In the Due
Time of the Lord
By G. G. Vandagriff
On my dresser sits a picture of
the Savior given to me by a dear friend, captioned by the quote:
“Be faithful and diligent in keeping the commandments of God,
and I will encircle thee in the arms of my love.” (D & C
6:20) This has been a great comfort to me. The events
of this year have convinced me beyond doubt of the truth of
these words.
For the past twenty-five years,
I have suffered in varying degrees of severity from depression
and anxiety disorder. I have been hospitalized many times.
In fact, this is a genetic illness that can be traced back as
far as I can go on my family tree. I am the first sufferer
that I have discovered who has not been institutionalized for
life.
For years, I have prayed that this
illness would be taken from me. The greatest peace I was ever
able to find came in the temple, where I worked two days a week
and served often as a patron.
But April
Conference, 2006, found me in such terrible straits that I was
obliged to ask for a leave of absence from my work there, so
severe were my panic attacks. In wretchedness, I listened to
Elder Jeffrey R. Holland’s address, “Broken Things to Mend.”
We had conference tickets, and I sat in wonder as Elder Holland
described my state of mind:
His next words arrested my soul:
He is saying to us, “Trust me,
learn of me, do what I do. Then when you walk where I am going,
we can talk about where you are going, and the problems you
face and the troubles you have. If you will follow me, I will
lead you out of darkness.”
My husband downloaded that talk
onto an MP3 for me and I listened to it daily, sometimes several
times as I endeavored to come through my panic attacks. I visualized
Peter walking towards the Lord on the water, full of faith and
then, like me, doubting and falling into the water. Drowning.
But the Savior’s arms were stretched out to him. He was rescued
in spite of himself.
Faith
Faith had always been hard for
me, because as one depressed, I was without hope. This condition
was endemic to my illness. As Elder Holland suggested in his
address I studied Alma
32. I had the desire. I gave, as he counseled, a “small place
for the promises of God to find a home.” In my despair, I spent
hours on my knees petitioning the Lord.
Friends
It is often through those close
to us that the Lord answers our prayers. One day, as I was
visiting teaching a new sister with a new companion, I had a
panic attack. Neither of them knew about my illness. My husband
is bishop of a singles ward on BYU
campus and we had been serving there for two years, so aside
from visiting teaching, I was very cut off from the members
of my home ward.
As I explained to them, apologetically,
the nature of my illness, both sisters became very concerned.
They suggested a Relief Society fast. I begged them not to
do this. There were too many other sisters who had far more
serious problems. Nevertheless, without my knowing it at the
time, my visiting teaching companion called several sisters
and asked them to fast for me. I don’t even know who all of
them were.
I had another close friend who
was my walking companion. She knew a lot about mental illness
and had watched my recent decline with growing alarm. I had
lost so much weight I was skeletal. I trembled constantly.
I was afraid every minute of every day. I was angry that my
one healing balm — temple service — had been denied me. I was
bound by a blackness so profound I
had great difficulty perceiving any light.
She told me, “GG, you are very
sick. I’ve watched you. You need to go to the doctor. There
must be something they can do for you.” I told her, that on
the contrary, my psychiatrist had told me there was nothing
he could do for me. Every drug had been tried. Every treatment,
even electro-convulsive shock therapy, had been experimented
with. I was on my own. As my therapist had told me, this was
the way my body was wired. She persisted, begging me to give
it one more try.
Action
Without much hope, I made an appointment
with my family doctor, a personal friend in my ward. I thought
at least he might be able to give me something to alleviate
my immediate symptoms. I wasn’t able to get into see him until
the Tuesday of the following week. I didn’t know it, but that
was the day my friends were fasting for me.
When my doctor entered my cubicle,
before I could say a word, he asked me what medications my psychiatrist
had me on for depression and anxiety. I told him. He said,
“Let’s see if we can do better than that. I found out about
a new medication yesterday. I have some samples. I’d like
you to try it.” He also gave me another medication to take
with it.
Without much hope, I took those
medications that night. I had been down this road many times
before. I knew anti-depressants took weeks to work. I had
very little hope, but I was exercising my particle of faith.
A
Miracle
The next morning, when I opened
my eyes, the blackness was gone. Beautiful light streamed through
my bedroom window, and a feeling of deep spiritual well-being
filled my soul. Fear was gone. I was anxious to go forth and
begin this new day. I couldn’t believe it. I sat up. The
world whirled around me.
Side effects.
Was I going to be able to tolerate this new medication? At
that moment, I decided I didn’t care if I had to live as an
invalid, as long as I could be emotionally and mentally healthy.
I called my doctor and he assured me, that in time, the side
effects would go away.
Over the next three weeks, I gradually
began to feel better physically. Emotionally, I improved daily.
I spent more time on my knees. This
time it was in tearful gratitude for the answer to twenty-five
years of prayers. At last the magical chemicals had been delivered
to my brain that caused the synapses of my nervous system to function
as they should. When I went again to my therapist, he said, “Your
family doctor was clearly inspired. If you had gone to a psychiatrist
with the symptoms you presented, he never would have put you on
those drugs.”
I can pray in faith now. I have
been encircled by the arms of my Savior’s love. I know my Master
and he knows me. He has always known and loved me, but because
of the mortal body I inherited, I was prevented from feeling
it. Now, thanks to the grace and power of the atonement of
Jesus Christ, I have been enabled to change. I can manage my
illness. It is a miracle I never expected in mortality.
As Elder Holland promised, His
yoke is easy and His burden is light. The time was finally
right. All the pieces were in place. I was trying as best
I could. My friends exercised their faith by fasting in my
behalf. My doctor had been given the answer the day before
he saw me. My life was changed forever.
Now
I can press forward with that heretofore elusive “perfect brightness
of hope,” to tackle new challenges, tethered in the faith in
Jesus Christ that has been forged in the fire of my extremities.
Like the handcart pioneers, I know that no agency, save the
power of the Lord, could have rescued me.
