My Sara

Two of my very best friends share the same name. One is my Sara (without an "h") and one is my Sarah (with an "h"). I love them both dearly for reasons unique to each friendship. Two days ago my Sarah celebrated her 31st birthday, and today my Sara celebrated her 31st birthday. Pretty much everyone who reads my blog has meandered over here from Sarah's blog, so you all know how very precious and wonderful she is.

But, let me take a second and tell you about my Sara. We grew up together in a small southern town. And, there is something to be said about the people who grow up with you. They know you, the real you. They are the people who, in some way or another, shape who you become.

I am going to attempt in one paragraph to sum up our friendship during some of the most pivotal years of our lives. . . I had alot of friends in high school, but Sara understood me on a deeper level. We were dreamers. Our conversations were deep, way below the surface. But, don't get me wrong we knew how to have fun, too! By the end of high school we were nicknamed the dynamic duo - either President of Vice President of nearly every club in school, Validictorian and Saludatorian, completely and whole-heartedly connected at the hip and the heart. We had this silly little ditch on the edge of town that we could both walk to from our houses. So, we would meet there. We called it "our place." And, we would sit on a gravel bridge across this drainage ditch throwing rocks into the water, watching the sun set over a wheat field, and talking about whatever our hearts were feeling at the time. Sometimes we laughed, sometimes we cried, but it was always genuine and heartfelt - real.

Well, after high school we went our separate ways. Sara's goal was to go to a private college, get an incredible education, and then attend medical school. My goal (not that I am proud of this now) was to go to the BIG state university, pledge the sorority that I had my heart set on, and marry a really handsome frat boy who would make lots of money and take care of me and my 2.5 children. What happened? She did exactly what she set out to do, and I took a few detours. I attended the BIG state university, pledged the sorority that I had my heart set on, but ended up transferring after my freshmen year. I felt God leading me to a small Christian school, and God blessed me with the friendships of my Sarah and Jen (who eventually led me to meet my husband - who is the antithesis of a frat boy, but is undoubtedly the man of my dreams).

Sara and I have remained close over the years though not as close as we both would have liked. You can imagine how completely blown away I was when she called me two years ago and told me that she was depressed, suicidal. I was pregnant - about to pop with JCT when she broke the news to me - a secret she had been keeping for some time - I think even from herself. Anyway, the next year, as she began the healing process, our friendship grew closer than it has been in years, a true blessing. She sent me this copy of a testimony she wrote for her church about what God has been teaching her over the past few years. I asked her for permission to share it with you all because I thought it was truly beautiful. God's grace is a beautiful thing, and I think all who read this can relate to that. . . Here it is. . .




"There is nothing that God can do with my life now" was what I wrote in my journal the morning I awoke in the hospital. I had spent years creating my "perfect life": finishing medical school, marrying, about to finish residency and start a competitive fellowship, but behind my smile, a vast emptiness was lurking. The day before I had given in to the pain and attempted to end my own life, and in that instant my carefully crafted image spiraled into something resembling a Lifetime movie gone bad.
My life had become a mixture of fear and guilt with a smattering of pride mixed in for good measure, and after there were no more tears to fall, a numbness, which cannot be explained in words, settled into my soul. After I was sure that I could not rescue myself, I finally asked God to step in. I wish that I could say that I then had an "aha" moment with lights shining down from heaven and was instantly transformed into a mentally healthy soldier for Christ. I am sure God could've done it that way. Instead He chose to heal me through a process, one that has been long, not always pretty, and certainly not fun for those who were forced to come along for the ride. A process that involved dealing with wounds which were deeper than I had remembered. One that often left me wondering, "will I make it through this?"
My self-sufficiency, which previously made me feel as if somehow I could earn God's approval, was traded in for God's amazing grace in the face of my failure. Romans 8:1 became my battle cry, and I would fight my negative thoughts with "there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus". I found that I needed the body of Christ desperately, and their prayer touched me in a powerful way. A stranger who heard my story at a prayer group called to tell me that the Holy Spirit had led him to pray Psalm 3:3 over me during his morning run. I saw Christ in my husband who loved me selflessly even in the face of great pain. I learned to lay myself at the feet of Christ in the midst of depression, to thank Him for His love even when I didn't feel it, to worship Him even if it was with a heavy heart. And slowly, masterfully, He became my healer.
Throughout this, I have been given the privilege to relate to family, friends, and patients in similar circumstances with newfound empathy. That sometimes the best advice is better spent holding a hand silently and crying with someone in pain. A dear friend asked me the other day if I thought I would always struggle with depression. I do not have the answer to that, but I do know that I am better broken, dependent wholly on Christ. I am learning that God loves me just as much now as He did when I presented myself so "perfectly" to Him. He sees my healing wounds, and He still thinks I am beautiful. Oh Lord, do not let me forget what you have done for me.