In 2009 just after Alex and I moved back to Atlanta from Peru, we were looking for a new church to attend while building our house. We visited many churches that year and took a particular liking to one, but it was too far from our new home to consider regular attendance. Nevertheless, we knew many people already attending that church, so we frequented its services, events, and Bible study groups for that interim period and made many new friends as well.
Among them was a prayer warrior, Diane, whom I met at Bible study and quickly got to know. Her heart was open and gentle, lovingly reaching out to my battered soul that had to learn how to trust people again. Her eyes were welcoming; her hugs were caring; her words were the perfect shade of tenderness. I found a comfort in her that gave me hope, which was exactly what I needed.
On Sunday, June 28th of that year, after morning service, Diane sat down next to me and asked if she could pray for me. Afterwards she said, “I feel like the Lord is getting ready to fulfill your deepest desire.” The first thing that came to my mind was the desire to have a baby. I didn’t tell Diane that at the time; I kept it to myself for fear that it wasn’t true. But the next time I saw Diane, which was her own daughter’s baby shower, I got to tell her the good news—I was actually pregnant when she prayed for me that day, but I didn’t find out until six weeks later.
When Diane shared with me about God fulfilling my deepest desire, my second thought was that God would finally deliver me from depression. I wasn’t sure which I wanted more, a child or deliverance. I also wasn’t sure which one I doubted more. After all, I had been a Christian since age 17, almost as long as I had been depressed; I guess I just assumed it would never happen. Sure enough, less than a year after my first daughter was born, God did deliver me from 18 years of depression. Diane had it right for me either way!
The sad part is, Diane didn’t have it right for herself. A few weeks ago she committed suicide. Her depression was too much for her to bear. And yet, I never even knew she suffered from it too. It’s so cliché and yet so true: you never know what other people are going through. But what I do know is this, a phrase I read in a magazine recently: “the delivered must become the deliverers.” I share my testimony as often as I can now because I want others to have hope, to believe that God can deliver them too and that they won’t have to always live under the shadows of darkness. I’m brokenhearted that it’s too late for Diane to hear it, but I am all the more motivated to break my silence so that those who privately struggle can ask for help. There is freedom. There is hope, healing and wholeness. There is joy and genuine life to be had. And I pray that the Lord will use me to help others finally find it.
The Art of Choosing True Life 