Ryan McGinnis has wrestled hell a couple times.

He also has a man beard.  I’m talking about the kind of beard that could be trimmed for Locks of Love and made into a head piece for a Jewish guy who has alopecia universalis.

Ryan has also had a few kick boxing matches with both depression and suicidal thoughts.

Ryan and I also go to Biblical Seminary together and he’s my friend.  And he blogs.

Below is a recent piece from his blog that I read during class last night.  I asked Ryan if this piece could be a “guest post” and he agreed.

I hope you’ve never struggled with the kind of stuff Ryan describes below.  And I hope that if you have struggled you can find encouragement, not only from Ryan’s story, but also from his willingness to embrace life.

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In 2010, I spent the majority of the year in a state of dark and deep depression, prone to fits of suicidal idealization. I did not want to die, but did not desire to live. The thought of the grief I would cause those that I love kept me from making such a selfish decision. I would lay in bed for days just wishing that I could close my eyes and fade into nothingness.

Even now I have good weeks and months and bad weeks and months, but all of last year was characterized by an ache within my heart that I could not alleviate. I drank almost every day. I stayed awake for days and then slept for days. I can remember in the beginning of January, waking up and bargaining with God with my life:  “God, if you do not do something, I will end it. If you do not do something to help me, I will end it.”

Sometime in the early summer of 2010, I woke up Sunday morning with an expression stuck in my head. I could not shake it, and I still repeat the phrase from time to time. I had Googled the phrase and found no answer. It seemed like gibberish, yet I knew it had to mean something important.

I woke up repeating the phrase “Aung-fec-tungen”. That was how I heard it, that was how I spelled it. I didn’t know what it meant, but I even spoke about it to the Sunday school class I was teaching. It just overwhelmed me, and wouldn’t leave me.

Tonight, I am reading Off the Record with Martin Luther

Luther, having been overwhelmed in his soul, thought that he was about to die. I read of the fit he was having and thought “I have been that ill before.” My wife can testify to this. I was so overwhelmed and grieved in my soul I had stroke like symptoms and had to get an MRI done. These episodes had left me bedridden for days.

Speaking of Luther’s condition, the editor makes this note:

Martin Luther often experienced severe depression and torment of the soul. He did not doubt the existence of God, but doubted whether he was worthy. The German word for this condition is Anfechtung, and there is no comparable English translation. It can only be summed up as torment of the soul, but means much more than that. It is a feeling of utter isolation and depression, of panic and despair, of total unworthiness, the ultimate in lack of self-esteem before God (121).

Tonight, before beginning my reading, I intentionally prayed to God for the first time that I can remember. In my despairing, and anxiety I asked for help once again.

I asked that God would help me to die. Not a physical death, but a death to the pursuit of fixing that which is broken within me. A death to the things that leave me so grieved and despairing that all I am capable of doing is seeking relief from their weight upon me.

Tonight, I have been given a word that describes my condition:
In having a description, I know how to call out to my God and ask him to save me from it.

“Whoever does not take up their cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Whoever finds their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life for my sake will find it.”

Tonight I will seek to lose my life. I cannot carry Christ’s burden while carrying my own. In losing my life, perhaps for the first time, I may live and have life abundantly.

Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.

My only hope is your promise, Oh God.

Death to me is now a welcomed friend who brings peace and rest to my soul.
Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner,

Amen

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It takes strength to recognize personal struggles and courage to share them publicly.  If you resonate with Ryan’s story and want to continue the conversation, please feel the freedom to share.

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