t reflected on the scoreboard, by the colour of the medal around their neck, or by their final ranking. 

The measure of who they are as young men is reflected in their skill and the strength of character that they exhibited in how they competed and conducted themselves on and off the court.

Our boys competed.  Our boys showed character.  They showed up and played and I couldn’t be prouder of my boy, and of his teammates.

Well done, WinMan.  Well done, Zackery.

Spring has sprung, the grass is riz ... I wonder where the garage sale is?

Spring is springing upon us, slowly but surely.   Along with Spring’s arrival will come the inevitable signs on the boulevards indicating it is also Garage Sale Season.    It’s the time for Spring cleaning and clearing out.  Box stuff up and try and make a buck.  So you can buy more stuff.  

 I’ve never been a “garage sale-er”.  I’m not even sure the proper term to describe someone who goes to garage sales … Scavenger?  Picker?  Rummager?  Spendthrift?

Personally, I just don’t enjoy poking through other people’s stuff.   As the saying goes, “one man’s trash is another man’s treasure”.  But I feel like I’m pillaging through their property and invading their personal history as I paw over their stuff.  Never mind that they’ve chosen to put it out there for people to see and also put a price on it.

Don’t get me wrong … I have a lot of stuff that might be garage-sale worthy.  I have a whole basement full of stuff.  Do I really need to keep those red and black checkered cropped pants from the ‘80’s that I know are in a box somewhere?  I can tell you for sure, I’m not fitting back into those pants anytime soon.  Or ever again.

But let it be noted that I am not a hoarder.  Just check off the box that says “Procrastinator” beside my name; I can always find something else more pressing to do than sort through boxes of junk in the basement.  

If I were to have a garage sale and put our stuff out on display for all to see, I would feel so exposed.  “Here’s my stuff! Have a look!  Make me an offer!” And then I expect to feel rejected when people look at the wares I’m peddling and see it for the junk it really is.  Maybe not, but that’s how I imagine I would feel if I were to ever have a garage sale.  I’d probably end up apologizing for the low quality of my trash and offer to pay people to take it off my hands.  Not really a good business model for a garage sale enterprise hoping to make a few bucks.

I’m pretty sure I’ve also got a lot of emotional junk that I carry around in the basement of my being.   If I would feel exposed and uncomfortable setting out my red and black checkered pants on a table for sale and for all to see, I am sure the level of shame and emotional distress would be increased if I bared my soul.   My personal insecurity would whisper "Rejected!" in my ear.

I struggle with forgiveness.  I say I have forgiven people when I have been hurt, but have I really?  Do I continue to carry the offense around with me in my back pocket, ready to pull it out at a moment’s notice to endorse my victimhood?   By the same token, where I have wronged others and asked for forgiveness, why do I feel like my wrongs are perpetually going to be waved in my face? 

What is the measure of forgiveness?  How can I know that I have forgiven and been forgiven? 

I am certainly no theologian and make no claim to have all, or any, of the answers.  I do know that “forgive and forget” is not found in the Bible.  (http://www.gotquestions.org/forgive-forget.html)

But this is what I do know: 

When I confess my sin before God, He is faithful to forgive me.  Because of His grace extended to me, I am able to extend forgiveness and grace and love to others.  I can only be responsible for the condition of my own heart and my own relationship with Jesus Christ. 

God, in His great mercy, sees all my trash and emotional junk, and because He is God, He loves me anyway.  His arms are always open; He will never reject me.

For now those red and black checked pants will just stay boxed up, unless I decide to re-purpose them into a throw pillow or two.

Matthew 6:19-21:

¹⁹ “Don’t store up treasures here on earth, where moths eat them and rust destroys them, and where thieves break in and steal.²⁰ Store your treasures in heaven, where moths and rust cannot destroy, and thieves do not break in and steal. ²¹ Wherever your treasure is, there the desires of your heart will also be.

Romans 4:14-16

¹⁴ So then, since we have a great High Priest who has entered heaven, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold firmly to what we believe.¹⁵ This High Priest of ours understands our weaknesses, for he faced all of the same testings we do, yet he did not sin. ¹⁶ So let us come boldly to the throne of our gracious God. There we will receive his mercy, and we will find grace to help us when we need it most.

Isaiah 64:5, 6, 8

We are constant sinners;

    how can people like us be saved?

⁶ We are all infected and impure with sin.

    When we display our righteous deeds,

    they are nothing but filthy rags.

Like autumn leaves, we wither and fall,

    and our sins sweep us away like the wind.

⁸ And yet, O Lord, you are our Father.

    We are the clay, and you are the potter.

    We all are formed by your hand.

Washer-Whispering and Whispered Prayers

I call myself a “washer whisperer”. You’ve heard of horse whisperers communicating with horses?  Well, I have a wild washer in the basement that I need to whisper sweet nothings to on a fairly regular basis to keep it washing, rinsing and spinning.

The need for the whispering started about two or three years ago when all of a sudden the washer started chiming a different tune and blinking an error message.  A new washer definitely wasn’t in the budget, and neither was an expensive repair, but we did get it checked out for a nominal fee and had a part replaced.  The repairman left with the advice that it should be good to go, but if the error message returned within the next 30 days, we should call them back.  Of course, it was about day 33 when the error message with its not-so-amusing chiming rang out.  I didn't bother to call the repairman back.

I quickly learned what buttons needed to be pushed, and in what sequence, and what dispensers to completely empty in order to coerce the washer into another load.   Of course pulling the plug for a PF (Power Failure) for a hard re-set seemed to work too.

There had been no error messages for quite some time until last week.  Of course, this would be on the day before heading out from Winnipeg to Brandon for an overnight volleyball tournament with my son.  Kind of crucial to get some laundry done, including shorts, socks and volleyball gear, never mind the mounds of laundry for everyone else in the family.

The washer chimed its error song and I went through my usual re-set routine; power on, power off (multiple times), and finally unplug.  And then I did what I probably should have lead with … “Oh God, help me.  I really need to get the laundry done.”  

Plug in.  And wash.

You’d think I would have learned by now to perhaps start with prayer.  How often do I try and accomplish tasks and handle situations on my own first, and only when I feel things slipping away do I finally get on my knees and ask Him for help?! 

I have become a pray-er.  I may struggle with going to church on Sundays (and so I am probably considered a lost soul by Mennonite relatives), but I have never stopped talking to God and doing my best to tune my ear to hear what He wants to say to me.  

We used to go to a church where the pastor preached spending time in your "prayer closet"; just you and God, alone for a certain specified amount of time.  While I think that's a great idea, at the time I was a mom with 4 small children, and my only closet time was spent either finding clothes or sundry lost items, or hiding out for a few minutes of peace and quiet.

I struggled with feeling "less-than" because I just didn't have the time (or energy) to retreat in silent prayer.  I had an epiphany of sorts, and understood that God was going to be satisfied with whatever I could offer up to him during the course of my day.   That was incredibly freeing to me, and I believe that this revelation was what set me on the path to be a pray-er; to pray about everything; to never stop praying.

It doesn't matter if I'm driving in my car, riding on the bus, walking from here to there at the office, while I'm cooking, baking or even doing laundry.  My Father God delights in hearing from me when I pray and wait on Him.  I'm not a great orator or "out-loud" pray-er, but I know without a doubt that He hears all of my whispered prayers.

1 Thessalonians 5:16-18:

¹⁶ Always be joyful. ¹⁷ Never stop praying. ¹⁸ Be thankful in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you who belong to Christ Jesus.

Philippians 4:4-9"

⁴ Always be full of joy in the Lord. I say it again—rejoice! ⁵ Let everyone see that you are considerate in all you do. Remember, the Lord is coming soon.

⁶ Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. ⁷ Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.

⁸ And now, dear brothers and sisters, one final thing. Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise.⁹ Keep putting into practice all you learned and received from me—everything you heard from me and saw me doing. Then the God of peace will be with you.

Life sucks. God is good. The end. Part II. (Or … Always Pray. Never Give Up.)

I wrote my previous post on December 9, 2015, entitled "Life sucks. God is good. The end" and two weeks later, my husband was terminated from his job.  Life sucks.   Today, February 1, 2016, was his first day of a new job.  God is good.  The end.

Much has happened in the six weeks between termination and re-activation.  As I look back at how everything unfolded, I can see how God has been orchestrating and preparing us for the situations we found ourselves in.

God had already been planting seeds for change in both of us.  Eric was hoping to get out of the truck so he could be home more with the family.  He had been thinking of selling the truck and working in a completely different field, possibly even back into sales.

For me, I was having to adjust to having my husband home again.  All the time.  Every day.  I love him, but my grace has a limit.  I needed to know that if he was going to be home, all the time, that he was going to pull his weight around the house.  Fix things.  Do dishes.  Make meals.  Do dishes.  Yard work.  Do dishes.

Early in fall, we traded in our older used van for two newer, smaller vehicles, and as we sat in the dealership in the midst of negotiations and in between test drives, Eric said, “I think I could sell cars.”  He even went for coffee with our salesman (an old friend of Eric’s from college) to talk about selling cars. 

On a cold late December day, had we been able to find the block heater cord for the Ford Escape when three of us had looked for it, Eric wouldn’t have searched up the number for the dealership, and may not have seen the ad Birchwood Ford placed looking for salespeople.  He went down to the dealership right away, and wouldn’t you know it, that block heater cord was front and centre and in plain view.  Except none of us had seen it.   I interpret those events as God’s hand at work.  Not only did we find the block heater cord that day, a seed of hope grew, and a new resume was written.

Today was Eric’s first day of work at Birchwood Ford. So if you’re looking for a new or “pre-owned” vehicle, contact him and he’d love to get you behind the wheel of the right vehicle for you (shameless plug).  Or if you're in the market for a highway tractor (a big truck), we've got one of those to sell too.

My biggest fear when Eric came home with the news that his contract had been cancelled, was that his already fragile emotional state would shatter completely.   During his many years of living with major depression, he has always assured me that he has never made a plan to end his life, but I wondered if this blow would be the thing that pushed him over the edge.  

I have been praying for Eric and his emotional well-being for a long time; most of our 26 ½ years of married life.   After a number of years, my prayer was whittled down to “Help!” and “How long?”  I don’t know how often I prayed this Psalm:

Psalm 13
¹ O Lord, how long will you forget me (Eric)? Forever?
    How long will you look the other way?
² How long must I (Eric) struggle with anguish in my (his) soul,
    with sorrow in my (his) heart every day?
    How long will my (his) enemy have the upper hand?
³ Turn and answer me, O Lord my God!
    Restore the sparkle to my (his) eyes, or I will die.
⁴ Don’t let my enemies gloat, saying, “We have defeated him!”
    Don’t let them rejoice at my downfall.
⁵ But I trust in your unfailing love.
    I will rejoice because you have rescued me.
⁶ I will sing to the Lord    because he is good to me.

Today’s “Daily Bread” devotional reading was from Luke 18 which tells the parable of the persistent widow.  In the parable, the widow goes to the judge repeatedly asking for justice.  After awhile the judge grants her request just to get her out of his hair because she's driving him nuts.  Luke 18:1 sums up the reason for the parable:  “One day Jesus told his disciples a story to show that they should always pray and never give up.”  Always pray. Never give up.

I’ve had seasons where I have felt like I was praying without ceasing, but I couldn’t see any answers.  Nothing seemed to change.  How long, O Lord?  Always pray.  Never give up.

I’ve been so encouraged in the last 6 weeks.  It’s not been easy, but I’ve been able to see where God has worked to bring a measure of wellness to Eric’s emotional health.  I’m not saying he’ll never be depressed again, but I am so proud of him for how he has handled the ups and downs of life lately.  15, or even 10 years ago, he would have climbed in bed and just stayed there for at least a week. 

Always pray. Never give up.  Because sometimes life sucks.  But God is good.  The end.

But I trust in your unfailing love.

    I will rejoice because you have rescued me.

 I will sing to the Lord because he is good to me.