“Man it’s hard out here and I’m hurtin,
don’t need no choir girl flirtin/
don’t need no pastor tryina touch on kids
tellin me what I cant wear to church and/
no fake cryin, or preacher lyin
sayin God don’t love me if I don’t tithe/
I need real help, in a real season
Need real faith, in a real Jesus/
I’m hangin on by a thread tho,
Crazy thoughts in my head bro/
Told my grandma to pray for me before I end up dead or im dead broke/
Only few of my friends kno,
What I gotta pretend fo/
Free fallin tryin to hang on to anything I can get my hands on”
-from “Hang On” by Lecrae
“As a deer pants for flowing streams, so pants my soul for you O, God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When shall I come and appear before God?…Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my salvation and my God.”- Psalm 42
It was late May of last year, not long before I departed on this journey we call the World Race. I was sitting with my dad in the kitchen, having one of our all too few deep discussions (too few because of my negligence and pride, not his) when we began talking about what I wanted from the race. I don’t remember how it came up, or even what else we talked about, but I do remember saying, “Dad, I’m going because I have to find the God of the Bible, the God that can change my life. Because the one that we (me) have put into this neat little box here isn’t working for me anymore, and if that’s all Christianity is, I don’t want it. I want the real Jesus, the one who can change me, and nothing less.” This was said after a year of frustration, depression, and hopelessness that I won’t recount here (read my first blogs for those of you that don’t know my story), but I wasn’t aware that this would be the theme of my Race.
And this was a legitimate reason for me coming on the Race. But, looming over this reason in the recesses of my heart was the burning, almost painful desire to be happy again. I honestly couldn’t tell you a single moment in the year leading up to the Race when I had been truly happy. I worked for a wonderful ministry, dated a great woman, was involved in an awesome church, graduated from college (praise the Lord), had amazing friends and an incredible family, and on and on and on. And not one of these things made me happy. But surely the Race will right? Surely traveling to eleven countries in eleven months with awesome people, seeing the world, experiencing different cultures, serving side by side with kingdom warriors, and going on adventure after adventure will bring me some happiness right? Right?! SOMETHING!! ANYTHING!! THIS IS MY LAST OPTION!! The Race has to satisfy me, has to give me something. I felt like Eminem in “Lose Yourself” (for all my fellow white wannabe’s). I was going crazy, I just had to get out.
So I left on the Race. Made it to launch. Survived the dreaded month between training camp and launch where I was just sure I would do something crazy and throw it all away. And then the plane lands in Guatemala City and we begin our journey. And what I wanted to happen was happening. I wasn’t happy, no. But I began to catch little glimpses of joy in the unexpected places again. I began to feel emotions that I hadn’t felt in a year as the icy winter of my depression began to seemingly thaw out. Playing soccer with a Guatemalan church family that truly loved each other and God. Taking little Anderson to school in Honduras as he slaps me in the back of the head screaming “Pelon, Pelon!!” (it means baldie, but I wasn’t offended). Hiking a volcano with some dear friends and an incredible tour guide, now friend, in Nicaragua. Little, unexpected moments of happiness mercifully brushed across the canvas of my life. “Yes!! This is it! Finally, I’m working my way towards happiness again.”
Then comes hard times with a teammate in Nicaragua, teams I don’t agree with in Thailand, Ms. Betty dying while we were in Laos, and the depression becomes coming on again. But it’s different than sadness, and different than any kind of feeling these situations could have caused. It wasn’t the sharp pain in my chest and the ugly, crying so hard that I can’t breathe feeling I felt when Ms. Betty died. It wasn’t the anger I felt in our team problems in Nicaragua. No, these things were actually somewhat of a relief, because they showed me that I was still alive. But this was different. It was that old familiar dullness, that bottomless pit emptiness that I wished I could exchange for pain.
And it wasn’t caused by these few occasions, which are typical of anyone’s life. “But I’m on the Race…how can this be happening? Why am I still not happy? I’m living a life some could only dream of…”
And then, I remembered. This verse that I had memorized long ago that had filled me with a sense of sadness. Jeremiah 2:13- “My people have committed two evils; they have forsaken me, the spring of living water, and have dug their own cisterns, broken cisterns that will never hold water.” I remembered what I had told my dad in the kitchen last May, “I’m going to find the God of the Bible, the real Jesus that can change me.”
Suddenly, I realized that I had done it again. I’ve fallen into that same snare of Satan that I fell into before the Race, it just had different camouflage on it. Tim Keller has a book titled “Counterfeit Gods” in which he describes our hearts as idol factories, constantly churning out little trinkets to try to fill the hole in our heart that only God can fill.
The two poets at the top of this page are both describing the very same truth, albeit at two very different points of history. Our hearts were made for God. Our engine runs on the fuel that is God. And we can experiment with all of the alternative fuel resources in life that we want, and while some may appear to suffice for a while, none can ultimately hold up to the tests of life and time.
Before the race, my fuels were graduating, dating, friendships, working, church, fundraising, family, and on and on. I even tried porn for a little while, which had never even tempted me much. Tried going out. Exercising. The Grizzlies. And nothing worked. I learned my lesson right? It shows from what I told my dad in the kitchen that morning.
Apparently not.
On the race it’s been serving, seeking spiritual gifts, begging to see God heal people, going on adventures, seeing the world, experiencing cultures, investing in friendships. All good things. BUT THEY AREN’T JESUS!! Oh, Lord! When will we learn?! When will I know in my heart, like St. Augustine put it, that “You made us for yourself, and our hearts are restless until they rest in YOU!!”?
So here we go again. I’ve discovered the source of my depression, and I know where the solution lies. In Jesus. In His completed work on the cross. In the hope of a future with the God that created us. Because nothing can heal other than the hope of Jesus. As the psalmist put it in Psalm 73, “Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing that I desire besides you! My flesh and my heart may fail but you are the strength of my portion forever!” Oh Lord, that I may see Jesus as beautiful and lovely and desirable, that I may be able to truly say with Paul, that “I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord”! I want to truly experience you and your freedom, and the joy that you bring to those who know you!
So people back home, if you want to know how to pray, pray that way. Pray those prayers for me. That I would truly see and experience the beauty of the risen Jesus, and remember the joy of His salvation. Because that’s how we fight depression with hope.
Much love,
Chambeezy
