I stopped blogging between May 2007 and July 2008.  Following is a list of posts explaining my absence:

• My dark year of the soul
• The bright spot in my dark year
• My rock bottom

So in my other post, I promised more details regarding my prolonged blogging absence. Why I make promises like that, I’m not sure, because really, more than a year has gone by and do you know how many details are in a year? Well, there are LOTS of details in a year. And here I sit staring blankly at this darn screen with nary a hint of where to begin.

So I guess I’ll get right to the point. My very worst point. Because isn’t that what you’d really like to know about anyway? I mean, when I’m reading someone’s blog, I’m generally thinking, “OK, that’s nice. But what’s the bottom line here. WHAT’S THE BOTTOM LINE.”

So my bottom (as in rock bottom) was about this time last year. It was probably the day my dad (a seasoned Marriage and Family Therapist who’s seen his share of people with issues) asked me very seriously if I was suicidal. The question alone was enough to take my breath away, but what really frightened me was my answer. I’ve had my share of anxiety and I’m definitely melancholy, but suicide? That was never even on my radar screen until last summer.

I’ve known people who were suicidal and you know what, being on the other side of it was totally different. I figured anyone who was suicidal just wanted to die, to be gone, had no reason to live. I suppose that may be the case for some, but not for me. Actually, I didn’t want to die. To the contrary, I WANTED my children to have a mother and my husband a wife. And I WANTED to be my children’s mother and my husband’s wife. I WANTED to see my children grow up, to grow old with my husband, to enjoy life and to fulfill my life’s purpose. My thoughts of suicide were not out of want to be gone, but simply out of want for <i>relief</i>.

It’s hard to describe, but emotionally, I felt like I was walking along the top of a sharp mountain ridge with steep cliffs on either side. I was desperately trying to keep moving forward but as time went on, I felt like I was losing control.  I was terrified that something was going to push me over the edge…make me snap, cause me to have a nervous breakdown, hurt myself or my kids, I didn’t know what. I asked myself on several occasions, “Is this what it feels like to lose your mind?” The energy it took to simply put one foot in front of the other and keep going was totally exhausting. I completely lacked motivation and my daily goals were literally reduced to two things: making sure my kids had three meals a day and making sure they were safe in their beds each night. Anything on top of that, like having fun, connecting with my husband, seeing friends or going to the store was gravy.

Now, I realize there are a lot of people in the world dealing with far worse circumstances than I was. And I think we humans are designed to withstand periods of intense emotional stress. But for me, the thing that made my situation feel so crippling was that it seemed endless, indefinite. I saw no “light at the end of the tunnel.” I couldn’t imagine how things might change. Stuck. Everything seemed immovably stuck. I now have a new understanding of hopelessness. And as tragic as it sounds even now, it’s the hopelessness that made death seem like a relief.

Keep in mind that the whole time this was happening, I really had no box to put it in.  The symptoms of depression showed up about the same time I found out I was pregnant and I had never had depression before.  But I have had challenging 1st trimesters in every pregnancy so in my effort to make sense of it, I figured I was just having a particularly difficult 1st trimester.  And even though the story sounds relatively coherent now, going through it was a different story.  It was nothing but blackness.

And then there was the guilt.  I cannot tell you how overwhelming the guilt was.  I mean, here I was with SO MUCH compared to most.  I had a great husband, 3 healthy children & one on the way, all my needs were met, etc.  I’d try to will myself out of it–”I just need an attitude adjustment,” or “I need to be grateful for what I have.  So many people would love to have what I have,”  or “I’ve been pregnant 3 other times, I can handle this,” or “Just pull yourself together and suck it up.  Stop being a wimp,” or “I’m sure God called us to this place so stick it out.”  I had one close friend tell me our church was not growing because of me.  I was plagued with guilt.

And then there was the confusion about what God was doing.  To me it seemed like God was showing signs that our time at our church was over.  Meanwhile, Brian was sensing the exact opposite.  And I’m thinking, “What gives God?  We both want desperately to do what You want us to do and we’re asking, so how is it that we seem to be getting totally different answers?”  And then we’d get opposite messages from people around us.  Some would say they thought we should leave; others said they saw us there long term.  I was desperately confused.

I had my moments of anger towards God, but mostly I felt abandoned by Him.  I definitely felt abandoned. Surely He saw me in pain; did He overlook me?  But as I said, this is how I felt; it wasn’t what I knew the Bible promised.  I knew the Bible said He will never, ever forsake me.  But was this an exception?  Was He really a good God?  At this point, I was even questioning whether I still believed the Bible.  In the end though, I chose to believe, not because I felt it (CERTAINLY not because I felt it), but because He had proved Himself over and over again before.  And believe me, I had to dig deeper than I’ve ever dug  in order to hold on to the promise that He never lets go and that He IS good, even when things seem so bad.  His goodness is transcendent, even if I can’t see it.  So I hung on…and I made it clear to Him that I didn’t know how long I could keep holding on.

Meanwhile, Brian and I were completely missing each other in every way.  We argued constantly.  We were both dealing with so much stuff (me with my junk and him with the huge responsibility of leading a church that was clearly at a major crossroads).  Saying we were on different pages is the understatement of the century.  But then, in the course of 2 days, God broke through as if to say, “ENOUGH!  The confusion is over.”  It was at that point Brian realized how badly I was doing.  He immediately resigned from his position…and watched his vision die right before his eyes.  I know it was enormously painful for him.  As far as I’m concerned, his sacrifice on my behalf is probably the single most healing part of my recovery to date, and a real-life example of Ephesians 5:25 (”Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her…”).

So, we sold our home and many of our possessions, we moved across the country to my parents’ house, Brian found a teaching job, we found a new church home that ministers to our souls, we bought a new home and we’re starting a new chapter.  I have no doubt we’ll be in full-time ministry again but I’m grateful for this season of rest and reflection.  There is a lot to process after an experience like ours and I expect we’ll be doing so for years.  But one thing I already know: I hit bottom…and there was my Rock.

It’s been 14 months since I last posted. I think it’s high time for an update.

1. got pregnant with Baby #4
2. got sick during pregnancy with Baby #4
3. spent 2 months curled up in a ball on the floor thinking it was due to Baby #4 but later realized it was due to depression
4. had intense marital problems the entire summer of ‘07
5. finally had a breakthrough when we realized I was depressed
6. husband chose to resign 2 days later knowing his job as senior pastor was a huge factor in my depression
7. sold our house 1 week later
8. sold about 1/3 of our belongings and packed the rest in a POD
9. loaded ourselves and our (then) 3 children in our two cars and drove across the country to my parents’ house because we had nowhere else to go
10. gave birth to Baby #4
11. all 6 of us lived with my parents for 6 months (my parents deserve a reward)
12. husband found a job through a divine course of events
13. bought & moved into a house 10 miles from my parents
14. struggled with continue to struggle with guilt for not being able to hack it as a pastor’s wife, for causing my husband to give up his vision in exchange for a job he loathes and for the damage I caused to everyone while I was curled up on the floor and barely functioning (see #3)
15. giving thanks for a husband who is self-sacrificing, kids who are resilient, parents who are supportive, friends who are encouraging and a God who restores hope, bestows grace, fills in the places where I lack and never let’s go despite how dark it seems to me. Praise Him.

More details to come…

Mike recently left the following comment in response to my post, You May Feel Alone, but You’re Not. Given that he asks such an EXCELLENT question (and a question which is so rarely asked—do I hear an “Amen!” PW’s?), I thought his comment deserved a place of higher honor (i.e. a post all to itself as opposed to a comment which runs the risk of getting lost in the bowels of this wacky site).

So PW’s, speak up! Before you lies a golden opportunity to share your thoughts, comments and ideas about this crazy world of pastor’s wifedom.

Here’s Mike’s comment:

So, I found your site today while looking for some perspective on being a pw. I have a calling on my life to pastor and really want to make it easier for my wife. My question is; what could your husbands do to help? I’m thinking of some simple things like always referring to [my wife] by name rather than ‘my lovely wife.’ But what else?

Let ‘er rip, ladies.

It happens to me about this time in every pregnancy. It’s the deeply profound realization that I’m going to give birth to this child whether I like it or not. (I don’t like it.) I’m excited to meet our new addition (he really needs a name), but I’m not particularly excited about going through what I have to go through to get him here. I try to convince myself that it won’t be that bad. But I’m just lying to myself.

Some say I should just have the epidural. I’ve thought about it, but I’m way too pessimistic. Somehow I’ve convinced myself that sure as shootin’, I’ll be the one in 4.2 gazillion that ends up paralyzed from the procedure. I told you I have issues.

And how can it be that as soon as they put that new little munchkin on your belly, you realize you’d do it all over again. Gladly.

Our church has an ever-increasing population of young, single adults and the topic of dating and marriage seems to be a popular one. Here’s an excellent article written by Elisabeth Elliot (married three times, widowed twice—once due to murder) and I found myself “amen-ing” all the way through. Her experience and timeless advice is just as relevant today as it was back when she wrote it.

Her suggestions aren’t exactly what you’d read in the pages of Cosmopolitan (or Cosmopornitan as my husband calls it). No, they’re more what you’d read in the pages of, well, the Bible—stuffy as it sounds. Call me crazy, but I tend to think the Creator of the Universe has a bit more knowledge on the subject than the current “Sex & Relationship Guru” who themselves are often divorced and devastated in love.

And if you don’t want to read the article, here’s the bottom line: exercise a little wisdom and restraint now and reap amazing fulfillment and relational wholeness for a lifetime. Now there’s a concept.

So, apparently the Young Singles group at our church is coming over to our house in a few weeks to talk about dating, courtship and marriage. It’s amazing. The titles “Pastor & Pastor’s Wife” have made us experts in so many things. I love it. We know completely nothing and then all of the sudden someone says, “Meet the pastor and his wife” and BAM! people think we know a whole lotta stuff. Trippy.

Anyway, so the group is coming to our house and we’re gonna tell ‘em what’s up when you’re a young twentysomething lookin’ to tie the knot. I’ve been thinking about this quite a bit and so I thought I’d share with you my thoughts—for two reasons. First, if I’m totally high, I know you all will tell me so. Second, if you’ve got anything to add, I’d be totally stoked because it’ll make me look that much smarter.

So, here’s what I got so far:

Number 1. Deal with your crap.
Number 2. Don’t marry a loser.

(That’s right. I’m the pastor’s wife and I just said crap. And I will say it many more times in this post. Hey, Paul said it—in the Bible, no less. Phil. 3:something. It’s usually translated “dung” but knowing Paul, I bet he actually used a word more equivalent to our “S” word. I have my limits though, you know. After all, I am the pastor’s wife.)

Anyway, let me recap:

Number 1. Deal with your crap.
Number 2. Don’t marry a loser.

I’ve tried and tried to come up with something more eloquent, but alas, something more profound totally escapes me. (It ain’t the first time.) I really feel those two things pretty much sum it up.

Here’s how I plan to elaborate:

Deal with your crap. It may come as a shocker to you, but you ain’t all that. Contrary to what you think, you are not Mr. or Miss Right. No, you’ve got crap and the quicker you recognize and admit it, the better the world will be. It’s nothing to be ashamed of nor are you the only one who’s got issues. We’ve all got crap. It just is my friends.

(By the way, when I was a young twentysomething lookin’ to tie the knot, this was particularly difficult for me come to terms with. I really, honestly, in my heart of hearts thought, felt and believed I was all that and a bag of chips.)

Crap comes in all shapes and sizes. In general, I define crap as the pain which comes from yours or someone else’s sin. That pain, in turn, makes you do, say and think things that are, well…either sinful or just plain stupid. I don’t know how else to say it. So, figure out what your crap is and get rid of it.

Next, realize that you will acquire new crap as time goes on and until you die so commit now to adopting an attitude of “Crap is not good and whenever I find myself with more, I will rid myself of it as soon as possible.”

Don’t marry a loser. This one seems like a no-brainer, but I am constantly amazed at how many people marry losers. And perhaps the term “loser” is a bit strong but I use it because it’s punchy. When I say loser I’m not referring to the terrorists, serial killers and pathological liars of the world. When I say “Don’t marry a loser, ” I mean, DON’T MARRY SOMEONE YOU REALLY DON’T WANT TO MARRY. Again, a no-brainer, right? You’d think so, but it’s amazing how quickly common sense goes out the window when someone (1) thinks their biological clock is ticking loudly, (2) just found the “perfect” wedding dress despite not having a groom, (3) is getting constantly interrogated by well-meaning (whatever) friends and relatives with questions like “When are you going to settle down?”, (4) can’t stand the fact that their ex has clearly moved on, as evidenced by his/her recent $10,000,000 wedding, (5) has been a bridesmaid not 3 times but so many times she’s lost count, (6) suddenly has pangs for parenthood, (7) has already become a parent and is riddled with guilt that the kid is growing up without a mother/father, (8) wants to buy a house but needs someone else’s good credit rating, (9) is convinced there is just no other good men/women left in the world so “I’d better just take the next available one that comes along.” I could go on, but you get my point. Oh yeah, one more thing. If you’re a Christian in search of a mate, remember this formula: Not Saved = Not An Option. Period.

Anyway, I’m running out of steam and I’m getting a little tired standing up here on my soap box. Besides, I now have to go live vicariously through the people racing around the world on The Amazing Race. I want so badly to be a participant on that show but I can’t because I’m too afraid of what sort of ugly, unbecoming behavior would most inevitably leak out in the heat of the battle for that 1 million bucks. It’s just my crap. I’m working on it.

Q: Why do grandparents and their grandchildren get along so well?

A: They’re united by a common enemy.

My son’s new prayer:

Dear Jesus,

Please help us to go to McDonald’s and help me to have a good sleep.

In Jesus’ name,

Amen.

I have to admit, I don’t blame him. I would pray the same if my grandparents took me to McDonald’s, let me stay up two hours past my bedtime playing on the playground, let me order and consume an entire soda (despite my 2 1/2 year old size, my overdue bedtime and before I even touched my hamburger & french fries) and then let me order and consume a large ice cream cone to top it all off.

Grandma and Grandpa’s scheduled day of departure was the following morning so, unfortunately, they were denied the opportunity to experience the fallout effects of their evening of fun and frolic.

My husband and I are not gift-givers. We don’t get each other gifts for birthdays, Father’s/Mother’s Day, anniversaries, Valentine’s Day etc. We do give each other cards, but not gifts. Some can’t get over it. Well, there are two reasons for this. First, gifts are not part of our love languages. (If you don’t know about love languages, check out the book The Five Love Languages: How to Express Heartfelt Commitment to Your Mate by Gary Chapman.) Second, we’re just plain cheap.

But anyway, here’s a gift idea that I think is quite cool–something Amy Gahran, author of the blog CONTENTIOUS gave to her husband. She arranged for one of her husband’s favorite authors to call him on his birthday for a brief conversation. Apparently it was quite a hit and the conversation lasted over an hour. Anyway, she gives some tips on how to pull it off yourself. Doesn’t seem very hard to do…if you’re one of those gift-giving types anyway.