The Diary Of A Peevish Man

A bout of depression has been creeping up inside me all this long weekend.

Nothing specific that I can pinpoint triggers it; I go through these periodically and it is only in the past few years that I have come to recognize the onset; but the symptoms are typical.

I get peevish.

My mantra becomes, “Failed Again”.

Nothing pleases me.

And I snap at Ginny over things which have nothing to do with her.

I feel discouraged and think “What’s The Use” about every undertaking.

Also certain masculine functions get disrupted. I berate myself constantly. I feel angry at God and the world in general. I’ll yell at the tv news announcers instead of letting their moronic pronouncements flow by. And I lack energy or enthusiasm for any project; every thing seems futile to me, and past accomplishments empty.

I’m such a fun guy to live with at such times.

All that’s a fine state for a Christian isn’t it?

However, symptoms are not sin.

And frustrations are not faith.

Jesus saves sickies but that does not always give us glitter.

I started not to post in my diary this morning because I’m in such a downer mood, but that would not be honest. These pages I hope reflect one minor Christian’s life and times accurately with as little glossing over as possible. And it would not help any future reader (that kid in the attic I’ve mentioned before) if I let bad times pass in silence.

We place our trust in Jesus because He is true, not only because it makes us feel good. If He were not true, then it would be nonsense to believe in Him even if such belief gave us an emotional lift.

Ginny and I spent most of the weekend doing major work in our garden. I refurbished the jungle path in the wayback and cleared out a corner of the yard that I have not worked on in three years.

You’d think such heavy physical work would be therapeutic for a depressed man.

Not for me.

I actually snapped at Ginny over the placement of a bucket of sand!

What would Dr. Phil make of that?

Of course, nothing tops off a pity-party (I understand that depression is displaced anger directed at myself instead of at outside stressors) be that as it may, but nothing tops it off like a shopping trip.

You know a shopping trip on a crowded holiday, 50% off sale, the kind of trip Jesus went on when —

"The devil, taking Him up into a high mountain, shewed unto Him all the kingdoms of the world in a moment of time. And the devil said unto Him, 'All this power will I give thee, and the glory of them: for that is delivered unto me; and to whomsoever I will give it. If thou therefore wilt worship me, all shall be thine!'”

I didn’t know they build WalMarts up on high mountains.

Probably gave it a fancy name like Mountaintop Mall.

Anyhow, Jesus told the devil something like, “This is my right side. This is my left side. This is my front side. And you know which side you can kiss”.

In the King James translation that’s rendered, “Get thee behind me, satan”.

And Jesus said, “For it is written, Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God and Him only shalt thou serve”.

Anyhow, Ginny and I visited two stores where gaudy goods and glory from all the kingdoms of the world spread in vast array before us. Treasures from China, Ecuador, Sri Lanka, Turkey, Germany — none of it in my size.

Ginny bought some curtains and cloth stuff; I hunted the stores for some cup hooks.

Cup hooks were the only reason I went to the store.

(I wanted them to hang some bird houses under the deck rail).

Ever tried to find some 89 cent cup hooks in a shopping mall?

Simple little cup hooks?

I could have ordered a new deck built by professional contractors easier than I could buy four cup hooks!

Mountaintop Mall indeed!

I’ll use rusty nails.

Dumb birds deserve no better.

They won’t know the difference.

Yes, I’m a bit peevish.

On a happier note: after reading my last post, Donald and Helen called to lend me a copy of a Greek Testament. I will be able to transcribe the passages I need this afternoon.

Then tomorrow, I get to go to Dr. Oz again, for him to probe my prostate cancer.

It that doesn’t lift my spirits, nothing will.