Depression Is...

Depression is laying your head down in your arms and crying hot tears, even though the sun is shining bright in the Independence Day sky, your salad is sure to be a hit at the family get-together tonight, and your husband wasn’t put out a bit that dinner was incredibly late. Still, the wretched tears will come even though there is no logical reason for them to be there.

Depression is sitting in the parking lot looking at the distance from the car to the doors of the grocery store, and not knowing how you’ll ever have the energy to walk there.

Depression is drinking a whole pot of coffee, but the only way you can tell you’ve consumed that much caffeine is because your sluggish mind can register that your heart is doing weird flips.

Depression is being able to stare into the distance for hours with an empty mind.

Depression is clinging with your arms around your husband’s waist, knowing that he is the only thing keeping you upright.

Depression is knowing that one of these days his loving support will run out and he will leave.

Depression is standing in the store staring dumbly at the laundry baskets, knowing that you need one but not having the energy to carry it to the checkout.

Depression is leaving the store without the laundry basket.

Depression is treading water, being so tired, so exhausted, but knowing that if you stop, you will drown.

Humbling.

Trying to start memorizing more Scripture. So I decided to start with Isaiah 53, cause I learned it in high school so it would be a good starting point. Except now the chapter is putting me in awe. Have you ever read that chapter verse by verse, slowly, savoring every word and committing it to memory?

Who hath believed our report? And to whom is the arm of the Lord revealed?

He shall grow up before Him as a tender plant, as a root out of dry ground. He hath no form nor comeliness, and when we shall see Him, there is no beauty that we should desire Him.

He is despised and rejected of men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief, and we hid as it were our faces from Him. He was despised, and we esteemed Him not.

So humbling—we do this day in and day out. We esteem Him not, we hide our faces from Him…He stands at the door and knocks, God has sent His only, perfect, lovely, begotten Son down to this earth to be tortured and despised and crucified by sinful, rebellious wretches. The Potter killed by the clay. What a wonder, what an unfathomable way—“For My ways are not thy ways, neither are My thoughts, thy thoughts”—and this indescribable grace is initiated by the very God who we have rejected and despised. How we ought to bow in humble adoration to this glorious King! How we ought to adore, magnify, and obey Him! How we ought to love Him!

Ahhh....

Ahhh…now this is what I love about my Bunn coffeepot. It makes me half a pot of black goodness in 1.5 minutes. Half a scoop of sugar, a dash of Caramel Macciato creamer, and I’m ready to face the day. At 10:06 in the morning: Sigh. I love/hate milking week. On the one hand, it’s great. I get to spend all kinds of time with my wonderful hubby, I get to sleep in til 10 without feeling guilty, and I have the perfect excuse to only clean the minimum essentials of my house for the week. However, I also get entirely sick of living in a mess, I’m tired all the time anyways, and frayed nerves and lack of sleep mean me and hubby start to snap at each other;  like this morning. Oh well, love goes on. It was mostly my fault to be honest. J  So now all I have to do this morning is: clean bathrooms, wash barn laundry and guest bedroom sheets, make dinner, make muffins for breakfast, put mulch on the garden, etc. etc. etc. This is what happens to procrastinators. Still, I’m happy. My house is clean enough, the mulch will still be there on Monday, laundry isn’t too difficult in these modern days, and I get to finally break out my breakfast cookbook and salivate over the gorgeous muffins inside. Lemon Crumb Muffins. Yum.