The Lord Will Take Me Up

Some of you who know me personally know that I had an interesting summer.  A lot happened, but among the things that happened, I lost one of my friends.  They didn't die, but they stopped being my friend.
Unfortunately, the friend I lost was my stepdad.  I've never had a good relationship with my biological father, and he's been gone for 18 years, so chances of ever gaining a good relationship with him are...well...impossible on this earth.  And sadly, due to his lifestyle, probably in heaven as well.
When I lost him as my friend, it broke my heart.  In this situation, I had done nothing wrong, and I say that with full confidence.  I am the one who was wronged.  And I spent the better part of the summer trying to mend the relationship before I had to back out and protect myself.
There were a lot of questions...mostly pinning his hurtful behavior onto myself, blaming myself.  I wanted to know why I still didn't deserve to have a loving father.  I wanted to know what I did wrong.  I wanted to know why things like this always seem happen with the men in my life, even (sometimes especially) the men in the church.
One day I sat at work, having a particularly rough day, fighting tears.  I just wanted to be loved.  I wanted my parents, my mom and my stepdad.  And I felt so alone.  Abandoned.  Again.  Abandonment is something I'll touch on a lot on this blog...because it's something I feel so raw and deeply.
Then out of the blue, a verse that I didn't remember ever reading popped into my mind.

“When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up.” — Psalm 27:10 KJV

"For my father and my mother have forsaken me, but the Lord will take me in." — Psalm 27:10 ESV

"Even if my father and mother abandon me, the Lord will hold me close." — Psalm 27:10 NLT

I've included three different versions of this verse, because each one is so deeply intimate even in different wording.
When it was my lunch break, I looked up the verse, to make sure that it wasn't a product of my deranged mind...and it wasn't.  It was this verse (in the KJV, because that's what I've grown up with).  And it brought me so much comfort that I wept, and wrote in my Bible Notebook.
This is what I wrote:

"He will take me up.  Up in his arms like a little child.  His arms around me in a big embrace, face nuzzling and tickling my neck.  He will take me up in his arms and wipe my tears away.  I am a little child, my heart broken.  And he takes me up.  Safe.  Close to his heart.
 "He is my father.  He takes me up.  He holds me with arms big enough to hold all things together, yet small enough I'm in no danger of falling.
"The Lord will take me up.  My God, my king, my savior.  He will take me up.  He will be my father.
"He will take me up.  His treasured princess.  I am forsaken...  But I am not left alone and destitute...because The Lord takes me up."

I felt myself wrapped in his arms when I read that verse.
And I still do.
I feel it in the solace I've found with my aunt.  Something I may not have found again had this not happened.  I feel it in the hugs and kisses of my sweet Sharon at church.  I feel it when my dear friend Linda listens to me ramble, and hugs me, and cares, even when/if she disagrees.
I feel the Lord's arms around me in the love I find from those at my church.  The most loving church I've ever known.
Not everyone at church knows what I've gone through during my life.  Not everyone knows what I've done and gone through this summer.  They don't need to know.  They love me regardless.
I want to call out everyone from church who has encouraged me.  I want to write their names in big, bold letters...but to do that, to call out everyone who has encouraged me and made me to know that the Lord has taken me up, taken me in, and held me close, I would need the church directory (for correct spellings), and at least 1,000 more words.
Dear church family, you have been a balm to my aching, wearing, broken and scared soul.  If you are reading this, I adore you.  If you aren't, I still adore you, you'll just have to rely on my hugs and anything I say to you in person to get that across, instead of reading it here.
I'm not fatherless.  I'm not an orphan.
I am God's daughter.
And he has taken me up, taken me in, and holds me close.  I know I am loved, wanted and cherished.

Psalm 13

I love the Psalms.  Ever since I was a child, Psalm 56 was my favorite Psalm, with the third verse being my favorite.

"What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee." — Psalm 56:3 KJV

This is partially because I was a very scared child.  I was scared a lot, about a lot of things.  I cannot count how many times I chanted this verse to myself because I was afraid.  As an adult, I'm still afraid of...well, to be honest, quite a bit.  However, I also know that I have God's protection over me, and that gives peace within the fear.  Maybe someday he will completely take my fears away.  But even if he doesn't, he is still God.
As I grew older, the Psalms became more and more important to me, as anxiety and depression really hit and, faced with no resources, I had to try to figure out my own coping mechanisms, hoping they were healthy ones.
Reading the Psalms didn't always take away my depression or anxiety (most of the time it didn't), but something that it did do, was encourage me that I was not alone.  There were others, giants in the Bible, DAVID himself, a man after God's own heart, who struggled.
I specifically remember one evening, my freshman year of high school, when I was hit with a horrible depression attack.  Possibly anxiety and panic as well, but I didn't have a name for those feelings yet.  I didn't find a name for those feelings until I was...around 16, I think.  I just remember the depression.
I put on my rollerblades (a healthy coping mechanism I had was to rollerblade around the town!), and rolled myself to church, along with my little red Bible (which is now worn out and somewhat retired because it was falling apart).
The church was always unlocked, and I had permission from the pastor to go in and play piano, virtually whenever I wanted, which was nice.
I don't remember if I played piano.  But I do remember that I sat on the front pew, all alone, and cried.  I remember opening my Bible and reading a Psalm.  Psalm 13.  I must have also taken a notebook, because I went through and tried to paraphrase it.
Here's the original:

"How long wilt thou forget me, O Lord? for ever? how long wilt thou hide thy face from me?

How long shall I take counsel in my soul, having sorrow in my heart daily? how long shall mine enemy be exalted over me?

Consider and hear me, O Lord my God: lighten mine eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death;

Lest mine enemy say, I have prevailed against him; and those that trouble me rejoice when I am moved.

But I have trusted in thy mercy; my heart shall rejoice in thy salvation. 

I will sing unto the Lord, because he hath dealt bountifully with me." — Psalm 13 KJV

This is what I wrote:

"How long before I can feel you?  How long before I can see you, God?  Forever?  How long will I be trapped in my mind?  And be depressed everyday?  How long will they be over me and oppress me?  Please hear me, God!  Cheer me up before my thoughts run away with me, and I commit suicide.  Don't let my enemies beat me down and be happy when I cry."

And then I stopped.  I couldn't write the rest.  In my mind, the author (most likely David) went to God and then suddenly felt better, so he was rejoicing.  No more depression!  But I was still depressed.  And I didn't feel like rejoicing.
Later, when I was cheerier, I was able to write the ending.

"But I trust you, and I'm glad, because you've saved me.  I will sing to you, because you've saved me."

But as I've gotten older, I realized something.  The author of Psalm 13 was probably still depressed when they wrote the ending.
"What?  But look how cheerful he sounds!"
Yeah, I know.  That's what I thought when I was young and struggling to paraphrase the end because I didn't feel it.
The end of Psalm 13 is the author following the instruction that wasn't even written yet in I Peter 5:7.

"Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you." — I Peter 5:7

The author went to God, and poured out their feelings and emotions.  They poured out their fears and anxieties to God.  We don't need to be sanitary with God.  It's okay to tell him and show him the raw fear and pain and anxiety you're feeling.  He wants us to do that.  Those are our cares, and he cares about us.
But in the end, the author finished by telling God he was going to trust him.  The author finished by rejoicing in the promises he had from God.  The author finished by reminding himself and God that God had dealt bountifully with him in the past.  If God dealt bountifully in the past, why would he stop now or in the future?
When we are faced with depression and anxiety, we should feel free to fall upon God and pour out the sorrow.  And then?  Even within the sorrow, we make the choice to remind ourselves of the good God has done to us and given us in the past.  Write it down, pray it to God, make a "thankful list".   That's a good and healthy coping mechanism.
Will worshipping God in the pain always or immediately take away the depression or anxiety?  No, not always.  Sometimes it can.  But it doesn't always.
Sometimes it feels like going to the doctor and getting a shot, even though you're terrified of shots, and hate them, and would rather do almost anything in the world other than get the stupid shot (hello, me).  But you know that the shot is going to help you get better.
Sometimes it's hard to tell God you trust him when the anxiety makes you feel like you're upsetting everyone and everyone hates you.  Sometimes it's hard to tell God you know he loves you, when your head knows he loves you, but your heart is clouded by depression and you feel like no one loves you.
The author of Psalm 13 had a relationship with God.  A deep one, where he felt free to go to God with his pain.  A relationship where he knew, even when he didn't feel, that God was good, and loving, and caring.  So, when he was finished telling God how he felt, he told God what he knew.
Even when we are depressed and anxious, God loves us and he cares.  We can rely on his promises that he will not leave us, that he cares for us.  And we can pray those promises back to him.  Not because he has forgotten his promises, but to remind us of his promises.  We can sing praises to him.  Not always because we're happy (read the story of Paul and Silas singing in prison in Acts 16), but because even when we're struggling or hurting, God is still God, and God still cares.
I'll be writing up a testimony type post about a time when I was struggling and did turn my struggle back into a worship for God, and was blessed amazingly, then edit this so you can find it, but if I tried to add it now, it would be too long.
Here it is: Singing on the Mound