My Darkest Night

I am not a professional therapist/psychiatrist. I am only sharing the events of my personal life. My prayer is that it encourages you and brings you to the Healer of our brokenness.  

I've told my story dozens of times. This time, though, it somehow seems harder. Perhaps it's because I wonder if there's another ministry kid out there walking a path much like mine. If you are, please know that I'm praying for you, wherever you may be. Know that there will be a time of healing for you too. One day, you will look back at your pain and see how God used to refine you into a stronger Christian.

I like how CS Lewis put it:

"We can ignore even pleasure. But pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.” 

― C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain

I want to preface this story by saying there is a difference between "sad" and "depressed." The goal of this story, though, is not for you to focus on a "diagnosis," but to remind you that you are loved. No matter where you are, you are not alone. 

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I lived in a relatively conservative country in Northern Africa for most of my memorable life. When I was very young, it was acceptable, barely, for me to play soccer with my younger brother and his friends. I generally preferred the less complicated, minimal drama company of the boys to the sedentary, gossipy chit-chat with other girls my age. 

When I was about 14, my mom sat me down and told me my free years were over. By that time though, I couldn't just go outside and meet girls. They were kept inside except to go to school. Since I was homeschooled, I didn't have any contact with them. For an extrovert, that's not a good place to be. Our internet was spotty. Mail was nonexistent. I didn't have a friend state-side I could talk to anyway. 

At this point in our ministry, we had been on the mission field for about six years. I won't disclose exact locations or names as we were in a Muslim country. Assuming you don't live under a rock, you probably know at this point of the extreme persecution of Christians in Muslim countries. We were not legally allowed to be missionaries there. My family has a joke that we were "illegals." We had to get very creative with visas.

We didn't have a church, nor were we legally allowed to have a church. We weren't working with any other missionaries because if the government found one missionary, they would observe who was associated with them and "mark them" as well.

You can imagine how they feel about Muslims converting based on how they feel about missionaries. The punishment is almost certain death. Perhaps not directly by the government, but if the family decided an honor killing was necessary, the government would not stand in their way.

We couldn't minister in the standard street preaching, door knocking, soul-winning kind of evangelism, but we did spend endless hours in prayer, took the time to build relationships, and spent many an evening preparing for and going deep into apologetic and theological debate. 

Still. Not one person saved. 

I started to question. To doubt God's wisdom. Why did I have to give up my home, my friends, my family, my church.... for this? 

A God-forsaken land that was engrained by their religion for centuries to hate people who loved Him. An ancient cement jungle that echoed demonic depression. Shadows, smothered in billowing darkness and scorching heat... And me, hidden away behind barred windows. I just wanted it to end! And at that point, I didn't really care how it ended. 

I fought these depressive thoughts for months, spiraling out of control. My coping wasn't healthy mentally, physically, or spiritually. One night, I hit rock bottom. Tensions were high in my home. We were all culture-fatigued and far past burnout. I didn't feel like I could go to anyone with my heavy heart. 

With a scarf wrapped around me, I sat on the cold tile by my balcony door and cried. I cried angry tears, that we would toil for so many years without any fruit. Bitter tears, for all that I had missed back in my hometown in the mountains. Fearful tears for what this all meant for my family... for what my future may look like. 

I asked all the "why God" questions you can imagine. We were in the mission field! We left everything to be here! We waded through bureaucratic red tape for visas, passports, and permits. I was scammed and cat-called in the market. Due to my "exotic appearance" (I'm a fair-complected ginger) I stuck out very badly as "al agnabia" (the foreign girl). All they know about Western women is what they get from Hollywood, which is, to put it kindly, that they have loose morals. I was friendless and churchless and severely out of place, for this?! 

I didn't want to be there anymore. I didn't feel like I had a purpose anymore. So why go on? Let it be over... I knew where I was going at the end of this life. No one would miss me anyway... right? 

There, by my balcony door, in my darkest night, Jesus met me. It was there I understood what the Bible meant by: the peace that surpasses all understanding. (paraphrasing here) As I sat there in my confusion, blaming God for it all, He showed me forgiving love. I don't know how else to describe it other than the sweetest, most genuine hug I had ever known. 

A very dear friend of mine recently reminded me of the importance of intimacy with Christ. 

Her reminder to me:

"...be honest with God. Lay it all out. Intimacy in any relationship requires honesty. He wants you to be honest with Him. You’re His child and He will not punish you for coming to Him with your hurts. In the midst of your anger and despair, God will meet you with gentle kindness and invite you to wrestle with your hurt. 

Cling to Him like Jacob did when he was alone at his camp. (Genesis 32:24-29) Even in the midst of the excruciating pain, he said “I will not let you go until you bless me.” "

Go to Him in prayer, friend. In Him, there is blessing and healing. 

My friend, if you are dwelling in dark thoughts, please seek help! 

As Christians, we can not be possessed, but we CAN be spiritually oppressed. What I was going through was a spiritual attack and you need to go to your knees in prayer! 

It's ok to not be strong enough to fight this on your own. There are people who want to help! Chris Luppino and his wife Nancy serve with GFF in ministry care. They have a wonderful heart to serve those in ministry. https://www.gffministries.com/about-gff-ministries/

You're always welcome to reach out to me via email as well at throughoureyesmk@gmail.com. I'm always happy to be praying with you. 

Your Sister in Christ,

Julia