Depression leaves it's mark on the home, I've decided. The physical remnants of an episode could be called cruel and unusual --towards the house, that is.
Friday was spent in massive pain. I was hurling towards the center of crappiness, and I spent the morning in tears. All day I prayed that someone --anyone! --would know I needed them. Maybe someone would show up with food for my kids. Maybe someone would call. Maybe someone would help.
There have been several times when I have prayed those prayers. Begging for relief from the debilitating emotions, I call out to God and ask Him to please send someone! Anyone! I look at the house and I want to crawl inside myself --I look at my children and I cry more, because I cannot force myself to show them the attention they deserve. And then I pray some more.
Usually, nobody comes.
I've found that sometimes, what I need at that moment is not what I want. Call it making excuses for God if you want --but He sure as heck knows me better than I know myself. In those times when I don't have my prayers answered the way I want, hindsight always teaches me that what He had in store was much, much better. Also, I know that God can't steer parked cars. In order to send someone, usually that someone needs to know there is a need. Just praying doesn't always work. Usually, I have to ask.
But Friday was different. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday (today was the culmination), God revealed His love for me in many, many ways.
Friday afternoon, my BFF called me. She hadn't read my admission on Facebook (I mentioned I just hated depression. That's all) --she just knew we hadn't talked for a while. We only had about 10 minutes, but those 10 minutes dusted off the outer layer of despair. An hour later, the woman I visit teach saw my FB status, had been thinking about me all afternoon, and showed up on my doorstep with some flowers. We talked for a while, and when she left, I realized that God truly had answered my prayers. He sent someone! I was so grateful for those simple gestures.
Good Things on Saturday:
1. Took #1's friends (and #1, #2, and #3) to Trafalga for #1's birthday party. It was so fun!
2. Glorious Ann and her kiddies came to my house Sat. night. The house was a disaster, but we ordered in, let the kids run rampant, and talked into the evening.
3. Although the kids got to bed late, I got Easter stuff done. Luckily, we don't do too much, so it didn't take much time.
EDIT: 4: Brandon's cousin came over before #1's birthday party to practice a song (she's auditioning for a musical review this week) and we ended up talking for over an hour. It was fantastic! She and I struggle with a lot of the same things and having the chance to talk about it was extremely therapeutic.
My Own Easter Miracle:
This morning, I had to get up early, get the kids ready for church (amid the Easter baskets excitement), and be to church 30 minutes early for choir rehearsal. Brandon was on an airplane heading home from school, so I had to do all of this alone. I'm kind of used to the "getting the kids ready and out the door" alone thing, though. But not on a holiday, and certainly not on a day in which I have so many responsibilities!
I left the house as I described it in paragraph #1. But the kids were dressed, clean, happy, and we made it on time. Rehearsal went well; the kids were fairly good. I was glad my Sunday School lesson had been prepared earlier in that week so I wouldn't have to stress about it too much, but I was still nervous for it.
In fact, confession time: I would rather play the piano in front of thousands of people than teach a lesson to a room of a dozen.
Anyway, Sacrament Meeting started. Since it was Easter Sunday, the choir was going to sing three pieces. That meant that I would have to stay up on the stand after the Sacrament. #4 was particularly bratty during the Sacrament song, and I ended up having to take him out in the foyer. We ended up staying out there during the Sacrament, but I knew #1 was good with #5, so I figured it would be okay, but just as the water was being passed, my friend (who sits in front of us), brought out a screaming and bawling #5 to me.
No problem, right? As soon as the Sacrament was over, I took the boys back to our bench and handed #5 to #1. #5 proceeded to scream his head off, so #1 had to take him out --I couldn't! I had to play right then! I tried to ignore everything (and our awesome friends did their best to keep the kids quiet) while I was up at the piano, but it was hard. I was so stressed and already dealing with my dark episode, and to be alone during such a great Sacrament Meeting (seriously, our speakers and the music was just amazing) was starting to wear on me.
#1 tried to bring #5 back to the bench several times --each time, he would see me and start crying again. Blah. I sat there praying that Brandon would show up. Just show up. That somehow, miraculously, Brandon's plane would be early and his dad would drive really fast and Brandon would show up in Sacrament Meeting and not Sunday School. It's never happened, but miracles happen, right? So I prayed. And prayed.
Then, the miracle occurred!
After the choir sang our second song (we sang three), Brandon walked into the chapel, strode up to our bench, caught my eye, winked at me, and took #5 from #1 (and ended up leaving with him because he was still out of control).
Cheesy analogy: He was my knight in shining armor, coming at the last minute to save the day.
I couldn't stop the tears from falling then, dear reader. I cried, but not too much --I still had to accompany one more song!
The whole congregation saw it, too. They all knew my kids were struggling. They all knew I was struggling. And they all saw him walk in and save the day. They know his schedule, and they know of our situation, and so many people told me afterwards what a beautiful sight it was to see him come.
It gets better. I can't condone what he did next, but I will be forever grateful that he did. He got #5 to go to sleep and just before I taught my Sunday School class, he took him home and spent the rest of church cleaning the house. When I walked in after church, the living room, kitchen, hallway, and bathroom were spotless. I cried in his arms for 10 minutes and then we made lunch together. Later we hid eggs outside for the kids (with pennies in them). And now, I'm sitting on the couch next to him, writing this story as we watch Music and the Spoken Word. Actually, he just switched it. He watching the Mavericks game. Whatever.
Anyway, there is my Easter Miracle. As I taught this morning, I have no doubt in my mind that I am important to my Heavenly Father and to my Savior, Jesus Christ. How could I not be? Christ suffered everything I have suffered. He knows how it feels to deal with Depression and loneliness and stress and sadness and despair. He loves me. And oh, dear reader, how I love Him!
For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.
Happy Easter, dear reader. May you have a glorious week!