The Little Red Shovel

A long time ago, I was depressed.  Not just down in the dumps.  I was "swallow two bottles of pills" depressed.  

At the same time, I was the mother of three little munchkins, one of whom was a newborn.  Postpartum depression is a really sucky way to spend your baby's first year.

After I had recovered from that one desperately hopeless act (or was it hopelessly desperate?), I spent a lot of time being therapized.  At least twice per week I would drag myself off the couch and try to make my "insert-name-of-SSRI-drug-here" embalmed body look human.  All so I could go pour out my soul to a $100 p/hour stranger.

On one of these particular occasions, I noticed my son standing outside the bathroom door, watching me stare blankly into the mirror.  He asked where I was going, and I told him "to the doctor."  He thought a second, and then asked, "Why do you go to the doctor so much, Mom?"  In an effort to make it simple for him to understand, I explained, "Well, the doctor is trying to help mommy's heart not be so sad."  He shifted from one foot to the other, and then queried further, "Doesn't Jesus live in your heart anymore?"  

Wow.  That was a tough one, and I didn't really have the energy to handle that kind of depth from a five year old.  I tried, once again, to put it into kindergarten terms.  "Yes, Jesus is still in my heart, but I buried Him under a lot of sad stuff.  The doctor is helping me dig Him out."

My little five year-old, wise beyond his years, quickly turned and ran down the stairs.  I heard him digging through his toy box and then tromping up the stairs as fast as he could.  He stood, breathless, by the sink, and thrust the little red shovel into my hand.  "Here, Mommy, so you can find Jesus faster."

So often we do that....bury our Jesus.  He could easily burst through the rocks and sand of our sadness and stand triumphant upon the mountain of His accomplishment, and I suppose for some people He does just that.  For most of us though, I think we have to work.  I think the joy can only come when we put our backs into it, reach down through the rubble, and feel Jesus take our hand as we pull Him back up to his proper place.  Sometimes that what it takes, and the work is SO hard.  But He is SO worth it.

I still have that little red shovel...somewhere in a drawer, and when I randomly come across it as I search for something else, I am reminded of the joy I experienced on that day I realized Jesus was standing atop the rubble...standing there with me and that little red shovel from my sweet little son.