The first Sunday of Advent I walk in to church wanting to smell candles and incense.  At this time of the year especially I miss the high church traditions, since we have been going to church in a bar.  As I walk in, late, I run into an acquaintance and he asks how I am.  There is always a pressure within choosing honesty in the midst of my struggle with depression, while still remaining true to being a positive person, as I wrote recently at Provoketive Magazine.   I ask him if he is well?  With a pause he says “I can’t complain.” And I instantly wonder if he read my piece?

As I walk away, I begin to wonder if anyone reads anything I write?  The old dog of depression is under my feet, tripping me up as I walk into the service.  Silly dog, panting with about me with its “Doubt. Fear.  Self hatred.  Self loathing.  Is there anything I do that matters to anyone anywhere?”

Shaking it off at the same time I take off my winter coat, I prepare to listen to God, knowing that sometimes you simply must choose.  Choose faith. Choose joy.  As I laid in bed earlier this morning, slightly dreading being alive, I chose to get up.  I “do another day” many days when I am depressed, because this is what I choose to do.

I choose to see and feel the Comforter.   At least this is what I am thinking as the band starts up.  They’re really good this morning.  The A team, I think to myself.

We begin by singing…

“Our God is a God who saves… He holds the keys of life, our Lord. Death has no sting, no final word.”

I settle in, in order to stop the hard work of choosing and  let God save me— again.  He is the one who saves.  We are reminded in this song our job is to wait…

We will wait. We will wait upon the Lord. We will wait upon the Lord.”

I raise my hands almost in a plea, a prayer “Oh God, my hope, my Strong Deliverer, you are the everlasting God.” I say the words, choking on them, because I cannot sing them.  Not to worry, my heart tells me, because God doesn’t get tired of being your comforter.

The everlasting God — You do not faint. You won’t grow weary. You’re the defender of the weak.

I am weak, so blasted tired.

You comfort those in need.

I choose you Lord, but I have such a great need.

You lift us up on wings like eagles. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, Your perfect love is casting out fear, And even when I’m caught in the middle of the storms of this life I won’t turn back I know you are near And I will fear no evil for my God is with me And if my God is with me Whom then shall I fear? Whom then shall I fear?

And I weep with the realization that I don’t have to be afraid — of myself, of depression, of the mess in my heart, of the fear of not ever being useful, of my shame for the way my life has come together.

Oh no, You never let go
Through the calm and through the storm
Oh no, You never let go
In every high and every low
Oh no, You never let go
Lord, You never let go of me
And I can see a light that is coming for the heart that holds on a glorious light beyond all compare.
And there will be an end to these troubles. But until that day comes
We’ll live to know You here on the earth
Yes, I can see a light that is coming for the heart that holds on
And there will be an end to these troubles
But until that day comes.

The band launches into :

I will enter his gates with Thanksgiving in my heart 

I will enter His courts with praise

I will say this is the day that the Lord had made

I will rejoice for he has made me glad.

And I’m not ready to “be glad”– this song is too jubilant for me, I am still weary from sobbing my way through worship, barely catching my breath, tears coursing down my face warm and salty.  I feel so loved!  My son, concerned to see me cry twice in as many days and perhaps only a half-dozen times in his twelve years of life, puts his arm around me.  He whispers “Are you okay, Mom?”  Oh yes, I am very okay!

Though I am weary from weeping and knowing and choosing, I know that if I can rejoice, the word in hebrew ‘gil’ means to be glad, yes, I think, even joyful in this, I will endure anything life can bring.  The deep, deep well of despair lifts a little bit more.  I want to shout “Bring it on, Mother F***er!” with a raised fist to the Evil One who has tormented me.  But that would be inappropriate.  I laugh inside, almost gleeful because the inexplicable darkness, the unimaginable hell is lifting.

Psalm 2: 11 says I will rejoice with trembling.  And that is me in this moment.  I sit in stunned reverence.  For God enfolded me this morning in his love through the music, the kicking keyboard and amazing bass, the beautiful female voice and my friend Paul — all those who led us in to the holy of holies.

And as they did, I fell — stumbled toward my God broken, frail, unable to even be glad I was alive.  Simply hoping, tired of the dailiness and deadliness of depression.

Oh yes! Sometimes, you can rejoice even when you had to choose to do it first.

Oh no, You never let go
Through the calm and through the storm
Oh no, You never let go
In every high and every low
Oh no, You never let go
Lord, You never let go of me

And I can see a light that is coming for the heart that holds on
A glorious light beyond all compare
And there will be an end to these troubles
But until that day comes
We’ll live to know You here on the earth

Until that day comes.