The Champion of a Cause


I may come to regret it later. I may have to go back and delete this but I think I’m going to try to blog a lot right now. I might change my mind tomorrow and this disclaimer will be obsolete. I’m not totally sure why I feel the compulsion to put it all out here but I’m just going to go with it and ya’ll can watch me fail publicly if that’s what happens.

I have come to believe that one of the things that killed my friend was that she was the champion of too many causes. Too many other things got married into the one cause we were all drawn to her for- the crazy, lavish, sufficient, radical love of God. How many of us drug ourselves up her front steps, or opened our front door to find here standing there in crazy bright colors, usually with some gift in her hand, and tenderness in her brown eyes and it didn’t matter what crazy thing we spewed out into her lap she just brought us back to the loving sufficiency of God. And we were comforted.

How wrong then? How wrong is it that after talking so many of us down off the edge, after visiting us in the psychiatric unit, after completely diffusing the fear that we were too far gone with her radical acceptance and undaunted gaze she quietly slipped off, and succumbed to lies. She silently imploded and took her life and left us.

And in so doing she made herself the champion of one last cause.

I imagine for some time depression (mental illness, spiritual warfare, anything else it might be dubbed as depending on what circles you run in) will be a running theme here. I’m couldn’t write this blog honestly and not talk about it. And while her death likely thrust many of us into a jarring examination of “how could this happen” this will not ultimately be the cause I choose to champion.

My purpose in life isn’t to fight depression. It isn’t to deliver people from it’s grasp. It’s not to expose its intricacies and plunge it’s depths. It’s not to debate the appropriate method of treating it or rally everyone to the cause of awareness. I’m going to talk about depression because it is the battlefield on which I intend to see my champion, Jesus Christ, most glorious in victory. I am going to talk about it because I intend to feel the Love of my Heavenly Father most acutely in this place of deepest pain and experience His Holy Spirit most fully in my greatest weakness. Some of you will relate to that battlefield. Some of you have a very different place that Jesus will have to prove your Champion.

But through all of this I intend, ultimately, to be a champion of one cause… one message.

God is love. Jesus is glorious. His Spirit is present always and available to anyone who wants it and that is enough for us. No matter what. His love is enough for us. It can fill any need. Heal any wound. Calm any fear. Steady any storm. It can feed you when you are hungry and quench your ceaseless thirst. He accepts us, radically, fully, purely. He cleanses us completely. He considers us intently. It’s okay. He is for you. The world is dark and twisted. He his not. He can handle your rage and your rebellion. He is bigger than it all and so very patient.

I wish that the truth of this statement meant that I didn’t have an uphill battle to fight. I wish it meant that I was going to feel better everyday for the rest of my life. I wish I wouldn’t ever lose sight of this truth. But I will and it will hurt. Manna may be the divine provision of God but you have to gather everyday. You can’t grab it once. You have to keep going out and admitting your hunger and partaking in His goodness. I fear the entrance to our tent is sometimes barred with many enemies who oppose and distract us from gathering the good manna of His love each day. But he promised that ultimately NOTHING can separate us from his love. This something I have not yet mastered the application of. Too many days I feel separated from His love despite the fact that He tells me it’s not true.

Still, I believe it is true. He loves me and that is enough. No matter what.


p.s. I’m not going to edit these very much so please bear… bare… (hmmm?…) with my egregious typos. I’ll send my editor (husband) in to fix them later.¬†



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