Depression

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I’m living inside a book return
The door opens and in they come
But I can’t read them fast enough
Light appears and the door slams shut

A thousand books weigh on my brain
A million words calling me insane
Not one can help my soul explain
The depths of my numbness to pain

I suffer beneath a familiar face
Gagged by volumes about my case
Each page numbered with more disgrace
Bound in a box of no escape

No one will ever find me here
No words of hope can bring me cheer
I’m lost in a prank of polished steel
Trapped in the depths of vaulted fear

Behind the lines

“The mind can descend far lower than the body, for in it there are bottomless pits. The flesh can bear only a certain number of wounds and no more, but the soul can bleed in ten thousand ways, and die over and over again each hour.”
~C.H. Spurgeon

This poem was inspired by reading Zack Eswine’s book Spurgeon’s Sorrows: Realistic Hope for those who Suffer from Depression.

 

Mysterious God

William Cowper wrote one my favorite hymns and I keep coming back to it.

Cowper battled deep depression most of his life and poetry was often an outlet to help him cope with his struggles. He placed a title above this hymn, “Conflict:  Light Shining Out of Darkness,” but it’s most known by the first line “God Moves in a Mysterious Way.”

I marvel at Cowper’s attempt to get his poetic arms around the Almighty, Incomprehensible, Sovereign God.  For His ways are higher than our ways. His wonders are beyond anything we can imagine. His grace is infinitely deep, and His purposes stand forever.

May we never lose the wonder of this God of Mystery. The God Who’s revealed Himself through His Word, His Son, the Lord Jesus Christ. Like Cowper, may we take courage in Christ during our darkest days.

Conflict:  Light Shining Out of Darkness

God moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never-failing skill
He treasures up his bright designs,
And works his sovereign will.

Ye fearful saints fresh courage take,
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.

Judge not the LORD by feeble sense,
But trust him for his grace;
Behind a frowning providence,
He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flow’r.

Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan his work in vain;
GOD is his own interpreter,
And he will make it plain.

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