BERNARD SHUFORD

It’s not unusual for me to come away from an event or a conversation with the conviction and determination to be a much quieter person.

I love to laugh and joke with friends.  I love to play.  I love to have a good time.

But old age and a slightly screwed up psyche often leave me sincerely convinced that everybody would have a much better time is I just clamp my jaws together and preserve my own silence.  Let ‘em play.  Be invisible.

It’s not that I talk much.  I don’t.  I have very little to say, but it seems that the statistics continue to turn against me – the percentages climb in the wrong direction.  The less I say, the more of it feels wrong.  It just seems like nothing comes out right, and no one gets my point.  They mean no ill will at all, but Bernard just doesn’t make sense at all.

Confidence is a shaky thing.  The less we trust ourselves, the harder it is to re-establish our foundation.  Some folks can talk endlessly and never seem to offend or bore their listeners.  I clearly don’t have that gift.  To tell me to “be more confident” is the most laughable advice known to man.  It’s similar to telling a drowning man that he has to relax in the water.  He doesn’t have that ability.  He clearly can’t swim, and if he can’t swim, he’s going to drown, and if he’s going to drown, he’s going to fight it.  Much like telling an atheist to have faith in a God that he doesn’t believe in.  Confidence?  It’s a hard earned commodity.  For those of us who have disappointed everyone we come into contact with, those of us who can never keep our promises and always miss our deadlines, those of us who never meet our goals, “being more confident” is nothing more than continually lying to ourselves.

We DON’T believe in ourselves anymore.  We don’t believe that anyone else does, either.  And we’re convinced that our “belief” is right, because circumstances bear it out as true.

I trust very little right now.  And it trickles down.  My feelings of inadequacy are huge.  Id’ love to be a person that folks love to be around, but I don’t feel like that person anymore.

It even feels like I’m talking too much in this post.

So I’ll go sit down and shut up.  Y’all have a great time.

See what I mean?

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So I’m just crusing along, having a decent day.

As a matter of fact, having a great day.  Nothing major going wrong, no road rage drivers in my face, no retailers ripping me off, children not abnormally irritable…

To be even more honest, the day is really over.  I’ve gotten through it well, had a lot of fun, accomplished a few things, met some new folks, and now it’s time, in the words of Mr. Darling, to bed down.

All of a sudden, out of the blue nowhere, something starts gnawing at me.  Something said twelve hours or more ago.  Not said with the slightest ill-will or wrong intention.  Just something.

And there I go.  The emotional crash.  The loss of all self-confidence.  The nose-dive of determination.  All of a sudden, not only do I not care any more, but I become convinced that there is no value in caring in the first place.  The conviction that I’ve done more harm than good already, and I just need to get my sorry butt out of the way and let the big dogs run.

Bam.

I hope you never have nights like this.

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Moses was a murderer. (Exodus 2:12).

Yet, Moses led the children of Israel out of Egypt.  (I realize this is fairly common sermon fodder.  I realize I’m not covering new ground here.  It’s not even new for me.  But it IS worth repeating.)

Moses disobeyed God in regards to striking the rock at some point later.  (I’ll read about this before long and probably mention this again…)

Yet, Moses was called “faithful” (indirectly) in the book of Hebrews. (Hebrews 11:24).

I’ve failed at most of my efforts to be Christlike.  You may feel the same about your struggles.  Perhaps you, like me, become overwhelmed with the struggle that is the Christian life and long for the peaceful sunshiney existence that some would argue is guaranteed for the “truly spiritual”.

We can still be seen by God as faithful.  That’s what really matters.

Take courage.

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Funny how tomorrow’s Sunday School lesson is about depression.

Funny how I’m sort of, well, down. Okay, minorly depressed.

Life takes funny turns. I’m no master at handling those curves. Give me a five-speed in a sports car, and I’m pretty good. Actually, I drive truckie vehicles much more, but that’s irrelevant. Give me a mountain bike on a twisty trail, and I’ll carve you up for lunch.

But the twists and turns of life just sometimes catch me off guard, and I don’t do as well as I should. I get to feeling really helpless, and I wonder if I’m just a big phony.

So, as I teach about finding genuine strength in God even during depression, I’ll still be facing the mental “demons” that are really good at haunting me.

Hypocrisy straddles the same barbed-wire fence as honesty.

I’ll probably “feel fine” by then, and the frustrating clouds that are amplified by being a bit tired will probably fade.

But depression is real. The bright rays of sunshine that have never encountered it have obviously never strayed far into the real world.

Life hurts sometimes. Life confuses. Life spits at us. Life scratches at us in a fit of anger and reminds us that we are frail, and we need the strength of someone bigger than us.

Our faith continues. Even when it’s hard.

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I don’t consider myself a Calvinist. Yet. But I’m not as Arminian as I once was, let’s just put it like that.

I’m definitely much farther from the “if you’ve prayed the prayer, you’re as good as there” camp than I once was. (My “faith journey” began far away from that camp before it journeyed toward it…)

I was once repelled by John Piper, and his continously “theological” mind almost offended me.

That’s changing. Largely due to his mini-book “When the Darkness Will Not Lift”, which is a free resource at www.desiringgod.org. My “recent” struggle with salvation and security and assurance was the midpoint of a severe depression, from which I think I’m finally beginning to emerge. Until I read Piper’s thoughts, though, I had no real idea of just how typical my struggle is.

I have a deep, sincere, honest empathy with those who struggle to know they are saved. Normally, we struggle because we feel doomed to hell, while those around us profess and proclaim a peace beyond measure that they have no doubts of. There are many factors that induce this, but lack of saving faith in Christ is, in many cases, probably not the real problem. Was it for me? I honestly do not know. I am mildly sure that an appropriate but perhaps misdirected focus on “do you know that you know that you know” can trigger doubts that are not the same as the “conviction of the Spirit”.

There’s a lot to this.

For now, I want to focus on Luke 22-24 and Christ. Not on me. I’m hopeless and that’s unquestionable. In Christ there is hope beyond measure. Only in Him. Not in a moment at an altar, not in walking an aisle, not in saying a prayer. Only in Christ.

And, yes, I’m going to buy some Piper books and read ‘em.

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