For my special Sunday message I’m bringing back another of the articles I wrote several years ago.  I hope it will be a blessing to you!

Angels with Crowbars

When I stepped into the elevator, everyone smiled.

These folks are sure in a good mood for a Monday, I thought.

At the next stop another group of people got on the elevator, looked at me, and smiled.  I began to get suspicious.  When it happened again at the third stop, I was in a panic.   I was fairly sure no necessary articles of apparel were missing,  and  I distinctly remembered cutting the price tags off my new sweater.  So what was so funny?

The next stop added another group of smiling people, and I bolted for the ladies room.  To my chagrin,  I saw in the mirror the cause of everyone’s “good mood.”  I had, indeed, taken off the price tags, but  had not noticed the size sticker.  There it was, plastered across my definitely ample bust.  It said, “LARGE.”  I ruefully peeled it off and threw it into the trash can.  Oh well, I thought, it will be a funny story to tell the next time the conversation gets dull.

I went on my way, not realizing until later that I had  passed a milestone.  A few years earlier I wouldn’t have laughed.   Instead of a funny story to tell on myself, it would have been yet another example of  how I could do nothing right — even dress myself.

I still don’t know why the dark cloud of depression slipped down over my soul.  I was sure of my salvation, and of my love for the Lord.  I had a wonderful husband and four great kids.  Yet, life  no longer seemed  worth the bother.  I was a failure at everything and could do nothing right. Every incident reminded me of a time I had failed or was publicly embarrassed by saying something stupid or thoughtless.  Every thought circled back to me–and how I was just no good.   It was as if I was  locked in a dungeon. The windows were boarded up, and I was trapped.

“Lord,” I prayed, “I am no use to You like this.  Please, either deliver me, or take my life.”

God could have done what I expected. He could have sent a shining angel down with the key to the dungeon that very night and freed me from the chains of my depression.  He had  His own plan for my deliverance, though, and sent a band of  “angels” to deliver me.   They were an unlikely bunch, and came without the  key.  Instead they came with crowbars, and, one by one, pried the boards off my prison windows to let the light into my dungeon.

The first crew didn’t look like an angel troop, but that didn’t stop God from using them.  The  office where I worked was staffed by sweet grandmotherly–looking ladies.   They all swore like troopers and back-stabbed  with obvious enthusiasm.

At least, I mused, I never say anything purposely vicious or unkind — only stupid things that make me sound idiotic.   

Then it hit me.   I wasn’t depressed about the sinful things I said.  It was only the stupid things that  bothered me.  I wasn’t being humble and pleasing to the Lord  by rehashing  all  my  “foot in mouth” mistakes.  I was just focusing on myself. And so, with the help of that unlikely rescue team, a big board was pried off my prison window.

The next rescue angel was more easily recognized.  He was  preaching at a Bible conference.

“Sometimes we set different goals for ourselves than God demands,” he said.  “Often they are impossible to reach, or aren’t even in God’s plan for us. When we focus on wrong goals, we set ourselves up for failure.”

And with a bang another board came flying from my dungeon window.  I always thought I would be famous and successful in some way.   Perhaps I would write a book, or be in demand as a public speaker.  Now middle age was closing in on me with no claim to fame in sight.

Or was I really unsuccessful?   I had made choices that  were right scripturally and  had served the Lord faithfully in the church and in my family.   My failure was only the failure of my unrealistic  goals.

Again, I saw my humility for what it was — nothing but self-centered pride, moaning for what God, in His love and wisdom, never intended me to have.

The third rescue  angel was a small one, my youngest daughter.

“I’ll never get this right,” she said as she drooped over the piano keys.  “I’m just not  talented enough to play the piano.”

“Of course you are!” I said.  “You’ve come a very long way in the short time you’ve been taking lessons.  You’re a bright girl, and you’ve got lots of gumption.  You can do it.”

The encouraging words perked her up sufficiently to struggle on with the difficult piano piece.

And another board fell off the window, letting in another ray of light.

I didn’t even consider letting her discouragement go unchallenged.  Certainly I wouldn’t have encouraged her to be down on herself.

Was I was  kinder than God?   Did I love my child more than God loved His?  Why should I think He would be pleased by my  self-inflicted suffering?    The light streamed into my prison house enough for me to finally see the truth. The door was not only unlocked, but stood wide open. God never intended for me to be there.  He didn’t want me to be miserable. He wanted me to be confident enough to forget about myself and focus on others.  That’s the spirit that God values, one that is  not self punishing, but self-forgetful.

It has taken a while to rid myself of those false notions of humility and to learn to laugh at harmless mistakes instead of punishing myself for them. Yet, the embarrassing size sticker I laughed off was proof that God is, indeed, making progress with me as I continue to walk out of the dark dungeon of depression  into the freedom of His love and grace.
 

Eating to live and living for Christ,
Susan Jordan Brown