A Story of Struggle, Faith, and Redemption Part 2

-Lisa E

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Part 1: A Story of Struggle, Faith, and Redemption

If you missed Part 1… Click Here ^

PART TWO:

It’s interesting how some people say time heals all wounds, but I’d have to disagree. Today, I found myself quietly whispering, “Lord, remind me.” It only took a moment for the familiar emotions to rise—the deep longing for peace and the desperate search for His presence. I understand that He’s not merely a “feeling” or just an “experience”—He is so much more. A lack of feeling doesn’t mean He’s absent. I know that. But there are moments when you’re so low, so overwhelmed, that it takes everything in you just to utter the word “help.” You yearn to be still, to rest, because you’re so exhausted from the fight, you feel like you can’t make it through another hour. In those moments, I cling to those “reminders.”

I’ve prayed “remind me” more times than I can count, and I realize that the “reminder” I asked for back then is different from what I ask for now. The Lord has carried me through to this place, where I long to be reminded of His grace and the countless ways He’s carried me. I need to remember that in my weakness, He is strong.

“Three different times I begged the Lord to take it away. Each time He said, ‘My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.’ So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me. That’s why I take pleasure in my weaknesses, and in the insults, hardships, persecutions, and troubles that I suffer for Christ. For when I am weak, then I am strong.”2 Corinthians 12:8-10 NLT

He doesn’t erase the scars; He redeems them. He is not distant–He is faithful. Shame. Oh, how I’ve carried it. It once held me captive. During my first battle with depression, shame weighed so heavily on me that I could barely lift my head to the heavens. I felt unworthy before God, my sin pressing down like a crushing weight. How could I, a born-again Christian, struggle so deeply?

Surely, if I prayed more, worshipped harder, or read my Bible with greater fervor, God would heal me, right? I never doubted His power—I’d witnessed His gracious hand time and again. I knew He could do immeasurably more than I could ask or imagine. But healing, as I hoped for, was not His plan for me.

For three agonizing months, I struggled. Yet, I wasn’t alone. God surrounded me with an incredible support system—friends who prayed, sent me Scripture, and continually pointed me back to Jesus. My greatest fear, though, wasn’t the depression itself; it was the doubt about my salvation that caused me to spiral. Did I truly believe Jesus had died for me? Had I been relying on my good deeds instead of His grace?

All I longed for was the assurance that my salvation was secure in Christ alone. Looking back, I wouldn’t trade those months of suffering. God used them to bring me to a place of complete surrender and total dependence—not just for salvation, which He so freely gave, but for the strength to endure moment by moment.

Even now, shame tries to cling to me. As a Christian woman, admitting that I turned to medication for my anxiety feels like admitting defeat. How could I, someone who serves the God who calms the storms and raises the dead, need medical help?

But I do believe in that same God—a God who also gifts wisdom to doctors and equips them to help people like me. Seeking medical help wasn’t easy. It felt like my only option if I wanted to keep going. My body was drained, my mind exhausted. I wasn’t sleeping or eating. For three months, I prayed, read Scripture, and sought the Lord with all my heart. I tried everything—herbal remedies, exercise, advice from well-meaning friends. But nothing worked.

Finally, I went to a doctor. She started me on a low dose of an SSRI. Within two weeks, I began to eat again. I slept. But beyond the physical relief, the greatest blessing was being able to think clearly for the first time in months. I could breathe again—truly breathe. Rest, sweet rest. My mind slowed, my thoughts aligned, and I could function.

I thank God for providing ways for our bodies and minds to heal. A wise woman once told me, “Just because we can’t see an illness doesn’t mean it isn’t real.” If our bodies need medication for a thyroid imbalance, why should our minds be any different when they lack serotonin?

I don’t doubt that the Lord could have healed me with just a whisper. But that wasn’t my story. Instead, He used my brokenness to draw me closer to Him and to comfort others who walk this road. If sharing my journey helps even one person feel less shame in seeking help, it’s worth it.

Twelve years have passed since that season. I can’t say I’ve been freed from depression or anxiety. In fact, I’ve faced those same deep lows eight more times, with a pattern emerging every 17 months. And yet, I wouldn’t wish this battle away. Each moment of despair has driven me to the feet of my Savior, reminding me of my dependence on Him.

All of us, in one way or another, walk through a “wilderness” season—a time when life feels uncertain, scary, and lonely. The Israelites were no strangers to this. But just as we aren’t abandoned in those seasons, neither were they. God led them with a cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night, guiding them faithfully through their uncertainty.

When I’ve walked through my darkest seasons, I’ve often thought about the Israelites—how ungrateful and forgetful they seemed. They had just witnessed the incredible miracle of walking through the Red Sea on dry ground, yet almost immediately, they complained and questioned God: wouldn’t it have been better for us to stay in Egypt? But when I reflect on my own heart, I realize I’m no different. How quickly I forget the depths of despair God has delivered me from.

In those moments, I started recording “my manna from heaven.” Just as God sent manna to feed the Israelites when they feared they would starve, He fed my soul. During my time of despair, I began writing down anything that blessed me: a verse I read, a friend’s prayer, my kids’ timely hugs, a good night’s rest—the list grew and grew.

Over time, I accumulated hundreds of “thank-you notes” in my phone. Each time something encouraged or lifted me, I wrote it down. Through this, God showed me His “manna,” the daily grace I needed, minute by minute. These reminders helped me see His presence in my life, even when it felt like He had left me.

To this day, I can look back and see how He gently carried me through those wilderness seasons. His faithfulness never failed.

I promised God twelve years ago that if He brought me through it, I’d do my best to help others—to remind them they’re not alone and to point them back to Jesus, whose burden is light.

So here I am, praying that He continues to use my story for His glory. If you’re struggling, please know you’re not alone. And don’t be ashamed to reach out for help. Whether through prayer, community, or even medical care, God provides in ways that meet our needs.

To Him be all the glory.