After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord
was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper.—I Kings 19:11-12
(NIV)
The posts this month are words
of life to me as a reader. The prompt for May causes me to ponder even as I
write my post. The simple yet profound statement of our own, Lynn Simpson, has
me recall a personal experience with the intimacy of words. In her post of
October 3, 2020, Lynn noted, “Yet, I have now learned, our voices don’t have
to be loud to be a role in change.” I love her line and resonate with it in
a big way. As I continue here, please allow me to explain.
https://inscribewritersonline.blogspot.com/2020/10/what-breaks-your-heart.html.
A Brief View of My Depression
of 1997
The fog came down first and
gripped me. Before long, the grey of the fog led me into the black of a tunnel.
I am trapped. No, I am lost.
I look at my words, and they
look at me. None of us speak. There is no urgency, only stillness. I smile, and
my words wink at me. A thought keeps going through my mind. “What do I do?
Where do I take these words and care for them?” Suddenly they move. My words
sit beside me, then embrace me. Their embrace sweeps over my thoughts and emotions.
I realize my words care for me. They listened to me in the stillness. My mind
clears and I know what to do. I too must listen. My words came to me unhurried,
quiet, gentle, and changed me.
Depression Taught Me to Listen
The fog, the tunnel, the
loneliness, and the darkness taught me about myself. This time of depression
allowed me to confront my insecurity, fears, and doubts in life. I realized I
had given too many years to them. I listened to the wrong words.
In my experience with
depression, I also experienced the intimacy of words. This time where I withdrew
into myself taught me to listen. I learned to listen more to who I am as a
person. As I learned more about the art of listening, it helped me to listen to
other people.
One’s ability to listen shows
a more personal and helpful approach to come alongside people. Listening skills
proved essential in my work as a chaplain. To listen to people who live with a
progressive or terminal illness taught me about life. I call them “my
teachers.” My teachers taught me to use words in a quiet manner.
Please allow me to recall one
precious visit. The person lived with Alzheimer’s disease. She no longer spoke in
an audible voice. She did, however, like to hold hands. This is how we spoke to
each other. No words. I learned to listen with my eyes as well. Her eyes
smiled. Her eyes told me she would die soon. A lesson I will never forget.
Here are a few humble lessons
to share with you.
11. Practice stillness. There is no need to rush
through every day.
22. Listen
to stories people may speak from their darkness. The darkness can be crippling.
They may need help to find God’s light.
33. Be
gentle with those in the darkness. Listen to their words even if they stumble.
This may open them to hearing your quiet words.
44. We listen
to show we care. Your words don’t have to be loud to make a difference.
55. My
depression had a purpose. God did not leave me.
Alan
lives in Deroche, B.C. with his wife, Terry. He contributed stories to Good
Grief People by Angel Hope Publishing, 2017, Story by Story: The Power of a
Writer, Unstoppable Writers Publishing, 2018, and Easter Stories & More, by
InScribe Christian Writers’ Fellowship, 2021. He has also written articles for
FellowScript Magazine. Blog: https://scarredjoy.ca. Alan is the Provincial Rep.
Liaison and BC Rep for InScribe.
