As a Christian, who fully believes in, and has personally experienced, the healing love and power of The Living God, I have wrestled with whether or not I should continue taking medication for lingering symptoms of manic depression, and for problems with attentional focus. However, I recently endured a second round of shingles, which upset an already-irregular sleep pattern, exacerbated the widespread neuropathy I’ve had since a rollover car wreck several years ago, and I was left weak and frazzled.
What happened was, I ended up going a few days, in which I missed multiple doses of a couple of medications, and almost immediately, found myself extremely depressed, flooded with innumerable thoughts, being sleepless as much as 36 hours at a time, and with at least two fewer friends.
As I struggled to understand what might be the will of God in such a predicament, I found myself trying to make sense of conflicting ideas. From what I understand though, at least two factors are involved. First, we live in a sinful, fallen world. So, until we leave this earthly plane, we will be plagued with a certain amount of human frailty.
Second, there is a principle spoken by our Lord that says, “According to your faith, be it unto you.” It’s obvious to me that my faith needs to grow daily. One way that I work on my faith is through writing out my thoughts, and trying to make sense of them.
Sea Billows Roll
I must take my medicine.
I must. I must. I must.
I cannot leave those bottles sealed,
to gather so much dust.
If I don’t take my medicine,
I fight, I flight, I cry.
And then, it seems my only course
is just lay down and die.
I wasn’t always so bizarre:
I once was just a child
who played, and danced, and sang a lot,
and, ‘most the time, I smiled.
I dreamed I’d be a great success.
At what—I’d no idea.
I’d blaze some trails, be first, be best.
Those visions filled my sails.
Yet, as I grew, my course, it changed.
I sought, instead, for love.
I searched and bargained, dreamily;
sought nothing from Above.
This course, it grew so crooked;
my dreams they grew so dim.
Imagination clouded, yet,
I looked not up to Him.
At last, long last, I floundered.
My tears, they tumbled down.
My ship of dreams had sunk so low,
it finally ran aground.
I found myself in roiling seas,
a tempest tore my soul.
My dreams were dashed in pieces,
as I lost sight of my goals.
Far down, and down, I drifted;
the depths, they covered me.
I thought my life would end right there,
if no one heard my plea.
At last, I reached the bottom;
in stillness, I lay there.
I thought, in fact, my life was done.
I really didn’t care.
The darkness grew so cold, and yes,
my passions did, as well.
No view, no songs, no fantasies.
I’d sunk right into hell.
Then, suddenly, I felt a sound,
a still, small Voice, to me.
I heard, “I know.” And, that was all.
Two words that set me free.
So, I was lifted upward,
and was set upon the shore.
An Anchor stood beside me there.
My feet were standing sure.
I found another ship of dreams,
I journeyed on again.
This time, my course was truer than
it’d ever, ever been.
A problem came to plague me, though,
in spite of well-made plans:
a cargo holding baggage, which
was not from Master’s Hands.
So, piece by piece, I cast it off.
I’d held it way too long.
“Don’t trouble me, you burdens.
This weight feels just so wrong!”
My destination’s out there.
Of this, I am assured,
if I can just endure this sea,
whose storms must be endured.
So, I must take my medicine.
No seasick mate am I.
I must be watching at my post;
the sails are billowing high.
There’s precious souls aboard this ship.
A charge so precious, dear.
But, one day—yes—we’ll all be there,
with nothing left to fear!
Copyright 2016 by Regina Plimpton Quinn