Honduras, Day 2 – Don’t Flush That

Today (Saturday) was the first day of our eye care clinic. It works like this: people come to the Lions Club building in town, where there is a dental clinic and an eye clinic. A Lions member registers each person as they come to clinic and gives them a ticket, telling them what day to come back. This is so that they don’t spend day after day waiting in line. The first stop in the clinic is a basic acuity test – the patient covers each eye and does a simplified version of the vision chart you see at the optometrist’s office. The one with the big E at the top. The chart I tried to memorize when I was younger so that my vision didn’t seem so bad. Our charts have numbers and pictures on them because some of our clients don’t know how to read, so a chart with letters would be useless.

After that, the adult patients go to a glaucoma test. When that’s done, everyone goes to a station where they sit down and put their face in that machine where the technician shines a light into your eyes to look at the shape of your corneas. At least, I think that’s what it does. I should know, after going to the eye doctor so often throughout my life, but I didn’t ask.

We have five optometrists on our team who see the patients after the preliminary tests. They assess the patients’ vision more carefully and provide eye drops and glaucoma treatment drops to those who need them. They write the prescriptions for glasses for those who need them, and for the special cases like terygium (they tell me it’s like a callus on the eye) or sores or diseases, they write medical referrals to the Lions Club clinic in San Pedro Sula, which does surgeries and more advanced treatments.

The patients that need glasses then come to the dispensary, where we have approximately 1,500 pairs of donated glasses, sunglasses, and reading glasses. I worked pretty much all day in the dispensary with the team members that pull glasses, adjust glasses, and cut lenses. The doctors had bilingual students to help them speak to clients, so I stayed in the dispensary to talk to patients about taking care of their glasses, how important it is to use sunglasses when they’re outside, and when they should come back to pick up custom-made glasses.

That’s the basics. It was kind of a whirlwind day. When I closed my eyes at the end of the day, I saw patients’ faces and heard lots of Spanish in my head. For most of the day, I was able to speak the right language to the right person (Spanish to a patient, English to a team member, etc.). But by the end of the day, I was speaking Spanish to everyone. I was helping my Aunt Penny communicate with a woman selling shawls and scarves after the clinic closed and at one point, she asked me what the scarf was made out of, the woman said “algodón” (cotton), and I turned to Aunt Penny and said, “Algodón.” She just stared at me, with a little Auntie Penny smile on her face, and waited for me to realize that I hadn’t spoken English.

I had never had that happen before. Even at the end of five months in Spain, my default was always English. I always had to think before speaking to Spanish-speakers because my thoughts were in English. But after just one day here, where I probably did more speaking than in 3 or 4 days in Spain, I was speaking Spanish first. At the welcome dinner at the home of the Lions Club president, I was finding it harder to form English sentences than Spanish ones. Crazy, huh?

Here’s a fun fact (and those of you who have spent time in Central America will recognize this one): you don’t flush your toilet paper here. You use it, then put it in the trash can next to the toilet. This took a little getting used to. I have flushed paper only twice since arriving because sometimes it’s so automatic to just drop the paper in the toilet and flush it. You may ask, doesn’t it get stinky? Surprisingly, not too bad! And they change the trash often. Every bathroom that I’ve been in so far (except the one in the airport) has a window to the outside, which helps a lot. Plus, they maintain the bathrooms more often here – I saw a sign in the airport indicating that theirs would be “refreshed” approximately every four hours. Maybe all they do is Febreeze it, but whatever. It helps. The bathrooms here are no stinkier than the public bathrooms in the U.S.

Today (Sunday) is church day and markets day. We’ll start the clinic a little bit later than normal to accommodate those who want to attend church and those who want to do some shopping in the Sunday market. Then, it’s business as usual! Thank you for your prayers and thoughts. We’ve had a very successful first clinic day. And, yes, my suitcase arrived yesterday afternoon, so I have clean clothes again! Stay tuned for more fun stories and maybe some pictures. I haven’t yet had time to organize and upload them. ¡Hasta mañana! 

Honduras, Day 1 – Houston, We Almost Had a Problem

We started the day not bright and very early at the crack of 3. Boarded the plan around 5:45, supposed to take off at 6:05. But you can probably imagine that things didn’t happen the way they were supposed to. We sat on the tarmac for a good hour or so while the guys in Houston advised us to take another route and load up more fuel because of a set of thunderstorms. In order to do that, they had to take some suitcases off. This will be important later.

It was finally decided that the storms had moved out of our way and we could commence our flight, regular flight route, no extra fuel needed. We finally took off around 7. It was a three hour flight, and if it had left on time, we would have had just under an hour to meet our connection to San Pedro Sula, Honduras. But if you have decent reading comprehension, you will notice that we ate up that hour on the tarmac in Detroit. 

Hmmm….

So all the way to Houston, the group is speculating: will we make it on time? How far away are the two gates? When is the next flight to SPS if we miss this one (turns out it was 24 hours later)? Do you think if we radioed ahead, they would hold the plane for us?

Meanwhile, these clowns behind us (you know, the spring breakers type who pre-tan before they spend a whole week tanning on the beach and who order cocktails on a 6am flight out of Detroit) were whining about possibly missing their connector to Riviera Maya. But hello, it’s Spring Break – there are flights to Riviera Maya every two hours. Seriously. If I had a lempira (Honduran currency) for every time I wanted to turn around in my seat and tell them to JUST COOL IT…I could probably buy a Coke. It’s about 20 lempira to a dollar right now.

The flight lands in Houston, and as it’s taxiing to a terminal, the flight attendant asks everyone who does not have an immediate connection to remain seated and let people through. The plane stops, seatbelt sign goes off, and EVERYBODY STANDS UP. I was this close to body-checking those Riviera Maya people, who had several noisy conversations earlier with Houston to switch all of them to the flight leaving two hours later. They were not in nearly the hurry that our group was in.

We got off our plane and rummaged in bags for our boarding passes to SPS, trying to determine how far away the gate was. I wish I could tell you that it was right next door. It was not. We were at terminal B, and SPS was leaving from terminal E. So we hoofed it like we’d never hoofed it before through escalators, people-movers, and a metro.

Word on the moving sidewalk was that they were holding the plane for us and to move to our gate as quickly as possible. And there, around the corner and at the farthest possible corner of the terminal, was our gate.

We made it, by the way.

They held the plane for us for about half an hour, which we realllllly appreciated and thanked them for profusely. I think I apologized to just about every row of people I passed, I was just so relieved to have made the flight. The next one to SPS was something like 11am the next day. That flight was fairly uneventful. No crazy party-hearty spring breakers, at least. And each seat had its own media screen, with live DirecTV and movies for just a swipe of the credit card! No thanks. I stuck with my Kindle.

We landed in San Pedro Sula around 11:45am, I think. I wasn’t sure with the time difference. The ticket said we were expected to land at 10:55, but of course, we delayed them taking off, and there was an hour or two of time difference in there, but whatever. I honestly didn’t care what time it was. I was just happy to be in Honduras.

We made our way through customs and on to baggage claim with the rest of the passengers and lined up around the carousel to grab suitcases. Let’s do some math here: there are 19 of us on this trip, each has a personal suitcase, plus there were approximately 20 “clinic suitcases” filled with equipment, tools, and about 1,500 pairs of glasses. Each of us was responsible for a clinic suitcase in addition to our own suitcase and carry-ons (carries-on?). So we wait around the carousel, grabbing any and all bags with our signature red duct tape strips. The crowd is beginning to thin out, bags at the end have been claimed by people in the back of the line at customs, and our group has claimed a little over half of our suitcases. The luggage hombres close the doors to the outside, announce “Han bajado todos” (all of them have been brought down off the plane), and head to the nearest coffee kiosk.

Yikes.

Remember those suitcases that they took off the plane out of Detroit in order to make room for more fuel that we ended up not needing anyway and they took it back off and didn’t put the suitcases back on in their places?

Nine of us (including me) ended up without our personal suitcases, and I think 6 or 7 clinic suitcases were left behind as well. Most of them had glasses in them, which kind of stinks because we’re planning to set up and start seeing people right away tomorrow. The good news in all of this is that by the time we had reached SPS, our bags had caught another plane out of Detroit to Houston, and a small plane was arranged to bring our missing luggage into SPS sometime late tonight or tomorrow morning. We were told that we could expect our bags to be here at the hotel when we get back from the clinic.

Kids, this is why you put everything you can’t live without in your carry-on.

We took a bus from SPS to La Esperanza, where we’re staying, and I drifted in and out, so I’m not sure how much time it actually took. I would estimate 3 to 4 hours, which is pretty good for a giant chartered bus and mountain roads across that distance. First, we dropped all of the clinic bags and equipment at the clinic and said hi to some Lions Club members who are hosting us, and then around 6pm we arrived at our hotel for the week. The hotel is owned by Lions Club members that host this group every time they come to do the clinic. I like them already. They’re going to be cooking all of our breakfasts and a good portion of our dinners, and they’re taking great care to wash the fruits and vegetables with bottled and treated water so that we don’t get sick.

The under 30 crowd (me, an optometrist named Nisha, an optometry 4th-year named Dan, and Mackenzie) plus my Uncle Bill immediately hopped on the lobby’s wifi. I’m hoping to post every day since the wifi is right downstairs. Around 7, we were served dinner, and after eating, I peaced out and headed up to my room for a shower and to type this and then to bed. It’s 10:30pm Grand Rapids time, I’ve been awake since 3am….I’m too tired to do the math. 18 hours? Ish. Night night, ya’ll. Sleep tight. I know I will. My bed here is bigger than my bed at home.

Honduras, Day 0

In one hour, my aunt and uncle are swinging through to pick me up and head for Detroit. We'll fly out tomorrow at the crack of 6 for Houston, and from there to San Pedro Sula, Honduras. The flight plan says we'll land in SPS around 11am, but of course, this is American aviation we're talking about. We're hoping to arrive in La Esperanza around 7pm, settle in, sleep, and hit the ground running on Saturday with setting up the clinic and seeing people.

Thank you so much for all of your prayers! I am a little nervous right now, mostly because I don't want to forget anything important, but it's only ten days, right? And what are duty-free airport shops for, except for buying things that you forget, right? Anyway, I'm bringing my computer with me so that I can write updates as often as possible.

Here's a map of Honduras for those of you unfamiliar with Honduras geography (myself included). La Esperanza is there about an inch to the left of Tegucigalpa, the capital, marked by the star. Near the end of the week, we'll be going for an excursion to Copan, another inch slightly up and to the left of La Esperanza, near the border of Guatemala. I'll take lots of pictures for ya'll.


Bon voyage! Happy Spring Break to me! I hope the rain lets up for the rest of ya'll here in west Michigan.

What good is a picture of the dark?

When I was in high school, I went on a youth group trip to Rehoboth, New Mexico. There was a student a few years younger than me who took pictures of the most bizarre things. He would take multiple pictures of the same bizarre thing, too. A cactus needle really close up. A person from very, very far away. The sun at noon. Things that no one else would think to take pictures of.

One of those bizarre things was a completely black night sky. If you flipped through the pictures of this sky, you would think that he had taken pictures of the inside of his pocket by mistake because they showed up simply as black rectangles. But here's the real story: there was a lightning storm many miles away that night. We could see it from the dorms we were staying in. Lots of us set up camp to watch it for a little while because it looked so cool. The student, let's call him Craig, wanted to take pictures of the lightning storm. He was convinced that if he pushed the button at exactly the right moment, he would capture a streak of brilliant lightning against the black sky. It didn't matter to him that he all he had so far was a bunch of black pictures, or that he was using a simple point-and-shoot digital camera. Craig wanted a picture of lightning and he was going to try to get one no matter how many people said it was impossible.

Without knowing the story of the black pictures, you would learn absolutely nothing from them. You wouldn't know who took them, where they were taken, what they were of, or what the point was. You would say, "What good is this picture of the dark? And why are there so many?" Craig would be able to tell you exactly why he taken those photos, if you'd only ask.

Depression is a collection of black pictures. There's the obvious connection that depression feels like a black cloud or a walk through darkness with no light to guide you. It goes deeper than that, though. From the outside looking in, it's hard to understand depression when all you have to look at is a series of black pictures. The photos themselves don't tell a story, don't show anything useful, don't explain a damn thing. You need the photographer's story - words on paper, words spoken aloud, words that form a story.

But depression can rarely be explained adequately with words. Believe me, I've tried. It's invisible, so I can't describe what it looks like. I can describe what a person may look like if they are experiencing certain symptoms, but that's not the same thing. That's like saying that wind looks like trees moving back and forth. The pain is intangible - I can't point to where it hurts and I can't explain how it hurts, only that it does. You would have to crawl into my head (or perhaps my heart) to understand what depression is and does. All I'm left with are these photographs of the dark that say, "I have borne witness to this, I have been here, I have lived to tell you about it."

Society has taught us to keep quiet about our pictures of the dark. It has taught us that if you can't take a picture of something, it may as well not even exist. A picture of the dark means nothing and proves nothing.

That's not true though. A picture of the dark proves that there was someone present to witness the dark and capture it, if only for a moment. That dark represents something that cannot be seen, but must be felt or heard or lived. And just because you cannot see it does not mean that it doesn't exist.

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. 

Honduras-Bound and the Painful Thankful

Guess what guys. I'm going to Honduras.
I have the opportunity to go to La Esperanza, Honduras during spring break as part of a team of doctors and optometrists. Obviously, they didn't want me for my skills with a stethoscope or an eye spoon, but rather for my ability to speak Spanish. As the physicians provide services to the people in the village of La Esperanza, I will be on hand to interpret.

I know I vowed never to travel abroad again, but something feels different about this. Maybe it's because it's only ten days instead of eighteen weeks. If you remember, that was pretty rough. If I don't like it, it's only ten days. I think I can handle that. Maybe it's that I've declined this trip for the last 4 years or so because I didn't feel confident enough in my ability to speak Spanish. Maybe it's that I can't stand snow and I especially can't stand a snowy spring break. I don't care that I won't be spending SB on a beach somewhere. I'll be content with the warmth and the sunshine.

I'm very thankful to all of the people who have contributed financially to this trip already. I'm about halfway there and I'm really relying on these donations because all of my money is going toward school right now. This trip won't be possible without the financial support and, more importantly, the prayer support from all of you. I'm excited about it. I'm nervous too, mostly because I still have to raise the second half of the funds, but I know that it'll happen. God provides. He provided the first half. Why wouldn't He provide the other half?

Since it's Thanksgiving, I'll list a few other things that I'm thankful for.

I'm thankful for my parents, who are allowing me to live at home rent-free and loaning me money for tuition.
I'm thankful for my brothers, who fix my technology problems and make me laugh.
I'm thankful for my friends, each of whom adds something special to my life and to me.
I'm thankful for grad school, and the ability to pursue a master's degree. I know that it's not an option for everyone, and I'm glad for the opportunity. I'm not always thankful for the boring classes, but I'm thankful for the people in them.
I'm thankful for books. Oh my heavens, books upon books. I love to read, I love to go to the library, I love my Goodreads account and keeping track of all the books I've read, and I love my Kindle. I don't care what all you staunch opponents of e-readers say. When I can't get my hands on a hard copy of the book I want and the Kindle version is available, I'll take it.
I'm thankful for my job as a nanny. It is a job that I never tire of. I never dread going to work. I wondered at the beginning if that would wear off eventually, but we're three months in, and I still love it. Tyler is my little man and lucky for me, he likes to snuggle. He always has a smile for me. My employers are wonderful too. There's nothing like a job where you know you're appreciated because your employers tell you so. It makes it an easy job to get up in the morning for.

And this may sound odd, but very deep down, I'm thankful for my depression. I know that doesn't make a lot of sense - why would anyone be thankful for depression? I would agree with you there. Some days, the thankfulness is much deeper down than other days. Here's why I'm thankful for depression: without it, I wouldn't have met so many great people, I wouldn't have met my wonderful therapist, I wouldn't have developed such an interest in helping other people with mental illness, and I wouldn't have learned how to understand. Understand people, understand situations, understand lifestyles, understand how you can be sad when so many things in your life are going well, understand how the color seeps out of the world when you're sad, understand how it seems impossible to get out of bed in the morning.

It's a different kind of thankful than the things I'm thankful in the previous paragraph. It's a hard thankful. It's not a warm and fuzzy thankful. It's the thankful that something good has come out of something terrible. The way you're thankful when someone you love is in Heaven and while you know you'll see them again, you hurt so bad that they're not here now. It's a painful thankful. It's the thankful that brings you closer to God and other people.

So whether your thankful is joyful, painful, or something else-ful, I wish you a happy Thanksgiving.

Op-Ed: For Those Who Say that Christians Shouldn't Be Depressed / Para Ellos que Dicen que los Cristianos no Deben Estar Deprimidos

Pastor Cordova's piece is written in Spanish and I have translated it into Spanish; my piece is written in English and translated to Spanish as a courtesy to Spanish-speaking readers. 

Por cuanto la DEPRESION no tiene causa orgánica; es muy poco lo que la medicina (anti-depresivos; y otros medios) pueden hacer. Atacan los síntomas; pero no van a la raíz; que en última instancia es el pecado. Una persona, sea creyente o no; que no asume sus responsabilidades; peca contra Dios. Un patrón no va a excusar a su empleado que le diga:" Hoy no voy a trabajar porque me siento deprimido".

         Culpar a otros por nuestras conductas pecaminosas no es nada nuevo: "La serpiente me engañó, la mujer que me diste…nuestros primeros padres querían evadir su responsabilidad. Dios les dijo: ¿QUE HICISTES? No bebamos las inútiles teorías de muchos "profesionales" en relación a este asunto. El deprimido puede ser ayudado por los recursos del consejo divino. El semblante de Caín decayó (Gen.4:5) cuando mató a Abel. Estaba deprimido por su pecado. Dios no le excusó; en esencia le digo que era lo que tenía que hacer para salir de ese siclo: "Si bien hicieres, ¿no serás enaltecido? v.7. "Asume tu responsabilidad, Cain arrepiéntete y serás restaurado. No pequemos contra Dios pensando que un psicólogo inconverso tiene más recursos que nosotros para ayudar al deprimido. Tenemos el Espíritu de Dios y los recursos de Su Palabra.

                Because depression has no organic cause, there is very little that medicine (antidepressants, y other methods) can do. They attack the symptoms, but they don’t go to the root, which ultimately is sin. A person who, whether a believer or not, doesn't assume his/her responsibilities, sins against God. A boss is not going to excuse his/her employee that says “Today I’m not going to work because I feel depressed.”

Blaming others for our own sinful conduct is nothing new: “The serpent deceived me, the woman gave me…” Our original parents wanted to shirk their responsibility. God told them, “What did you do?” Let’s not drink in the useless theories of many “professionals” in relation to this matter. The depressed person can be helped by the resources of divine counsel. Cain’s demeanor got worse when he killed Abel. He was depressed because of his sin. God did not excuse him; in essence, He told him what he had to do in order to escape that cycle: “If you do what is right, will you not be lifted up?” Assume your responsibility, Cain, repent and you will be restored. Let’s not sin against God thinking that an unbelieving psychologist has more resources than us in order to help the depressed person. We have the Spirit of God and the resources of His word.

Here’s where I’d like to start: how can you say that depression has no organic cause? There is a mountain of research that indicates that depression can be caused by neurotransmitter imbalance in the brain. Sure, some people experience depression because they did something that they feel guilty about, but that’s certainly not true of everyone. Or what about someone who begins to suffer from depression after someone close to them dies? How did that person sin? Surely the loss of a meaningful loving relationship isn’t a sin.

I will agree with Pastor Cordova that pharmaceuticals alleviate the symptoms of depression without fixing the root of it, but that’s not true for everyone. I have met people whose depression has been managed so well with antidepressants to the point that they no longer experience symptoms of depression. I’m sure one could make the argument that those people are simply using drugs to deceive themselves, but that’s not proof that medications can’t eradicate depression.

Now we come to the point with which I have the most contention: Depression is caused by sin? I can see how you would think that, especially if your experience is that depression pulls people away from God, but I wholeheartedly disagree with the assertion that depression is caused by sin. As many of you know, I have suffered from chronic depression since 2008. I take antidepressants each morning, and I go to counseling with a wonderful psychologist (who is also a Christian) three to four times a month. I have a problem with people that say that I am depressed because of my sin. I admit that I am a sinner and that there’s nothing I can do to save myself from that. But what am I supposed to have done that has caused me to feel this way for so long?

The example of an employee who calls in depressed to work shows that Pastor Cordova has little to no understanding of the true nature of depression. As I have written before, depression is not simply feeling sad. It’s a condition that can decimate a person’s will to live. It can put a person flat on his or her back just as effectively as pneumonia can. It may be the common cold of mental illness, but that doesn’t mean that it’s not an intense, painful, and dangerous disease.

I find it somewhat unfortunate that Pastor Cordova needs to refer to doctors and psychologists as “professionals” with the quotation marks. Have those people not gone to school for many years, worked many internships, and earned the right to be considered professionals, no quotation marks? Pastors go to school, obtain graduate degrees, work internships, and must be ordained in order to be pastors. Just because you think their science is faulty does not mean that they do not deserve respect for what they have accomplished.

The example of Abel’s murder at the hands of his brother is particularly revealing of Pastor Cordova’s attitude toward the relationships between what mental health professionals call the ABC: affect, behavior, and cognition (feelings, actions, and thoughts). According to Pastor Cordova’s interpretation of the account in Genesis, Cain experienced depression after killing his brother. This is an example of behavior influencing feelings. But that’s not always the way it goes. Some people experience the feelings first with no sinful behavior. That’s how it was with me. I had graduated from high school, started college three months later, worked after the summer at a job I absolutely loved, and had plans to pursue a career in teaching. I was not mean-spirited, I did not step on other people to get what I want, I worked hard in school and at work, I did my best to help other people, and I certainly did not murder my brother. During that period of my life, when I first realized that I suffered from depression, I spent a lot of time searching my head and heart, trying to determine what I had done to deserve this. It took a long time for me to come to terms with the fact that Christians can be depressed just the same as non-Christians. It was almost as if I had to forgive myself for a condition that I couldn’t control.

I don’t believe that depression has to pull Christians away from God. It certainly can; it is a serious condition that should not be underestimated. At the same time, it has the power to bring people closer to God as well. I don’t always feel close to God, but I trust Him to always be close to me. I don’t believe that God is punishing me for my sin with depression any more than God punishing someone with cancer or a miscarriage or fatal car accident at the hands of a drunk driver. And while I know that it was not God’s original intention for me to be depressed, I have faith that He will use it to bring me and other closer to Him. I already see that in my life in my training to be a counselor and my ability to relate to and empathize with other people.

So, Pastor Cordova, what would you say to me about my experience with depression? Is my experience valid, or am I simply deluding myself?

Quiero empezar aquí: ¿cómo puede usted decir que la depresión no tiene una causa orgánica? Hay un montón de hallazgos de investigación que indican que la depresión puede resultar a causa de un desequilibrio de neurotransmisores en el cerebro. Cierto, algunas personas experimentan la depresión a causa de algo que hicieron por el que se sienten culpables, pero eso no es verdad de todos. O pensemos en la persona que empieza a padecer la depresión después de que un querido se muere. ¿Cómo pecó esa persona? Por seguro, la pérdida de una relación significante y cariñosa no es un pecado.

Estaré de acuerdo con Pastor Cordova que los farmacéuticos alivian los síntomas de depresión sin arreglar la raíz del problema, pero, otra vez, no es verdad para todos. He conocido a personas cuya depresión ha sido suficientemente manejada hasta el punto que ya no experimentan sus síntomas de depresión. Estoy segura que se puede formar el argumento que esas personas simplemente usan las drogas para engañarse, pero eso no es una prueba que los medicamentos no pueden erradicar la depresión.

Ahora venimos al punto con el que tengo la más disputa: ¿La depresión es causada por el pecado? Puedo ver cómo usted puede pensar así, especialmente si tu experiencia es que la depresión le fuerza a la gente alejarse de Dios. Pero disiento con todo corazón con la aserción que la depresión viene del pecado. Como muchos de ustedes ya saben, he padecido depresión desde 2008. Tomo un antidepresivo cada mañana, y asisto a terapia con mi psicóloga maravillosa (quién también es cristiana) tres o cuatro veces al mes. Tengo un problema con la gente que dice que estoy deprimida a causa de mi pecado. Admito que soy pecadora y que no hay nada que puedo hacer para salvarme de mi pecado. Pero ¿qué es lo que se supone que he hecho que me causa sentir estas emociones?

El ejemplo de un empleado que llama a su jefe y dice que se siente deprimida muestra que Pastor Cordova tiene poco entendimiento de la esencia verdadera de la depresión. Como he escrito antes, la depresión no es simplemente sentir triste. Es una condición que puede diezmar la voluntad para vivir de una persona. Puede confinar a una persona a la cama tan eficazmente como la neumonía. Se dice que la depresión es el resfriado del mundo de enfermedad mental, pero eso no quiere decir que no es una enfermedad intensa, dolorosa, y sumamente peligrosa.

Lo encuentro un poco desafortunado que Pastor Cordova necesita referirles a los doctores y psicólogos como “profesionales” con las comillas. ¿No han asistido esas personas a las escuelas graduadas, trabajado muchos prácticas y residencias, y ganarse el derecho de ser considerados profesionales, sin comillas? Los pastores asisten a la escuela, obtienen especializaciones graduadas, hacen las prácticas, y necesitan ser ordenados para ser pastores. Puede que su ciencia sea incorrecta, pero no significa que no merecen la respeta por lo que han logrado.

El ejemplo del asesinato de Abel por su hermano Cain es particularmente relevador de la actitud de Pastor Cardova hacia lo que los profesionales de la salud mental llaman el ABC: affect, behavior, y cognition (sentimientos, acciones, y pensamientos). Según la interpretación de Pastor Cordova del cuento en Genesis, Cain experimentó la depresión después de matar a su hermano. Éste es un ejemplo de lo del comportamiento influyendo los sentimientos. Pero no es siempre lo que pasa. Algunas personas experimentan los sentimientos primero sin las acciones pecadores. Eso es lo que me pasó a mí. Había graduado del colegio, iba a empezar la universidad tres meses después, había trabajado en un trabajo que realmente me encantó, trabajé duro en la escuela y en el trabajo, me esforcé ayudar a otros lo más posible, y ciertamente no maté a mi hermano. Durante ese período de mi vida, cuando primero me di cuenta que padecí depresión, pasé mucho tiempo buscando en mi mente y corazón, intentando determinar lo qué había cometido para merecer esto. Me costó mucho antes de que yo aceptara que los cristianos pueden estar deprimidos tanto como los no cristianos. Era como si tuviera que perdonarme por una condición que no podía controlar.

No creo que la depresión tenga que estirar a la gente y despedazarle de Dios. Se puede hacerlo, seguramente; es una condición muy grave que no debe ser subestimada. Pero al mismo tiempo, tiene el poder de hacerle a la gente acercarse a Dios también. No siempre me siento cerca de Dios, pero confío que Dios siempre estaré cerca de mí. No creo que Dios me castiga por mi pecado con la depresión; después de todo, Dios no castiga con el cáncer o el aborto espontaneo y un accidente fatal a causa de un conductor emborrachado. Y mientras que sé que no era la intención original de Dios que esté deprimida, confío que Él lo usará para traernos a mí y a otros más cercanos a Su mismo. Ya veo esto en mi vida y en mi entrenamiento  de ser consejera y mi habilidad de verme reflejada en otras personas y mostrar empatía.

Así que, Pastor Cordova, ¿qué me puede decir usted sobre mi experiencia con la depresión? ¿Es válida mi experiencia, o simplemente me engaño?