Feeling bad, thanking God

Interferon is a very good drug for someone in my situation. It improves stage 3 melanoma 5-year survival rates significantly (by 10-12 percent from my reading), and frankly, the side f/x could be even worse than what I have encountered. But it's gotten harder as I've gone through these past 11 months of adjuvant therapy, and with one month to go, I'm seeing why some patients decide they've had enough at these later stages.

Depression and the recurring flu-like symptoms still knock me flat, repeatedly. I feel bad -- often. And in the midst of this, I'm struggling with my faith.

I thank God for all of this, though, as a reminder of what my life would be like without Him. I find the Spirit's comfort to be a balm to me in the midst of trouble. I cling to the cross now, feeling weakened and worthless, doubtful and frail. God is good.

Cancer and Depression

A confession: I was an atheist for most of my adult life. I converted to Christianity in April 2000, and have sincerely struggled with faith ever since. I have a hard time "being a Christian." I am, to be honest, a lousy one. My journey as a Christian has taken me from very stern churches to a much more relaxed, yet very orthodox church. 

I've been diagnosed with depression since I was a teenager, too. This is part of the battle. And I'm in the final stages of cancer treatment; the interferon I'm on makes these passages worse. Part of my current passage is me wondering what kind of faith, if any, I have. Hard to think clearly when depression is hovering. Part of the deception of depression, for me, is figuring out when it's wielding its influence, and when it's just honestly me struggling. There is a difference.

Why don't I just walk away from faith? I can't. I love Jesus Christ. And I love people. (Woops, guess that's two sticky wickets.) And creation. And, ultimately, this is where my faith comes down: I do not naturally love anyone. Something changed in me in April 2000. Fifteen people would give 15 different explanations for what that was, but I would be the 16th. 

Right now, I feel bruised, aching, despairing. I cry out for Jesus, knowing how completely unworthy I am of the least of His sympathies.