Depressed. Who? Me?

By Judith Coats

It has taken me a long time to share publically the truth of my depression; here is my story. In 1983, Dave and Julie, our 1 ½ year old daughter, and I arrived in Haiti to help others in missionary work of various kinds: church planting, camp, youth work, ESL teaching, and missional Gospel living among neighbors and friends. We were thrilled to be there even though life was much more difficult from a practical standpoint. However, we quickly adjusted to the culture, thanks to friends in our mission and thanks to many gracious Haitians. We had opportunities to explore the island, finding places to snorkel, a playground to take our daughter, mountain passes that were absolutely gorgeous, white sand beaches, and busy markets with locally-made products and produce. Life settled into a rhythm.

In 1984, we gave birth to Jennifer Lynn in one of the poorest cities in the world. With several birth complications due to uncontrolled jaundice, we witnessed firsthand a very deficient medical system. We were desperate to help our daughter. One machine, brought into the country by a private doctor, eventually made its way to Jen’s room in the hospital; her bilirubin count began to drop. We had been her nurses throughout the ordeal. We thanked God for His care.

In 1986, we gave birth to Jonathon David in the middle of the Haitian revolution—literally in the middle. One day after Jon’s birth, the United States military flew into Haiti to remove the dictator, Jean Claude Duvalier, to take him to France. There was one problem for us amidst all of the military turmoil: our gynecologist had left the country immediately after the birth of Jonathon because of the political unrest. He had in his briefcase Jonathon’s birth certificate. So we were basically stuck in Haiti to live through the aftermath of Duvalier’s removal. What did that mean for us? Well, the people of Haiti took vengeance on anyone and any business that had any connection with the Duvaliers. So we were stuck inside our home while there were shootings, lootings, beheadings, group-chantings, a cutting off of all communications, and food and gasoline shortages. Eventually, we made our way to the American Consulate to confirm Jon’s birth abroad certificate.

One month after Jon’s birth, I was doubled over in pain. A doctor came to our home to examine me. He put me into a Haitian hospital immediately, not to give me better care, but to have me in a central location for other physicians to visit with me. The hospital had no sheets, no towels, no nursing, no meals, and no clean water. My condition began to deteriorate with terrible pain and high fevers, peaking in the afternoons. Jonathon was by my bedside so that I could nurse him. Doctors were puzzled as to what was going on. They unsuccessfully tested me for malaria, but the private technicians would arrive too late to get the test at the peak of the fever. After several days of severe abdominal pain and high fevers, I began to give up hope. Dave was actually thinking that he may lose me. At one point, a doctor visiting Haiti, took me off all medications; he placed me on a few high-powered antibiotics (shocking my body), suspecting a post-partum infection. My fever broke, and I was finally beginning a trajectory of recovery. After eight days in the “hospital,” I remember walking outside, holding Dave’s arm, and seeing blue skies and swaying palm trees. I had lost 40 pounds in eight days, and I had not been able to nurse Jonathon because of the medication. Jon was drinking Evian water with yogurt mixed in. After I completed the antibiotics, I could nurse him once again. God helped me to pump milk in order to feed Jon after 10 days.

As I began to recover from this ordeal, I hit a wall that took me by surprise. As I began to wake up each morning, I felt a dark wave come over me. I would turn to Dave and say, “I want to die today.” I cannot explain the wave, but I knew it was coming. I sat on the side of my bed. I looked at Dave, and I thought of my children. I knew that they were in the second floor apartment with me. I would walk to the porch and sit in a rocking chair. I did not feel like praying at all. I did not feel like reading my Bible at all. I would sing one song over and over: I will trust when I cannot see, when I’m faced with adversity, and believe your will is always best for me; I will trust when I cannot see. I would passively listen to others that shared biblical truth.

I began to journal the blanket of depression that covered me each and every day for approximately eight months following my initial crashing against the wall of death-thoughts. Despite my desire to die, there was one thing that kept me going while carrying on with my daily tasks (making meals, feeding children, cleaning the apartment, and caring for my own health). That one thing was truth—the truth of the Word of God. Even though I did not feel anything, I knew I needed to speak scripture to myself.  I believed the God of the Word to be my only hope. I would mechanically repeat verses in my head to drive me forward. But the essence of faith was this: I placed my trust in God’s Word void of emotion, will, and desire. I fell into the arms of  God and His truth to find a balm for each moment that I would have preferred to die. His Word sustained me, and His Word saw me through the darkest days of my entire life. My body was in His Hands.  He did not slumber or sleep. He held me.

• Psalms 42:5, 11; 43:5 “Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise Him, my salvation and my God.”
• The psalmist is repeating in these three verses these exact words because he continues to need to hear truth even though his feelings are unchanged.
• What is his situation?  David is crying continually (42:3); he feels like God is afar off (42:3); he remembers better times of joy (42:4); he feels like God has forgotten him (42:9).

How did truth “save” me, you might be thinking? Well, when I approached each day with no other desire than to die, I would recall truth (“I can do all things though Christ”), repeat it to myself, and get up to make breakfast. Or I would recall truth (“Love is kind”), repeat it to myself, and go read books to the children.  Or I would recall truth (“Do all to the glory of God”), repeat it to myself, and wash the dishes.  Dave was, of course, an amazing help and counselor through this time in my life. Once again, the essence of faith in action was the claiming of truth and living that truth despite a body that felt no other feeling than a desire to die.

• Psalms 119:25-28 “My soul clings to the dust; give me life according to your Word! Make me understand the way of your precepts, and I will mediate on your wondrous works.”
• Notice the next statement in verse 28 “My soul melts away for sorrow; strengthen me according to your word.”
• The psalmist repeatedly cries out to God in the midst of feeling like his soul is melting for sorrow.  He does not cry for anything other than the Word of God.

I know that depression is different for everyone–the triggers vary; the reasons vary; the results vary; the time varies.  However, I can unequivocally say and attest to the fact that we need God’s Word in the midst of any and all forms of depression.