Hi, I’m ________.

I’m a Junior, soon to be Senior.

I’m here to give Glory to God.

I’m here to talk about what it feels, what it’s like to live as His precious daughter, and with anxiety, and with depression.

So, hear me out.

x

Maybe it’ll go away if I was an extrovert who loved to spend time with people because that’s what gets me out of bed and gives me energy.

Maybe it’ll go away if I actively shared what I’m feeling most days to my friends, and engaged with my thoughts on a daily basis.

Maybe it’ll go away if I went to a Christian therapist instead of a CAPS therapist so we both could be on the same page.

But I’m not an extrovert, I’m an introvert so I like to spend time with myself, and #regret most of the plans I make with people.

But I’m not free of anxiety, so I avoid confronting my thoughts, avoid walking back to Rende because I forgot the chili sauce and somebody observe that I’m back and think I am weird, and I get easily overwhelmed by social events.

But I barely have $200 in my bank account, so I can’t afford a Fuller therapist, unfortunately.

But you know, of course I prayed about these things.

If any of you had that  thought in these past 10-15 seconds that I should pray about it, what makes you think I hadn’t?

x

Someone once asked me how could I be anxious

How could I be depressed

If I believed in Jesus.

Then they asked me why Jesus hasn’t healed me.

Then they asked me if I’ve ever prayed for healing.

And we’re back at that rhetorical question I asked earlier,

What makes you think I haven’t tried?

And of course, they asked me if I’ve ever read Matthew 6:25-34.

And my answer is: I didn’t merely read it, I have studied it, with my multi-colored MUJI pens and study Bible.

But here I am.

I’m anxious.

I’m depressed.

And I believe in Jesus Christ as my Savior, and my Lord.

And to be all three is really freaking hard.

x

Some of you know that I’m a leader in this fellowship.

That I lead small group.

If you’re in my small group, it’s on Wednesdays.

Sometimes it starts at 7PM (But that’s only if I had community dinner by myself during the only time slot I actually want to be eating with people.)

Sometimes it starts at 7:15PM. Sometimes it starts at 7:30PM.

Sometimes I wait till 8PM for the one member with a meeting or an event who said they might make it.

Sometimes it’s just me.

And Jesus.

x

And then Jesus goes

“Diana, why are you sad?”

“Nobody showed up today.” I said.

“I’m here.” Jesus said, quietly.

“Yeah, but I can’t lead you in Bible study and ask what you’re calling yourself to do this quarter because you’re not an overcommitted freshman who might burn out their sophomore year and have a mid-college crisis.”

And then Jesus says, quietly: “Do you believe that I have everything in your life taken care of?”

That particular day, I didn’t believe.

Some days, I believe it.

Most days, I’m having those sorts of conversations.

x

For me, as someone who has anxiety, and is depressed, I have two extremes:

I’m optimistic for others.

I’m pessimistic for me.

I believe for others.

I fail to believe for me.

I know how to encourage someone to get out of their bed, to shower for the day, to stop binge-watching Netflix, to stop putting their identity on a test grade, to tell them they are beautiful and can eat more than 2,000 calories a day, that they’re intelligent, that they have friends to go to who aren’t busy, aren’t tired, aren’t overly committed, that they have people who love them, and check up on them, and know when you’re in the room.

I can do all these things for someone else, but I can’t do it for me.

And I want someone to do all these things for me.

And I believe Jesus will do these things for someone else.

x

God’s grace and God’s mercy are renewed afresh every morning,

And every morning I find it really freaking hard sometimes to believe that Jesus can do it for me.

Sometimes I hear him.

Sometimes I feel him skipping next to me when I’m walking to class.

Sometimes I hear him tug my shirt asking to share my day with him.

Sometimes I pray and it’s good.

Sometimes I pray and it’s not good.

Sometimes I have a worship session in my thoughts and I praise him.

Sometimes I don’t speak with him, and I wonder if he was ever there.

So why am I still here?

Why haven’t I just stopped believing?

Well,

Since I am depressed,

Since I am anxious,

There are a lot of rock bottom moments.

You turn to other things to fill yourself up.

They’re all sinful.

And they don’t work.

It’s like addiction: you don’t continue to take the drug for whatever pleasurable effect it initially gave you; you take it to avoid and relieve the symptoms of withdrawal.

And since you feel and experience these rock bottom moments so many times...

So. Many. Times.

You know a taste of what it is like for life to be empty of Jesus, and what Jesus offers.

There is this quote I like.

I remembered that I found it on tumblr, so I dug through the archive so I could properly give credit:

"You will never know the fullness of Christ until you know the emptiness of everything else but Christ.” — Charles Spurgeon

I have to remind myself this, daily.

Sometimes every couple of hours.

Sometimes every hour.

Sometimes every minute.

God’s grace and God’s mercy are renewed afresh every morning, and I have to fight to believe.

x

I haven’t had many moments where I feel the fullness of Christ.

But Jesus brought me here because He knew if I wasn’t here, I don’t know if I’ll be breathing.

He brought me here because He wanted to work on my issues with money, and with my parents, and for me to appreciate that they are healthy, that they can support our large family, and that they are willing to reply to my text messages with broken English at 1AM despite me being a really angsty and selfish teenager growing up.

He brought me here because He wanted me to see how my aunt and uncle live life as believers who never judge and they are some of the most selfless and loving people I know. They house me, feed me, encourage me in their subtle ways, and pray for me.

He brought me here because He knew that in those rock bottom moments, that I’d look back to when He always came through on financial aid even though my FAFSA said my family had money, or when I barely had enough for gas and He let my father know that I needed money, or when I was managing a crappy lab and it was a bad place to work so He pulled me out, or when I needed roommates and was so sure I’d be lonely my third year and blessed me with two wonderful roommates even though they never check when I’m napping, or all those times I almost died driving because #LAtraffic, or when I had to street park for a year, and usually gave me a nice spot on Gayley, or when I asked my sister for a bag of coffee beans from Austin, and she sent me three. I can list more, but He’s always provided in abundance. Always. I can witness to that.

So, I’m sorry if you wanted me to tell you I’m no longer depressed, no longer suffering from anxiety.

Or that I can finally sleep well, and have good dreams. (I don’t)

Or that I don’t have migraines that keep me in bed the whole day. (My meds don’t really work)

Or that I wish that I had a migraine so I don’t have to go to class.

But I’m still depressed.

Still anxious.

Still suffering.

But Jesus tells me this every morning: “Diana, I am enough.”

It has slowly become the only thing I need to hear to believe.

“Diana, I am enough for you.”

But know this if you haven’t been paying attention this whole time because I’m not the most vibrant nor entertaining person to come up here and give an inspiring testimony:

That Jesus is, has been, and will forever be enough.