Category: Depression & Anxiety

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Lights of Remembrance: A Heartland Hospice Memorial Service (Dec. 5, 2025)

On December 21 we will endure the longest night of the year. Some fifteen hours of darkness will hover over us like the old hymn describes the “Night with ebon pinion,” as “brooded o’er the vale.” It’s dark when we get up in the morning, and dark by the time we drive home from work. It’s dark now, isn’t it? That’s the good news, since those in northern Alaska will not see the sun again till January 22.

It’s in this darkness where we find ourselves this evening. Veiled. We search our way through the night feeling walls, looking to steady ourselves, and hoping the children’s LEGOs have been picked up. They’re not, and we know our bare feet will find them. And when we step on them it will only remind us of the pain we bear.

Darkness tends to jog our memory of how hope seemed to have disappeared like a power outage in the middle of a storm. Disease strips away our strength and vitality, leaving us frail, weak, and vulnerable. Death wants to be the final chapter of a book we’ve loved and refused to put down. The result is feelings of depression, if not despair, wondering when, or if, the sun will ever shine again.

Like you, I have walked many miles with death’s darkness casting a thick shadow on my path. I’ve experienced my own feelings of despair and depression. And just when you think the sun will break through the night, storm clouds cover the light.

My father passed just days before Christmas in 2003, my mother a year and a half ago, and Cile’s mother passed this past spring. While we are still mourning our mothers, my father’s death still follows me, sometimes even haunts me. Most days my father’s memories emit joy and pleasure. But every now and then a dark despair hovers over me, and I weep as if something was stolen from me. And it was. Hope.

Hope is the sunlight that pierces the night. When hope is gone, so is the light.

But the light will neither be dimmed nor snuffed. Hope burns ever so softly. It doesn’t have to be bright sunlight to bring hope. It can be a simple single flame. It just must burn.

Some one hundred fifty years before Jesus was born, the Jews, in the wake of their liberation against Antiochus IV of the Greeks, rededicated their temple. Having only enough oil to burn for one day, the oil miraculously burned for eight straight days. They celebrated that miracle every year by creating a new holiday called Feast of Lights. Today, they call it Hanukkah, where one candle of the Menorah is lit each night until all eight burn brightly. Some believe that when Jesus said, “a city sat on a hill cannot be hidden,” it was set against Hanukkah, this Feast of Lights. Because lights not only provide a clear path forward, but they also burn a beauty in the dark that acts like a magnetic to which we are attracted to.

In the cover of darkness, people hang lights on their homes and in their yards. Thousands of little lights arranged in a beautiful array of colors. And if enough people in a neighborhood hang lights and decorations, others will be drawn to their beauty. And suddenly, the dark isn’t so dark. The dark acts as the velvet background so that the lights are accentuated.

Or string the lights on your Christmas tree. When you get up before daylight, easy to do, flip the light on and what you experience is a calming presence. Somehow, in the midst of darkness, hope begins to whisper every so calmly. Ever so softly. A whispering hope telling us that the dark will never overtake the light. Ever.

Within the darkness, we venture outside on a cold winters night to gaze up at the sky. Only in the deepest darkness does the moon, stars and their constellations, and even Mars appear to the naked eye. Only in the darkness do we experience such light.

So tonight, in our Lights of Remembrance, we reignite a small flame of hope. In order to do this, we ask you to take two emotional steps. First, move toward the light. It’s not hard to find for the darker the night, the brighter one single flame will penetrate that darkness. One memory of your loved one can shine brightly. It may reveal itself through a beaming smile followed by laughter, or it may take the form of a tear that crawls down your cheek. Either way, hope is restored as their memory continues to live within your heart and soul.

Secondly, be the light for others. Kindness and compassion, while we grieve, goes a long way toward restoring hope. Amazing what a gentle authentic word like, “I miss them too,” or “My favorite memory is” can be a helpful healing reminder of our loved one. I have a handful of sympathy cards I kept from my dad’s death. Most I threw out as they were signed without a note. Appreciated, but not personal. The ones I kept were the ones where people recalled a memory or a trait of my dad. As I read those, they became little points of light to guide me through the darkness.

So yes, it is dark out. And sometimes it’s dark within. But hope, as the Apostle Paul says, never disappoints. And it doesn’t. It is that light within that will continue to burn. It will light the way for us to follow. And if enough of us stand together, it will be beautiful to behold.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

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An Exposed Weakness: When Our Heroes Are Vulnerble

We love our heroes. We place them on victory stands and adorn them with honor. We build larger-than-life statutes because their feats were larger-than-life. They often defied the odds and overcame obstacles where others folded under the pressure. We cheer on their success and then quickly turn on them when they fail. For in their failures they remind us that they are human too.

In the Marvel Cinematic Universe Thor was part of the key inner circle members of the Avengers. Confident, if not arrogant. Courageous and self-sacrificing. Rugged good looks but filled with compassion. He was born to be king and people were willing to follow him. But following his failed attempt to stop Thanos, Thor’s story took a dark turn. He devolved into a coward, hiding from everyone and everything. His only solace was the hard liquor he was consuming. When we find him he’s overweight and just under drunk.

The move may have been a brilliant stroke of genius from the writers with Chris Hemsworth selling his Endgame role. Yes, I hated seeing Thor suffer from PTSD. He was still mourning the loss of his mother and pining away the breakup from Jane Foster. His sister, cut off from the family, released Ragnarok upon Asgaard destroying his home city and planet. His father’s death came with his sister’s return. While a remnant of Asgardians were fleeing as refugees, Thanos appeared. The Mad Titan murdered Thor’s step-brother, Loki, along with his closest friends. Faced with his own defeat against Thanos, Thor showed us that the “God of Thunder” was just as human as the rest of us.

Humanity may prop people up as gods, but even the best of us have vulnerable spots. When those areas are exposed and exploited we feel the pangs of death. Most people downplay and hide those areas of weakness. They try to put on a strong face to mask the pain. For the apostle Paul, he chose another approach. He marketed those very areas as the best he has to offer God.

One of the most powerful images Paul paints is the treasure and clay pot in 2 Corinthians 4:7. Center stage to his entire epistle to the Corinthians is a church that props up leaders who show no fear and display great powerful strength. Paul won’t compete on that stage. Paul can’t compete on that stage. He is frail and weak. He is like a clay jar that is fragile, breakable, and expendable. Fear and suffering mark his faith. He hardly goes through life unscathed. And yet, God has chosen to place the priceless and powerful gospel in someone so frail, broken, and expendable.

What holds Paul together, like duct tape, is God. For the gospel of Christ is lived out in frail humanity. The strength displayed in Paul is God working through him. The power for Paul to preach, teach, and endure is fueled by God. The courage to face the future is energized by God working through Paul. Paul refused to take credit for God’s work, as he says,

. . . to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We also carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may be revealed in our body (2 Cor. 4:7b-10).

To say it another way, Paul looked more like the broken Thor from Endgame than he did the mighty Thor of the previous movies. And if the Corinthians, who knew Paul face-to-face, rejected Paul because of his weaknesses, why do we think we, who only know him from history, would embrace him so readily?

Some of this “strength and weakness” theological inner conflict has come to the forefront of my thinking as I’ve been following the 2021 Tokyo Olympics. Simone Biles, reigning Olympic Gold Medalist gymnast, sent shockwaves through the world by backing out of Olympic competition. Making sense of her decision may be an effort in futility, but adding perspective to her situation is possible. While I have no idea of her faith, and based on the treasure in clay jar analogy, Biles is a physically powerful athlete who experienced a crack in her mental and emotional well-being. With that in mind, here are my thoughts to consider.

First, I have only dreamed of competing on such a stage, she has struck gold 23 times (Olympic and World Championship count). She has 31 total medals. Until we have walked in her competitive shoes, we should be slow to criticize.

Secondly, the news cycle, whether it is political or athletic in nature, is a constant barrage of attention. In the age of incessant instant information the news media and social media outlets are constantly looking for a new and breaking story. Constantly. And our athletes are compelled to entertain the reporters. Such attention is unhealthy. I read that Michael Jordan believes even he could not imagine playing under today’s scrutiny.  

Thirdly, never underestimate the effect COVID-19 has had on the athletes. The isolation and lockdown has had negative repercussions on everyone, and the reaction has varied from person to person. Remember, the Games were delayed a year. Had they played last year without COVID protocols, we probably would not have this conversation today.

Fourthly, Biles’ success came in spite of being sexually abused by Dr. Nassar. Never underestimate the emotional and psychological damage trauma Biles has had to work through. Can we even fathom what she (and 250 other girls) have had to endure with the spotlight on them for so long? I don’t think so. By the way, a big reason for her to continue competing was to protect the new gymnasts in the US Gymnastic system.

Finally, she has demonstrated tremendous courage and grace in the midst of her trials and through these Games. She could have run and hid or go home. Instead she cheered her teammates on and reentered competition to earn a Bronze Medal in the Balance Beam.

Come to think about it, she appears quite human after all. And we ought to applaud her for that, too.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

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A Royal Headache: The Strings Attached to the Crown

News from across the pond travels as fast as soundwaves, and is often felt like shockwaves reverberating on the waters. This week was no different as Harry and Meghan sat down with Oprah in a tell-all interview. Some of the details they outlined were headline-grabbing giving Buckingham Palace a royal headache. But are we really surprised? The Royal Family has had its fair share of drama from Charles and Diana to Charles and Camilla to Andrew’s link to Jeffery Epstein. The Royals could produce their own reality TV and, no doubt, be a blockbuster sell.

Harry and Meghan have abandoned their connection to the monarchy and moved to America to seek their lives independent of Great Britain. From Harry’s perspective he lost his mother and lays much of the blame on the British media. The same British media intruding on his private life then is intruding on his life now. He levels another part of the blame on The Firm, the insider term to describe the destructive and controlling system overlaying the Monarchy. That same system squeezed out his mother and was already squeezing out his wife. Clearly, being a Royal means that there are strings attached to the crown, and sometimes those strings have tangled with people’s lives. Fearing for their future, they chose to cut the strings, sort of, and walk away from the system to pursue life on their own terms.

I didn’t sit down to watch the interview, I have other things to worry about than tuning into wealthy, aristocratic sibling rivalry. But the interview blew up the news cycle. Even though the colonies broke from the Empire over 200 years ago, like an abusive relationship, we’re too emotionally attached to a family that has no control over our lives. So with Oprah leading the way, America (and other parts of the world) tuned in to what Harry and Meghan had to say. And they said a lot.

As much as I like Harry, and obviously I don’t know him personally, choosing a tell-all format is an unhealthy way to deal with conflict. In fact, it’s a power move because they have inside information they’re willing to share select pieces of with the world. They have evidence that should be kept within the confines of Buckingham Palace. Tell-all venues feed the goods and gossip, making you feel good in the moment. Unfortunately, the fallout leaves you feeling dirty. Sure, Harry tried protecting his grandmother from accusation, but the fan is too large to keep her from being hit with the words. What is clear is that between Diana and Meghan’s experience, the Cinderella-type stories are lies built with a house of cards. Ordinary people have no common identity with the Royals.

But two other statements from the interview are worth highlighting because they reach beyond aristocratic and paupers. The first is the fear of seeking mental health for the supposed stigma attached to it. Meghan was undergoing an emotional breakdown and the palace was afraid of the news media having a field day with that information. Denial of a problem is the real sign of weakness; seeking help is step of strength. Owning weakness is not only biblical but at the heart of the gospel (2 Cor. 12:5, 9-10). I’m not sure how the media would have responded, but I know individuals suffering are fearful of what people around them will say if they found out. Someone struggling with depression keeps suffering in silence. A marriage begins to unravel but signing up for counseling might expose the façade they’ve managed to create, so the marriage continues to unravel. Someone fears going to the doctor because something else wrong might be discovered. In the process, the condition worsens. Real strength acknowledges our weakness and steps into getting help.

The other statement came, not from Harry’s grandparents, but from the Firm. He refused to share the source, family or staff members, but the statement is disturbing at so many levels. “They” were disturbed by the possible skin tone of Harry and Meghan’s baby, Archie. People obsessed with optics rarely are concerned about people, but are focused on themselves. As unnerving as a preoccupation with skin color is, God has never focused on color. He’s focused on the heart (1 Sam. 16:7). Our own sinfulness keeps us from embracing and celebrating the diversity of God’s color scheme. Or the vision Martin Luther King once conveyed, we judge people not on the color of their skin but on the content of their character.

Before Meghan married Harry, British comedian, John Oliver, said that the Royal family was “. . . an emotionally stunted group of fundamentally flawed people.” He’s probably right. When anyone or family is focused on image and optics, then issues will be ignored and swept under the carpet. When a person or family of power is concerned with only image and optics, then the damage in its wake is severe. But we don’t have to be a Royal family to experience such dysfunction. We can take an honest look at ourselves.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

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Despair: Feeling the Sentence of Death

Despair can lead a person to dark places, to a deep hole cut off from daylight and feeling the warmth of the sun. In its chilly, damp pit hope is lost. And some who find themselves in such a place feel abandoned as death is a welcomed alternative to living.

Sometimes we find ourselves in despair and without hope because we’re susceptible to anxiety and depression. Many of us fight those battles on a regular basis, and in battle fatigue our inner self cry out from the pit. Other times we find ourselves disoriented because circumstances beyond our control rip apart our world. We thought we were in control of our own destiny until “destiny” took control of us. A job loss, a diagnosed illness, a betrayal of a friend, a pandemic. Any of these, and more, can strip away hope, layer by layer, leaving you in the depths of despair.

While we suffer, we tell ourselves that those who are more spiritual and are grounded firmly in faith never had to endure what the common folk endure. They’re immune. They’re exempt from suffering. The spiritual waters run so deep that pain never penetrates those fathoms. Or maybe their pedestal stands above the agony.

Enter the Apostle Paul, maybe one of the most important leaders of the early church. Because most of his letters survived, he has shaped so much of the church’s belief system (i.e., theology). Because he’s an apostle who received visions from Jesus and planted churches all over the Mediterranean, we’ve glossed over much of who he really was. And what was he? He was a wounded warrior, just like us.

When God called him, he wanted Paul to know that his calling meant suffering for the name of Jesus (Act. 9:16). Not just a little suffering, but enough to feel the weight of the world on his shoulders. Paul’s affliction list in 2 Corinthians 11 is more than a simple list of what he’s endured. He wears his suffering proudly against those who are shamed for what they never endure. Its evidence that he’s nothing more than a broken clay pot held together by the grace and mercy of God (2 Cor. 4:7-12; 12:7-10). God does not reject Paul because he suffers. No. He embraces Paul through his suffering.

Held together by God doesn’t exempt an apostle from feelings of despair. Thus, Paul informs the Corinthians of what unfolded while he was in Asia. While he avoids the details, he’s specific about his emotions. He endured hardship and suffered. The pressure was so great that he despaired even of life (2 Cor. 1:8-9). Whatever Paul was facing, the burden was so excessive he wanted out. Like an inmate on death row, he lost all his appeals.

But God. But God who raises the dead. But God who raises the dead delivered him from his own death (2 Cor. 1:9-10). God delivered again, and he delivered big. And Paul interpreted this salvation as a reminder to stop relying on our self and keep relying on God (2 Cor. 1:9b). Coming full circle, not only is the Apostle Paul facing suffering, but his ministry is defined by suffering, even though he nearly buckled under the pressure. In part, because even Paul, like us, tended to trust his own abilities rather than trust God.

So here we are, for many of us, sitting in the midst of despair. It’s a dark place, so dark that daylight and the warmth of the sun cannot penetrate where you sit. And you feel alone. All alone. Chilled in a damp hole. Maybe you find yourself in the pit because life throws every dirty play against you. Or maybe you find yourself in the pit because a pandemic has inflamed your worst fears. An uncontrollable disease has the power to undermine an economy (i.e., your economy) while fueling more civil unrest.

Sure, we could give up and walk away. Others have done it. But we won’t. And instead of leaning into it, we take Paul’s advice and lean onto him. While we’re sitting in the pit, we keep relying and trusting God. We trust the God who raises the dead, because what else have you to do anyway?

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

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Finding the Words: What to Say when Anxeity, Fear & Despair Drive Your Prayers

Prayer is always a struggle. On the one hand, you come before the Almighty, and even if you have an exhaustive vocabulary, finding the right words is like trying to find a plaid shirt to match striped pants. On the other hand, Jesus frowns upon prayers defaulting to clichés (Mt. 6:7), especially in public where people are only seeking man’s applause. The struggle to say the right words is real when one begins to pray.

But the words are only part of the problem, especially in times of great emotional distress. In those seasons, reason takes a back seat to feelings. We sense we’re alone, vulnerable and estranged from God. What is happening around us – or within us – seem bigger and stronger than the God who protects. And our prayers and prayer-life often become casualties of the war.

While the Psalms are often associated with praise, they do not fail to embrace the suffering. God deserves and welcomes our adoration. God also listens, even more intently, when his people lament, agonize and weep, especially when such emotions are directed toward him. Like a child coming home from a bad day at school to find solace on the lap and in the arms of the parent, God is just as welcoming to us.

Two questions surface, expressed by the sufferer in the Psalms, may hold the key to finding a way to express ourselves to God during times. When the storm is raging, or when the hole feels like a bottomless pit, the Psalms give us the words to frame our prayers.

The first question is “why.” Appearing in Psalm 22:1, the Psalmist tries to understand the distance created between himself and God. Most notably, the cry is recited by Jesus on the cross, possibly validating such a plea. Delving behind the source of suffering is to discover the reason for the anguish, which then validates the sufferer. So if I can figure out “why I am experiencing the affliction,” it will make the suffering easier – such reasoning is expressed. But the reason for suffering is far greater than one simple explanation. Not only do we live in a complicated world/universe, but God’s not always willing to explain our suffering to us (e.g. story of Job). In part, we couldn’t comprehend everything involved in it anyway. Ultimately, knowing the “why” will not change the agonizing situation. You’re free to ask “why,” but it’s unlikely God will grant you the answer you’re seeking. Even God was eerily quiet while his Son suffered his death.

The second question is “how long.” Surfacing throughout Scripture, such as Psalm 23:1-2, it’s a far clearer question to ask. Even this psalmist asks it four times. The “how long” question steers us away from an over simplified explanation behind the suffering, to the duration of the grieving. This question embraces suffering as part of our witness, but wants to know when the agony will end. God’s people are called to embrace suffering because Jesus suffered (Rom. 8:17; 1 Pet. 2:21). Our concern is beyond the “why” but to “how long” we must endure before God steps in.

My own struggle to pray when it’s either storming without or pitched black hole from within has been evident. Historically, my gut has always gone to the “why” and have often walked away in continual turmoil. I come to God believing that somehow I deserve an answer from him, much like Job. In recent times I gone with “how long.” It’s helped shift my focus. Instead of defaulting to being self-serving, it’s allowed me to suffer in step with Jesus. Not only has it brought more peace to my life, but it’s also given me a framework to find the words.   

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e. only God is glorified!)

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Confessions from Living in A Maze In Grace

(I wrote this in August of 2014 following the suicide of Robin Williams. After the tragic suicides of Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain this week, I felt like we needed this article again. JAP)

The tunnel was dark, black, and bleak. Not right. If there was a tunnel, there might be an exit, and light ahead, and if there is light, hope exists for an escape. No, it feels like no hope exists. It’s not a tunnel but a prison, with a lifetime sentence and no chance for parole. The darkness, blackness, and bleakness felt heavy, like a thick fog, disabling your vision. Or the darkness, blackness, and bleakness is pounding like a rainstorm, so strong you cannot see the road before you. It felt heavy, like a hundred pound weight strapped around your neck, and every step takes all your effort. Inches for everyone else is miles for you. The message you hear between your ears is loud and clear, like an announcer at a stadium for all to hear,

“You are a failure!

                You are worthless!

                                You are unloved!

                                                The world is better off without you!”

Do you remember the video from the 9-11 attacks? The planes struck the World Trade Center, the fire consumed the buildings and they were about to fall. People, hundreds of people, were trapped in the building. If they stayed where they were, they would have either been consumed by the smoke and fire, or become the rubble from the fallen building. Some 200 people saw no other option, and in order to escape the inferno, they jumped to their deaths. 

Depression is the silent killer. It feels like you’re living in a dark hole, and no hope of escape reveals itself. No one loves you, and if they knew you they would hate you, so the depressed person believes. Suicide is rationalized as the only means possibly of escaping the hole. Reports tell us that about 10% of the American population suffers from depression (10% is probably a low estimate). Do the math, make the count; at least one in every 10 people you know probably suffers from depression, and its cause is varied in form: chemical imbalance, medications, chronic illness, sedentary lifestyles, abuse, ADHD, life setbacks, alcohol etc. 

The outward signs of our lives may have nothing to do with the inside of our hearts. The perceived success in business or in beauty only cover up the failure and ugliness realized within our own lives. I once sat with a successful, beautiful middle aged woman and talked. From the outside looking in, she had everything: A respected business, a godly husband, wonderful children, a spiritual depth to be admired, and she looked ten years younger than her age. However, out of the depths something was swelling. “I fight it every day,” she confessed. “What’s that?” I wondered. “Depression. Sometimes getting out of bed takes all my energy.”  She continued to explain, “I would never commit suicide,” a long pause emerged as she tried to find the right words, “but every night I pray that God will give me a heart attack while I sleep so that I will not have to wake up in the morning.” 

I wanted to dismiss her feelings and tell her to “snap out of it,” but you cannot simply snap out of depression. I wanted to minimize her pain by telling her to listen to more upbeat, praise songs, but her heart needed to read more of the Lament Psalms. I wanted to ignore her journey and tell her that the road will get better, but what she needed to know was that God would continue to give her the strength to face each day.  

Depression is a heavy burden, and those who suffer from it often hide the symptoms, and they’re often experts at hiding the symptoms. They can make you laugh and be the life of the party. They have good days, and they have bad days – and when they have bad days, it seems that they’re strung together like stringed popcorn wrapped endlessly around the Christmas tree. They feel very weak, but demonstrate a strong faith by bravely facing each enclosing storm. Sometimes those suffering from depression just need to know you care, that you love them, and that “God’s grace is sufficient, for his power is made perfect in weakness.”

My name is Jon Partlow. I am your minister. I have battled depression since 1999, and my life has been A Maze in Grace.                                                               

Solo Deo Gloria!
(i.e. only God is glorified!)