Depression was an old enemy, a fiend who would haunt her with negative thoughts, pulling her down… down… down… There was no reason or explanation to justify why it was here, dominating over her, or why there was so much unanswered questions in her mind. But she knew it well, this pain inside her. She has come to the point where she has no strength left to resist it, no will to fight against it.
Tears rolled down her cheek as she thought about her life – full of rejection, hurts, failure, emotional setbacks, unloved… Why do they keep coming back? Haven’t all these been taken away when she believed in Jesus? Haven’t it been put to a stop? Why doesn’t she have joy?
She cried silently. She didn’t want her family to hear her sobs. But she knew her tears will not soothe her heart or bring the peace that she longed for. She knew deep down that she couldn’t allow herself to be pulled any lower, but how to let out the pain inside of her?
She drew out the blade from the box of stationeries, and her heart sank ever so low as she stared at the sharp edges of the blade. Fear rushed over her. She knew that she had warned herself against it time and time again, and even now. But the pain in her heart was so compelling…
Don’t do it. She told herself mentally. Don’t do it, Clare. Just don’t do it. DON’T!But she couldn’t. Her hands wouldn’t obey. She gripped the blade tightly in her left hand and placed it lightly on the smooth skin of her right inner forearm. She didn’t want to die; that was not the point. She knew this feeling, depression, and she just wanted to channel it out. If only she could hurt herself physically to siphon out the pain from inside… If only it would help...
Clare closed her eyes and she knew that God was watching her. Don’t do it, Clare… But the fiend that overpowered her: It’ll be quick. This is what you wanted. Satisfy me.
Her left palm was sweating, making her grip slippery. It'll be quick. You've done it before. Let it be quick. Quick!
She pressed the sharp edge of the blade into her skin, but she knew not to do it too deep. She didn't want to die, but she didn't want to be in deep physical pain either. The blade drew a thin one-inched long cut across her pale skin. It wasn't deep; blood was barely visible.
And she pressed it down into her skin again a second time, a little stronger this time... Deeper! Quicker! The fiend was instructing her.
And a third time, faster stroke with more force. A deeper cut. The blood surfaced, but not much. Yet the pain was there. Deeper! Quicker! It demanded.
The fourth, she deliberately stabbed her skin and slashed the blade across it rapidly to give it a satisfying cut. Immediately, her inner forearm was crimson with blood, and the fiend in her savoured every moment of pain...
She broke down in tears again, holding her bleeding right forearm with her left hand, leaning on the edge of her bed. That emotional pain was still there, perhaps even more intense than before she had cut herself. Her heart was in excruciating pain.
She knew that there was only one way, but she has sealed it with the blade. She knew that only God could save and deliver her from this suffering, but she has rejected it, and she has no right to ask of it now. She knew that only God's love could heal her of this pain, but she was unworthy and an ugly sinner.
The moon cast a strip of silver light through the window onto the floor where she knelt. The night was cool and silent, broken only by her sobs. She gazed up to the starless black sky through the window. I have fallen short of Your glory...
She took a glance at her right arm, where the crimson stains were still glowing and in pain. Now I have done this... Lord, I have done this. I don't love myself anymore. Do You still love me? Will You still love me? Now, will You come and heal me? And would You hear my selfish desires? Do you hear me? Jesus... Jesus!
Clare did not know how long she was on the floor, crying and sobbing until she barely had strength left to climb into bed. She did not know how she fell asleep, but she woke up to a day that she didn't want to face for the first time.
"Clare, we'll be late for church!" her mum called outside her room.
"Ok. I'm up," she called back, remembering that it was Sunday, and there was no escape, no excuse to say that she won't turn up.
How on earth am I going to do this? Me? Going to church like this? She asked herself as she gently washed away the dried blood over her wound. The slashes on her arm singed as the cold water ran over it. She forced herself not to think.
She quickly got dressed and they got to church. As the praise celebration started with worship, she reminded herself mentally not to raise her hands too high, or people might see her scars. What if they do see it? What would they say? The fiend said, luring her to crave for attention. Clare tried hard to tug the thought away. Keep your hand low, Clare.
The worship ended and the pastor went up for the word as they settled comfortably on their chairs. Clare was thankful that she was sitting alone. She glanced at her right arm.
"Great grace of God," said the pastor. "is the title of today's message," he looked around the church hall. "Let's say together, 'grace'." The congregation echoed "Grace!"
She stared at the notes on her lap and the intense, excruciating pain struck her heart all over again.
"The Apostle Paul prayed for the church in Ephesus that 'Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the width and length and depth and height— to know the love of Christ which passes knowledge; that you may be filled with all the fullness of God'," he preached.
"How will you be filled with the fullness of God? It's by comprehending and having understanding of Jesus' great love for you."
And tears started to well up in Clare's eyes. She bowed her head so that her hair covered her face. She suddenly realised that she did not understand the love of Christ for her.
"Thank God that He didn't say He loves you, because you are qualified, or you are worthy, or you are with high position in the society. He didn't say, 'Oh, you've won many souls, therefore I love you more.' Nor did He say, 'Oh, you are smarter, more beautiful or holier, therefore I love you more'.
"No! God loves you, even when you are yet a sinner, even when you think you are unworthy, even when you are imperfect. He. Just. Loves. You!" he emphasised.
At this point, she couldn't stop the rivers of tears that flowed. Oh, stop. Stop! She wailed silently to herself. It's not even half the sermon.
"And if you would understand the width and length and depth and height of the love of Jesus Christ, the Lord said you will be filled with the fullness of God -- that means, you will be empowered in your life. That means, you will experience the abundance of God in all sense, all areas of your life!
"The fullness of God is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness, and self-control. The fullness of God is great power and --"
But Clare didn't know what else did the pastor was preached, for she was already trembling uncontrollably from crying so hard and trying to keep back her sobs.
She was loved, now she knew, certain as the sun that rises in the east. She was not unloved. She was deeply loved, treasured more than precious jewels, valued above gold and silver. She was the apple of God's eye.
Clare, I will still love you. whispered the still, gentle, small voice in her. I still love you, like no one else, like no other on this earth. I love you.
And she knew that Jesus was hugging her, embracing her tightly, giving her the courage to stand up again, to fight the victorious battle against the fiend.
Lord, I need you. Clare said. Come, Lord Jesus.
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