Dear God,
I’ve been repeating the words of today’s readings over and over again like a mantra.
In the Gospel of John, Jesus said to his disciples, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you” (John 14:27). And then one line later he added this commandment: “Do not let your hearts be troubled or afraid” (John 14:30).
Let me say it again: “My peace I give to you. …Do not let your hearts be troubled or afraid.” Because reciting those two sentences aloud packs the power of two Xanax.
Intellectually, of course, I acknowledge Your gift to us, God. I know I have to go to You with my worry, and to give it all to You. But that doesn’t take into account the neurobiological hazards of my cerebral cortex, hypothalamus, and hippocampus: my brain’s limbic system, responsible for emotions of fear, rage, and depression.
It’s the gray matter between those two things, science and faith, and the guesswork involved, that’s driving me crazy. How much of my pain can I prevent by going straight to you, God? To turn over to you all my anxiety? Because there have been moments in my life when I was able to do simply that, and it gave me great peace. And how much can I not control because of the biochemical and neurological Armageddon going down in my brain? When do I need to go to the real doctor, not the Divine Doctor; to get into my car, not down on my knees?

I suspect that we, depressives, have to live with that question every day, to ask it repeatedly, sometimes several times a day, in order to get towards any kind of answer.
I love this excerpt by John Dear in his book, “Living Peace”:

Peace begins within each of us. It is a process of repeatedly showing mercy to ourselves, forgiving ourselves, befriending ourselves, accepting ourselves, and loving ourselves. As we learn to appreciate ourselves and accept God’s gift of peace, we begin to radiate peace and love to others.
This lifelong journey toward inner peace requires regular self-examination and an ongoing process of making peace with ourselves. It means constantly examining the roots of violence within us, weeding out those roots, diffusing the violence that we aim at ourselves and others, and choosing to live in peace. It means treating ourselves with compassion and kindness. As we practice mercy toward ourselves, we begin to enjoy life more and more and celebrate it as adventure in peace. We turn again and again to the God who created us and offer sincere thanks. By persistently refraining from violence and hatred and opening up to that spirit of peace and mercy, we live life to the fullest, and help make the world better for others.

Like I said on my Cafeteria Catholic video, this self-examination isn’t fun, but I think it’s the only way we grow in our faith—in asking lots of questions, just like my kids do, about why things are the way they are, and what we are going to do about it. No matter where I am in my recovery, in my life, in my faith, I seem to always return to this quote by the poet Rainer Marie Rilke, about loving the questions themselves:

Have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.