I struggled with depression and anxiety ever since adolescence, and by the time I was in my mid 50’s I had accepted it as an inescapable part of my life. I was wrong. There was a way out.
I must stipulate that whenever I heard yet another story, testimony, or book claiming I did not need to struggle with chronic sadness and fear it made me angry. Specifically, I remember hearing there was a book called something like Happiness is a Choice. I feel angry even now on behalf of people who are enduring unbearable suffering and how horrible it must be for them to hear this claim.
I also remember various people with irritatingly chronic happiness and how hard it was when they’d declare they’d never been depressed a day in their lives, and then suggest that depression was unnecessary and the people who allowed it to affect their lives were foolish. Or, worse still, wicked.
So I realize that when I declare that I found a way out it is probably very offensive to some people. Let me say that I’m very sorry for your hardships and as a person who has faced some terrible difficulties myself, my heart goes out to you. The fact that you are still here means you are very brave. And so was I. And I also want you to know that even if you are depressed every day of your life, I do not judge you and neither does God. Stay brave!
My whole backstory would be too long, so let me sum up by saying after many years of increasingly awful hardships I found myself living alone and in nearly constant misery, when one day I woke up hearing the Lord telling me to declare, “This is the day the Lord has made, I will rejoice and be glad in it.” Out loud.
I knew from experience that when I felt urges like this, there would be no rest until I obeyed. So, with a resentful attitude and filled with despair, I said it. And then nothing changed. Because there is no such thing as magic words that solve all your problems. I then went downstairs for my morning coffee and spent the rest of the day in misery.
The next day I woke up and heard the Lord say, “Do it again.” And filled with resentment and cynicism over the absurd command, I obeyed. This went on for several days and somewhere around the fifth or sixth day I said, “No! I will not. It’s a lie and I’m sick of it.” I was sick of it because it was only reminding me each day that whether the Lord had made the day or not, there was nothing to rejoice about and I had no hope of ever having anything to rejoice about.
So I got up and headed for the stairs and on the top step I heard the Lord tell me again to say it, and again I said no. In fact, I said no on every step and somewhere along the way I had begun to cry hot, angry, bitter, tears. I was thinking, “LEAVE ME ALONE!” But on the fifth step from the bottom I realized God would hound me until I obeyed and if I wanted any peace I better just give in and do it.
I wish I had a recording because now I would laugh about it. But no one has ever said those words with a worse attitude than I did that day. I could hardly speak; I was crying so hard. I had stopped and was leaning against the wall, and as I spit out each word, in the back of my head I was thinking “And screw this bleeping bull crap!”
And when I was finished I snarled, “There! Are you happy now, you sadistic old man!”
And then, I got my coffee and headed back to my room where I spent most of my life. I came to the top step and then walked around the railing and as I was headed to my door I caught a flash of light to my right on the wall of the stairway.
And then I saw it. I saw an angel on the wall right above the fifth step! Yes, a vivid and distinct brightly-lit angel.
At first, a wave of fear ran through me. I thought I might have lost my mind. And then, there was fear at the idea of a supernatural being just showing up in my house whenever it wanted to. And then, I laughed. Suddenly, it struck me as funny. God’s joke. I almost felt mocked. Like God was saying, “I told you so! This is actually the day that I made. And I made it for you. And I’d like you to have something to rejoice about. So here it is.”
In case you don’t believe me, I took pictures–because it sounded unlikely–even to me. Or like I was insane and imagined it, which seemed highly possible.
I wanted to take a picture of it because I knew nobody would believe me, but I was afraid if I ran to get my camera I’d come back and the angel would be gone. I wondered if I should just stay there and appreciate it while it lasted. But I managed to get my camera and take a couple shots. The image lasted about five minutes and then it was gone, and I started to wonder if I’d imagined it. I kept getting my camera out and looking at the picture I’d taken to be sure. I kept saying to myself, “Yes, it looks exactly like an angel! What else could it possibly be!”
I don’t have to tell you that the next day the Lord did not have to coerce me into my daily declaration. I said it, and remembered the angel that had visited the day before and if nothing else I felt joyful over that much, even if everything else still sucked. Once again, as I returned to the stairs with my coffee there was nothing on the wall, but once again, as I rounded the corner and looked back at the stairway wall, there it was; it was back.
And always, just above the fifth stair from the bottom, where I had leaned and surrendered with a horrible attitude. This impossible phenomena made me laugh out loud. This time, I set up my camera to take a picture of me standing beside it with my hands raised in gratitude. For the next several days, the angel returned at the same time and lasted five minutes or so–and then it was gone again.
Now obviously, there’s a scientific explanation. And after the angel reappeared several times I went off in search of the answer. It seemed clear that it must be a projection from the living room, which is across from the stairway. I’d been accumulating things in that room for a yard sale so there were piles of boxes and many things stacked up on a pool table in the middle of the room.
So I went over and stood in front of the window and walked back and forth slowly until the angel above the stairs vanished. And then, I walked toward the table and moved my hand around behind each object until I could see my own hand across the body of the angel. And I found it. One of the things on the table was an old-fashioned, glass cookie jar. The type that you set on its side so you can reach into the front to pull out a cookie. When I first made this discovery, I felt like I’d ruined the fun. But the more I thought about it, the more it still felt like a miracle.
I tried moving the cookie jar an inch or two either way, and the angel did not appear on the wall. This means I needed to have accidentally placed it exactly where it was, and nowhere else. And of course, when I put the lid on the jar the sun could not shine through it–so what are the odds I would fail to put the lid on it in the first place?
And then, there was the timing. I do not wake to an alarm, and yet I managed to wake up every single day and make my coffee, and then travel up the stairs so that I was standing next to the railing and would see the angel within that five minute window when it appeared on the wall. And the fact that I’d argued with the Lord and given in exactly at the spot where the reflection appeared also seemed unlikely. In any case, knowing it was a cookie jar did not diminish my sense of wonder.
And this was only the beginning, anyway. You might say, the angel pointed me in the right direction.
The next step was that I heard Oprah Winfrey say she did something that totally transformed her life. She said she began naming five things she was grateful for in a journal every day. I’m too lazy to journal, but I decided I should at last try to name things I was thankful for.
The first time I tried it (right after I’d gotten my coffee and seen the angel appear for the day) I was sitting on my bed, straining my mind to think of even one thing I felt thankful for. It was too hard. It made me cry. While I sat there, I noticed the dog and cat kept getting up and moving so that they could remain in the traveling sunbeam that fell across my bed. The same sunbeams that had made the Cookie Jar Angel on the wall from the room below me. So it occurred to me that the sunbeam was pretty and comforting in its own way and that the animals were making the most of it, therefore, I should too. So I said, “I’m grateful for the sunbeam”
I had two thoughts. The first was that my life was pathetic because I couldn’t think of anything worthwhile to be thankful for. But the second thought was a flashback to my very early childhood, and I suddenly remembered that I used to love sunbeams and that I had thought they were magical. I had mixed up the story of Jacob’s ladder and thought that if I looked closely enough I might see angels sliding down the beams like a sliding board. The fact is, I had a very happy early childhood. Those feelings I’d had of innocence and joy came back, as I looked at the sunbeam on the bed. And then I said it again, “Yes, even if my life is pathetic, I am grateful for the sunbeam.”
The next few weeks were filled with challenging attempts to discover things I was thankful for. I had to work hard at it. It sort of felt like I was half asleep and that I had to keep shaking myself awake again to find the energy to observe my own life with the aim to find things to be grateful for.
Over the next few weeks and without realizing it, I was rewiring my brain. Gradually, I began to absentmindedly and habitually observe what I might at one time have thought of as “stupid little things.” As it turned out, there was nothing pathetic about appreciating sunbeams. In time, I realized that it’s all those little inconsequential things put together that make life precious.
I believe that learning to observe and appreciate all those little things helps our minds conclude that life might have its hardships, but overall it’s lovely and we’re lucky to be alive. It’s the difference between living with the lights on or the lights off.
Within a few days of this, I heard from a depressed friend who told me her therapist told her to work on being present. Adding this step to the last gave me a way to more actively observe little things to be grateful for. She explained that he told her to touch anything nearby when she began to feel distant or detached from reality, and that touching something would make her aware of being present.
He told her to begin by describing what she was touching to herself. (“This table is smooth.”) And then she should say to herself that she should be in that moment and tell herself openly how she felt. “I feel sad” or “I feel lonely.” And then she was to remind herself that being sad did not last forever and that someday she’d be happy again, but for now it was okay because a “whole person” feels all types of emotions including sadness.
I thought about this and it occurred to me that what you can touch is only one of five options. I can also look with my eyes, smell with my nose, taste with my mouth, and hear with my ears. So when I found myself feeling absent from the moment, I realized that what I was doing was going back and living in the pain of the past or going forward and living in fear of the future (the things I was afraid MIGHT happen). But engaging my five senses can only happen in The Now.
So I began forcing myself to say “I am here. I am not in the past where the bad memories live, and I am not in the future where I cannot even plan for what might happen. But I am right here in ‘The Now’ where I can….” and then I would name to myself what I could feel, taste, smell, see, or hear. Then I would try to make a note of whether any of those things were good— if I felt good about any of it.
So I might say to myself that I did not like the feel of this fabric, but that I did like the look of those stars–for example. I was beginning to realize that I am surrounded by good things in the present. And in time I decided I no longer wanted to miss out on those things by living in the past or the future.
At some point in this process I thought about how the Lord tells us to be like little children and so I began to meditate upon what makes a child different from an adult. I have often felt a sense of loss for the little girl I used to be. My early years were happy and my father called me Little Merry Sunshine. I often wished I were a little kid again. So I kept asking myself what they do that we don’t do.
The first image to pop into my mind was being a young mother and racing through the rain with a child holding either hand, trying to get into or out of the grocery store. Suddenly one or both of the kids would stop dead in the middle of the road, retrace his or her steps and go jump in a puddle. I’d find it so irritating because now I had to deal with wet shoes and maybe a wet kid. I’d be thinking, “How am I supposed to ever get anything done!”
And I realized that what kids are doing most of the time is dawdling. To them it’s all about the journey. It doesn’t become about the destination until they get there.
And so I made up my mind I’d dawdle more. Kids are born being in the moment. They utilize their five senses every minute of the day. If there’s anything to look at, smell, taste, listen to, or touch— they do. And they do it wholeheartedly. So I began forcing myself to stop and really look at things. I made myself bend over and pick up pebbles and observe whether they were smooth or rough. I made myself look at the patterns in rocks, flowers, and everything else.
I made myself stop and listen, and then told myself what I was hearing. I made myself splash in puddles or put my hand in the fountain. I made myself take artless pictures of raindrops on the clothesline and spiderwebs at night with the light bouncing off of them. I looked and I saw that it was good. I slowed down. I began to enjoy the journey.
Many years later, I was snuggling my toddler granddaughter on a daybed in the yard and trying to get her to rest a little. I diverted her by telling her to listen to the birds and tell me what they were saying. We decided they were saying things like “Pretty pretty pretty” and “Sweet sweet sweet.” Then I asked her what the wind was saying and after thinking a moment she put her finger to her lips and said, “Shhhhh”— the sound we make for “be quiet.” Ever since , when I begin to be anxious I remember that the wind is reminding me to be still.
After a relatively short time of practicing these ideas, for the most part, my rewired brain habitually and effortlessly lives in the moment and expresses gratitude for the little things. Now and then I have to remind myself to actively commit myself to observing the lessons I learned all those years ago. But for the most part, I feel thankful and joyful all the time.
It’s not that I don’t become irritated, sad, angry or other negative emotions. But my old self lived with whatever the opposite of rose colored glasses might be. I once told a friend I must be wearing crap colored glasses because everything seemed mired in it. But now, even when bad things happen, I still have my rose colored glasses on and even in the midst of hardships I can see the good thing and feel gratitude. I can honestly say I am lucky to be alive because, “This is the day the Lord has made; I AM ABLE TO rejoice and be glad in it.”
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Epilogue
Years after this story took place I went to a grief counselor after my son died. I told her the gist of this story. She was astounded and asked what made me decide to do all of that. It seemed sanctimonious to tell her it was God’s idea. She said it seemed remarkable because she’d had to pay for a conference where they taught these same techniques. I was not surprised. After all, Somebody had to give those people at the conference those ideas.
I didn’t put this in the already too long story. But one day I picked up a tiny rock. About an inch. It had a teeny crack running through it. Growing from the crack was a single miniature daisy. I have no idea what kind of flower it was. But it was impossibly small. Like 2 mm. And I felt like God said if he could make a beautiful little piece of life grow out of a rock, making a beautiful life grow out of me would be easy.
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