By Beth Saadati
That’s all it took for things to get, well, dark. For my words—both written and spoken—to dry up. For bitterness to root. For hopelessness to overwhelm me. For that nagging question—how can God redeem this?—to mock the faith that’s carried me through.
The crazy thing is, I don’t think anyone other than my husband could tell much was wrong. On the outside, the depression wasn’t too hard to hide. I still smiled, meandered through the motions, and (mostly) stayed involved.
But on the inside, depression’s lying accusations wouldn’t let go: