Where does my help come from?

The folks--and I use that word literally--we are staying with are watching Walker Texas Ranger starring Chuck Norris with the volume up high, and its awkward and forced dialogue is making its way up to the loft and echoing through our bedroom. I'm trying to drown it out with headphones and the most soothing music I can find while sitting in front of a window with the blinds drawn to watch the bright lightning and sporadic rain.

When the folks had asked us what made the day difficult over a meal of pork and sauerkraut, we mentioned the interviews and reports. When they asked us what we were told, I decided there was no way to avoid it and came out with it frankly: "Well. . .I'm depressed." In one instant it was completely odd to be so open with these grandparents we hardly knew, but at the same time something felt quite right.

"Really? Well I wouldn't have guessed that," she said sweetly. "I knew you were quiet, but I wouldn't have said you were depressed."

I was already aware, I told her. No surprise, but still never easy to hear. And the reminder that God uses all sorts of people. And it's a good thing.

When we were born into sin, we were born into such a twisted complex web of deceitful quirks that would play all sorts of unimaginable evil tricks with our minds and inhibit us for the rest of our earthly lives. To untangle these, to make sense of them, and to press on in perseverance is an incredibly daunting, burdensome, and endless task.

The spirit's help is strong, steady, and sufficient. But change never comes quickly enough.

Less of me, God, less of me. I no longer live, but you live in me. So grow, taking precedence, growing brighter, making sense, sorting through, untangling, until no longer are my neurotic tendencies a barrier blocking the display of your glory.