Five Years

Hmm. I seem to be doing that thing where you write only 3 times per year. Like, every four months. I'm a bit embarrassed by that, really, because I used to be so good about posting at least once a week. I can't say that I've been more busy. In fact, I probably have more free time now than I did last semester. I can't say that nothing interesting has happened to me in four months, because my life is nothing if not a ball of interesting. And I can't say that I haven't been inspired by anything, because that's not true either. If anything, too much has been happening and I simply don't know how to write about it.

What I want to write about tonight is this: I've surpassed the 5-year mark in having depression. It makes me feel like I should receive one of these:

I have split feelings about this. On one side, I think, why do I still have depression? How have I not kicked this thing yet? Does this mean that my meds aren't working and I should get different ones? Is my counseling not working and I should find a new therapist? Why can't I be done with depression now? 
But then I remember that depression is its own animal. It's not a case of pneumonia that can be cured with a round of antibiotics. (I had pneumonia over Christmas, by the way. Unpleasant.) The fact that I have had depression for 5 whole years is incredible, really, when you consider that depression has a mortality rate of 20%. For those of you bad at math, that means that 1 in 5 people die from depression (by suicide, alcohol poisoning, overdose, etc).  It means my meds and counseling are working. They're working to keep me alive. This is what makes me want a 5-year chip - it's like, hey, I have survived five years of this horrid disease (by the grace of God, quite frankly) and I did not give up or give in. I'm still here. So don't tell me that I need to try something else, or buck up, or be tougher. Would you say any of those things to a cancer patient who still had cancer five years after being diagnosed?

So that's been happening. And with that comes this wonderingment...when someone is successfully treated for depression and says they no longer feel depressed, people will say "you're back to your old self." I wonder, what would that look like for me?  Five years ago, I was 19. Do I want to go back to who I was at 19? Not really. I was barely an adult, for crying out loud. Depression has been happening during my self-identity formation years. So who am I? Who is that old self?

I sometimes wonder who I would be if I hadn't had depression all this time. Would I be a better person? Would I be a worse person? I like to think that depression has taught me a lot of things, like how to better understand and have compassion for other people. I also like to think that is has made me more patient and less judgmental. Would I have developed those qualities in the absence of depression? And, perhaps most importantly, would I have ended up in a masters program learning how to be a counselor? I can't imagine that I would.

Now that it's mid-March, I've thought of a New Year's Resolution. I almost never make resolutions. Chalk it up to laziness. But this year, it seems that mantras are becoming a Thing, so it came to me one day to combine the two. My mantra/resolution is "Rationalize less. Feel more." Basically, I want to not let my thinking and analyzing minimize my emotions. I've done that practically my whole life. It goes kind of like this:

"I feel very sad." ---> Why do you feel sad? ---> "I don't know." ---> That's not a reason. ---> "Seriously, I don't know why I feel so sad." ---> You probably don't have a good reason, so you should just cheer up.

Instead, I want to do away with that kind of thinking. There doesn't have to be a reason for everything. If I can't find a reason for feeling depressed, I a) shouldn't try to create one, and b) shouldn't feel bad about myself. I should focus instead on truly feeling what I'm feeling and not trying to stuff it down somewhere and compartmentalize it. It is what it is.

Do you hear me? It is what it is. 

My Father the Cancer Patient

What you are about to read has not been approved by my dad. So please don't talk to him about it. You can talk to me and my family, but he would rather not discuss it. If it comes up in conversation, do not mention that you read it here. Say someone else told you. In short, do not treat him any differently. He doesn't want that.

When you throw out the word "cancer," a funny thing happens. People's eyebrows go up, their heads tilt to the side, and everyone is on high alert. There's a very specific feeling that goes along with that word; a feeling of apprehension, anxiety, and fear. It's everywhere - everyone has been affected somehow by this malicious disease. As for me, it has come closer than I ever imagined it would.

Over the course of my twenty-three years, my perception of my dad's identity has been constantly developing. I have a whole list of words that fit the sentence "My father the __________." Things like...

Dad. First and foremost, he's my dad. Always has been, always will be. Sometimes he wouldn't let us do things we really wanted, but overall, I'd say he's done a pretty good job filling this role.

Professor. My dad is an instructor at Grand Rapids CC in the dental hygiene program. He's been there as long as I can remember. He uses me and my brothers as examples in his lectures and his students could probably pick us out of a lineup. Or, at least, they could have when we were younger.

Occasional Dog Lover. We never had a dog growing up because my mom and I are allergic to them. I wouldn't say that my dad is an animal person. He tolerates them and doesn't go out of his way to touch them. But when the dogs next door are outside, he'll walk to the property line and they'll run to him and he'll scratch their heads and talk to them in a baby voice. It's pretty cute.

Rescuer. About two weeks ago, I was trying to get out of the driveway at the house where I work. My little 2-wheel drive car couldn't get up the incline to the road and started sliding backward down the driveway toward their house. It was ice and slush everywhere, so my brakes were useless. I collided slo-mo with a tree, effectively destroying one of my taillights. I had no idea what to do, and whenever that happens, I call my dad. He was already on his way home, but he turned around and drove out to where I work to help me get my car out. He always keeps his cool when one of us calls him in such circumstances. And he comes to the rescue.

Fount of Common Sense. Here are some of my favorite phrases that he would shout whenever we did something dumb:
 - "Close the door! You weren't born in a barn!"
 - "Turn off the water! I have to pay for that!"
 - "Don't touch that end of the hook."
 - "Stop looking straight at the sun. Unless you want to go blind."
 - "If you don't brush your teeth, they will fall out and I will not buy you new ones."

Red Wings Fanatic. If the Red Wings are playing on TV, you can expect to find my dad on the couch downstairs in front of the big screen. The only sounds he makes are when someone scores. If it's the other team, he grits his teeth and lets out a sort of frustrated groan. If it's the Red Wings, he shouts "SCOOOOOORES!" You can literally hear it anywhere in the house. It has scared my mom and I on more than one occasion. I jump right out of my skin. Other than those two things, he doesn't make a single other sound.

Italian chef and baker. My dad loves to cook and bake. Anyone who has sampled his goods will tell you that his homemade bread, cinnamon rolls, bread sticks, and homemade pizza are the best they've ever had. He also specializes in pasta dishes, grilling, and s'mores. For catering information, call us.

Face-melting bass guitarist. When I was in high school, my dad decided that he wanted to pick up the bass. He hadn't learned to play any musical instruments when he was younger, but he was in choir and knew how to read music. One afternoon, he told my mom that he was going down to Rainbow Music to look at some guitar models, get some information, and "just see what's out there." He came home with a blue bass guitar, amp, and starter pack.  He started taking lessons from my biology teacher and playing at church, and he's been at it ever since.

Airplane enthusiast. Dad loves planes. Not flying on them, necessarily, but the planes themselves. For a while, he built and flew remote control model airplanes whose wingspans are as tall as I am. They're all hanging from the ceiling of our storeroom. He has these big books of full-page photos of planes from wars past and present. I'm pretty sure that the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum was one of his favorite stops when we went to Washington D.C. The man loves planes.

Man who thinks of fruit as a dessert. As far back as I can remember, my dad has saved his fruit for last when we eat dinner. He was always the last to finish eating, usually after my mom had started reading the devotional, savoring his fruit.

There are many other identities that my dad has. Two months ago, a new one was added.

Cancer patient.

My dad was diagnosed with a slow-growing non-aggressive form of cancer shortly before Christmas. He didn't tell me and my brothers until after the new year had started. At first I was mad about that, but then I realized that that was a smart decision, since it probably would have ruined Christmas. He told us not to tell people, that it wasn't a big deal, that he would have surgery to remove it and then we'd be done with it.

But it was a big deal. Cancer is always a big deal.

It didn't matter that they caught his cancer early, or that it was easily removable, or that he probably wouldn't  need chemo or radiation. As soon as I heard him say "I have cancer," it was all over. I remember feeling like I was in a wind tunnel, with a loud rushing sound in my ears and an inability to remain standing upright. It was just like in a movie: his mouth was moving, but I wasn't hearing his words because my own thoughts were drowning them out.

Yesterday was the day of his surgery, which went well and with no complications. He stayed the night at the hospital and came home early this afternoon. No fanfare, no carepage, no bulletin announcement. Since the beginning, my dad has wanted this whole thing kept on the down-low. He didn't want people bringing meals, or coming to pray over him, or any sort of "cancer attention." That decision was very hard for me to accept because I needed to form a support system and learn to cope with this new dimension of my dad. He was acting as if this was no big deal - the whole family was - but I couldn't handle that. I would find myself thinking, Am I blowing this out of proportion? If they're not worried about it, shouldn't I just calm down? WHY IS EVERYONE ACTING SO WEIRD?

I did end up telling a few people simply because I couldn't help it. My close friends could tell that something was wrong as soon as they asked about how my parents were. I'm sure my face gave it away every time. I'm not such a great actress sometimes. Once the "secret" was out, I always felt so much better. These were people that I could trust with my emotions and could share my burden. I knew I could count on their prayers and support and phone calls and love. I had a hard time accepting that my parents apparently didn't want this. I had an ever harder time reconciling the fact that telling was something that I needed to do, but that my parents forbade me to do.

My dad has since changed his mind about our vow of silence, but I know that he still doesn't want a lot of attention about this. So here's the gist: he's home recovering from surgery for about three weeks, he'll be back to work after GRCC's spring break, his lab reports come back in about 10 days, and he'll have more blood work done in a month. Based on the location and type of his cancer, his doctor is fairly sure that it was isolated and he most likely won't have to have further treatment. They caught it really early and he'll be back to 100% pretty soon. For all intents and purposes, the most serious part of this leg of the cancer journey is behind us.

There is, of course, always the chance that cancer will pop up somewhere else in the future, but as my dad always says, "We'll jump over that bridge when we come to it." I've laid awake at night thinking about what would happen if it grows somewhere else. That's the funny thing about cancer - you can never be 100% sure that the doctors got all of it. There's always that chance that it will come back, even after many many years of remission. It keeps you off-balance that way. It's not over 'til it's over.

So here we are. My dad has cancer, but he's okay. My family and I ask for your prayers and encouragement, but nothing more. We don't want people to bring meals or to treat us like he's on his deathbed because he isn't. The best way for you to help us is to pray for us and let us know that you're thinking of us. I repeat: no meals, no fruit baskets, no gifts, etc. It would make him feel very uncomfortable.

Thank you for reading this novel, and thank you in advance for your prayers.

Heart Is Where the Home Is

To anyone that has ever had to leave behind a church that they loved, a community that felt like family, or a place where they felt at home.
And especially to anyone who found all of those things in one place.

I know how you feel.

And I'll pray for you.

Simple Fixes

It appears that my tiredness and fatigue and lethargy has a simple fix: Zoloft and Vitamin D.

That's right. My blood work showed that I have a Vitamin D deficiency. I know what you're thinking: how can Andrea, whose backyard is Lake Michigan, have a Vitamin D deficiency?! I was wondering the same thing. I pointed this out to the doctor who suspected the deficiency, and she said that it was probably more likely that my body has an inability to produce Vitamin D from sunlight. She prescribed two 2,000 IU Vitamin D pills for me to take every day. That is one THOUSAND percent of my daily need of Vitamin D. In my Google research, I didn't find any tie between Vitamin D and fatigue/energy. But I guess between those pills and the new antidepressants, something is working.

I'm finally feeling better. I've made it all the way to midnight the last three nights. That hasn't happened in MONTHS. I haven't had to talk myself into getting out of bed in the morning this week. I no longer find myself yawning as I hand over ice cream cones and hamburgers. Perhaps best of all, my strength is returning. I can lift the 3-gallon tubs of ice cream again, I can go upstairs without getting tired, and I'm back to being a scooping machine.

Part of me wishes that the answer had turned out to be something more glamorous, like a rare disease or condition that stumps the experts. But then I think, hello, those rare diseases and conditions hardly ever have such cheap and simple fixes as a nutrition supplement. Two hundred Vitamin D pills cost me, like, eight bucks or something and last me three months. Don't be a martyr, Andrea. Enjoy your simple fix.

So here's to hoping that this actually IS the simple fix and not just a weird side effect of two new prescriptions. I have a follow-up with the sleep clinic in about three weeks to discuss how the Vitamin D supplement is working. If my fatigue comes back, we move forward with a sleep study. My muscle twitching and leg jerking haven't gone away yet, so if that's still happening, then I think I get a referral to a neurologist.

Thank you so much for your prayers and encouragement. I really appreciate all of you. I'm thankful that we are finally getting somewhere and for all that God is teaching me through this ordeal.

On a separate, unrelated note, this is post #100. :)

The Hope For These Times Project

Read through these lyrics first.

"These Times" by SafetySuit - Released January 10, 2012.
Lyrics:

These times will try hard to define me

And I'll try to hold my head up high

But I've seen despair here from the inside

And it's got a one track mind

And I have this feeling in my gut now

And I don't know what it is I'll find

Does anybody ever feel like

You're always one step behind?

Now I'm sitting alone here in my bed

I'm waiting for an answer I don't know that I'll get

I cannot stand to look in the mirror, I'm failing

I'm telling you these times are hard

But they will

And I know there's someone out there somewhere

Who has it much worse than I do

But I have a dream inside, a perfect life

I'd give anything just to work

It's like I'm only trynna dig my way out

Of all these thing I can't
And I am

Sitting alone here in my bed

I'm waiting for an answer I don't know that I'll get

I cannot stand to look in the mirrorI'm failing

I'm telling you these times are hard

But they will pass

They will pass

They will pass

These times are hard

But they will

These times will try hard to define me

But I will hold my head up high

Sitting alone here in my bed

I'm waitng for an answer I don't know that I'll get

I cannot stand to look in the mirror, I'm failing

I'm telling you these times are hard

But they will pass

And I know there's a reason

I just keep hoping it wont be long til I see it

And maybe if we throw up our hands and believe it

I'm telling you these times are hard

But they will pass

They will pass

They will pass

These times are hard

But they will pass

Now, watch the music video. 

The first time I saw this video was today. I was going to do a little bit of commentary on this song, but I don't think I need to anymore. 

As you saw in the video, people are reaching out to each other by stating their struggles, owning them, and declaring their hope for the future. These times will pass. I was inspired by that, and I want to start a bit of a social project: the Hope For These Times Project. Write down why these times are hard for you, take a picture of it, and email it to me. Then, write down the phrase "They will pass" on the other side (or another piece of paper), take a picture of it, and then email that photo to me too. (You can find my email address on the right-hand side near my picture, under the picture of the Eiffel Tower). My goal with this is to put these pictures in a post at a later date, provided that enough people participate. I'm sure there's a law somewhere that says I need your permission to post your photos online, so if you do participate (I very much hope you will), you'll need to let me know you're okay with me putting your pictures in my blog. While I would love to see your face in your photo (it lends so much credibility), I will understand if you keep your face out of your photo. I am 0% interested in knowing everyone's secrets. Hello, I put my OWN secrets online, I'm not digging for dirt. We can LITERALLY put a face on these universal struggles like they did in the video. This is what community is all about. 

So let's recap:

1. Send me 2 pictures: one of your struggle, and one of "They will pass."

2. Copy this phrase into the email: "I give Andrea the permission to use my photos." (or something similar)

3. Stay tuned for the Hope For These Times Project debut. :)

I'll even get you started:

Jesus Says

The Enemy says, "You are weak."
Jesus says, "My power is demonstrated perfectly when you're weak." (2 Corinthians 12:9)

The Enemy says, "You'll always be sad."
Jesus says, "One day, you will be happy again. I'm making all things new." (Revelation 21:4)

The Enemy says, "You are worthless."
Jesus says, "I will save you from oppression and violence, for you are precious to me." (Psalm 72:14)

The Enemy says, "You don't belong."
Jesus says, "I have redeemed you. I have called you by name. You are mine." (Psalm 43:1)

The Enemy says, "You are afraid."
Jesus says, "Don't be afraid. I'm holding your hand and I'll never let go." (Psalm 41:13)

The Enemy says, "You can't do anything."
Jesus says, "You can do all things because I will give you the strength to do them. (Philippians 4:13)

The Enemy says, "Give up."
Jesus says, "Keep going. There is a crown waiting for you." (James 1:12)

The Enemy says, "You are all alone."
Jesus says, "I am with you always. You'll never be alone." (Matthew 28:20, Deuteronomy 31:8)

The Enemy says, "God sure seems far away today."
Jesus says, "Be still. Remember that I am your God and I'm not going anywhere." (Psalm 46:10)

The Enemy says, "Nothing you do is good enough."
Jesus says, "Focus only on working for me, not them. I am well pleased with you." (Colossians 3:23-24)

The Enemy says, "God can't understand your pain."
Jesus says, "I have cried for loved ones, I have been overwhelmed, and I have felt deep sadness in my very soul. I know how you feel." (John 11:35, Matthew 26:38)

The Enemy says, "You should be afraid of death."
Jesus says, "I destroyed death. There's nothing to be afraid of because I am stronger than death."

The Enemy says, "You are tired and weary."
Jesus says, "Put your hope in me. I'll give you new strength and you will fly with me."

The Enemy says, "That anxiety's gonna kill you."
Jesus says, "Heap all your anxiety on me. I care about you and I will give you rest." (1 Peter 5:7, Matthew 11:29)

The Enemy says, "You are lost. You don't know where you're going."
Jesus says, "I'm right behind you. This is the way. Keep going." (Isaiah 30:21)

The Enemy says, "There's nothing left after this."
Jesus says, "I want you to be with me where I am. I've prepared a place for you to stay for eternity." (John 17:24, John 14:3)

No matter who your enemy is, don't listen to them. Don't believe their lies. God's promises cover each and every one of the lies.

Facing the Giant

If David could defeat his giant with one smooth stone...

So can I.

Break the silence. Break the stigma.

This Battle Doesn't Belong to Me Anymore

I don't usually go to LOFT, which is Calvin's Sunday night service. Tonight, I'm very glad I did.

The theme for tonight was 'David and Goliath.' We read through the story, complete with Pastor Mary's hilarious embellishments, and after that was done, we got down to business: she asked us, point-blank, what our giants are. What are the giants that we are afraid to admit to anyone?

Struggling in school?
Fear?
Feeling out of place?
Eating disorder?
Pornography?
Self-doubt?
Self-injury?
Anxiety?

The list goes on. Pastor Mary looked us in the eyes and said "This giant is not yours to face. This battle doesn't belong to you. David trusted God to deliver him from Goliath, and he wants you to trust God to take care of your giant too. You can trust Him. He can do anything. ANYTHING. Nothing that you are facing is too big for him to destroy."

She then invited students to share the giants that they face every day and to claim the power that God has in store for us. One after another, people shared stories of fear, anxiety, depression, eating disorders, identity crises, loneliness, out-of-place-ness, and other things. These brave students publicly (and very, very bravely) shared their giants with us and claimed God's protection, strength, and healing. I was sitting there in awe of their bravery and I knew I would never have the courage to do that in front of all my peers.

But as the service came to a close, and the time had passed for me to share, I thought, why can't I have that courage? I just need to ask, right? I don't need to be afraid. And even if I am afraid, I don't have to let it consume me. I can stand up and be strong. With God's help.

So here goes. I'm going to tell you the story of my giant.

I've been fighting depression since I started college. One thousand one hundred and eight days of feeling worthless, heavy-laden, and afraid. Not every single day was a bad day, but having several good days in a row was a very rare occurrence. My outlook was bleak. It was hard to just get out of bed every day. It is STILL hard to get out of bed every day. God picked me up and set me on my feet every morning, but it was hard to remember that and be thankful.

I was incredibly lonely throughout my time at GRCC. I was living at home, almost all of my friends were living the high life away at college, and I was in the same place I was back in high school. Just without friends and with little social interaction outside of my family. I began to cling to the moments of going out for coffee, visiting friends' dorms, and seeing them for just a few minutes every week. I clung to them with everything I had because I was drowning in loneliness.

When I transferred to Calvin, I hoped that the intentionality of creating community would pull me out of my loneliness. I was able to see my friends from high school on a more regular basis, but they had moved on and made new friends, as they rightly should have. I tried to assimilate myself into their new groups, but I've never been very good at that, and I always had a voice in my head saying You're an outsider. You're never going to fit in with these people. Stop trying. 


My first semester of living on campus (fall semester, junior year) did not go as planned. I knew that where I was living was not going to be the same as the dorm experience is for many students. I was hoping to meet some new people, have people to hang out with, and maybe make some friends. I had no roommate, and therefore spent a LOT of time alone. At this point, all the people my age had moved off campus as I was moving on. They were busy with their own lives, I was busy with mine, and our schedules always slid past each other. For this reason, I was hoping to make some new friends from my building.

I met a total of 6 people that semester who lived in my building. 6. 2 were RAs. 2 of them were the guys across the hall who constantly played their music too loud with their doors wide open. The other two were girls that I got along with pretty well, but both graduated that semester and I haven't seen them since. I constantly told myself that I should be more sociable and more outgoing, but I didn't know how. That voice was telling me Who would want to be your friend? What does anyone see in you? How did you have friends in the first place? People are too busy for you because they don't want to spend their time on you. 


You can imagine my enthusiasm to spend a semester in Spain, where I knew 2 people in the group of students and where everything very suddenly and very harshly became an unknown. It was the longest 18 weeks of my life. I experienced my very worst fights with depression while I was there, and it's only by the grace of God that I survived them and emerged, a little worse for wear. I thank God for the help He sent me along the way, in the form of my classmates, and I've already written a tribute to them on this blog (search on the right hand side under May for 'Living with Lions' for more about this topic). I would have given in to the temptation to end it (in more ways than one) had it not been for them. Dark times. But God's light shined brighter, even when I had trouble seeing it. There was one person in particular who held her light out to me day after day, and I don't thank her enough for it. I thank my God every time I remember her and I'll be forever grateful that God crossed our paths in Spain and continues to cross them now.

Summers were the blazing light in my school year darkness. I have spent each of the last 4 working at the Conference Grounds and it has blessed my life beyond description. I have found a second family there and friends that have walked beside me through this fight. It really says something about a summer job when you long to see your co-workers during the school year. The Conference Grounds is synonymous with community. The staff is a family, and the campers get to become a part of that family. I'm so thankful for them. Without this job, there would be no break from my despair. This is not to say that I never felt depression while at the Conference Grounds. Far from it. But I knew there was always someone who would be there for me, holding out their light to me, ready to walk beside me for as long as I needed them to.

That brings us to this moment, two weeks into my senior year of college. 1,108 days of fighting this beast called depression. Some days I won. I overcame it temporarily. Most days, I was defeated, but held on long enough to go to bed and hope for victory the next day. The beast has been gaining strength over the last several days, and I'm not sure why, but today was one of the worst days. Almost on the same scale as the days in Spain. But after experiencing the power that the others claimed for their lives at LOFT tonight, I want to claim it too.

I will not let the beast destroy me.
I will not give in because of fear.
I will not hide from it.
I will claim God's power and strength.
I will not let anyone look down on me because of the things I have shared.
I will not listen to the voice anymore. In fact, voice, you're banished. Get outta here.
I will try to live with courage every day.
I will be brave.
I will give this battle to God.
I will wait on Him.
I will seek rest.

If you've been able to read all of this, it means I clicked "publish" instead of "discard." Right now, even as I type, I'm having second thoughts.

But the giant ahead of me is NOTHING compared to the God behind me.

Deep breath. Go.

Isaiah 40:29

So I'm going to do something that I haven't really done with this blog yet...write entirely about myself.

Usually I try to disguise writing about myself by adding funny anecdotes or doing the post in a unique way, but today, I have no funny or uniqueness.

I am tired. And I have been tired for a long time. People that know me know that I am in no way a morning person. But some days I feel like I never really wake up. You know that feeling when you wake up but don't feel rested? Getting going is a little slow, and you feel foggy for a little while? There are days when I have that all day. Not really conducive to teaching Bible School and being wild and crazy, wouldn't ya say?

Somehow, God always knows when I need strength and He gives it to me right when I need it. 8:00am-9:45am is probably my most sleepy time of the day. For Tuesday through Friday, that means Staff Devotions and Bible School prep time. Some days I just walk around like I'm in a haze, trying to plan the lesson and organize materials and do all the other stuff. But God knows just when to give me that strength I need. The garage door goes up at 9:45, the kids are all waiting, and it's like He's pulled a switch on my energy. I have the strength to be wild and crazy, play games in line with the kids, sing and do motions during the song time, teach the lesson with patience and charisma, and, basically, act like I'm not tired. Only on God's strength. Certainly not my own.

There are still a few days where I don't feel energized during Bible School, but I know that those are the days where I have to trust the other teachers to carry the lesson or activity, which is something else that I have had to learn to do this summer. Two of my teachers are new staff members, and it's easy for me to hand the simpler stuff off to them (like the Bible verse or rules for a game) and take the lesson upon myself. But God is teaching me that there will be days when I simply can't do it all by myself and that I have to trust them to do just as good of a job.

 "He gives strength to the weary and lends His power to the weak." (Isaiah 40:29).

And that's a promise. :)