A Toolbox Full of Tools

In an earlier post, I described the epiphany from God that provided me with the knowledge that my son was suffering from depression.  When he realized that he did indeed have depression, at my urging, he went -- mostly willingly, somewhat reluctantly, to our primary care physician.  He returned with prescription, but to my surprise, no referral to a psychologist or counselor.

So I  blessed my son with an Oscar-worthy performance of my "Toolbox Lecture."  I called son into my office one evening and invited him to sit down.  I pointed to my upside-down desk chair and announced dramatically, "My chair is broken!  Woe is me!  Whatever shall I do?"  Suspiciously humoring me, he tentatively suggested, "Fix it?"

"What a great idea!" I exclaimed.  "But where do I start?  If only I had something to use to do that, like a tool maybe?" all as I "accidentally" directed his attention to the toolbox sitting on my desk by casually leaning on it.

Rolling his eyes but still humoring me, he stated the obvious:  "There are tools in the toolbox."

"Really?  There's something in there that will help me fix my chair?"  I feigned stupidity.

"Yes, mom."

Without lifting the lid of the toolbox any further than was required to snake my hand inside, I blindly removed the first tool my hand touched.  I grandly waved a measuring tape at my son.  "Ta-dah!  I have a tool!  Now we can fix my chair!"

"No, mom."

"What?  Is this the wrong tool?"

"Yes, mom."

Meryl Streep got nothing on me.  "Oh, no!  All is lost!  Whatever can I do now?  My chair will never be fixed!"

Raising his eyebrow and wondering where all this is leading, son still plays along for the moment.  "Uh, mom, get another tool?"

I gasp, "You mean I shouldn't give up?  I should try something else?  There's still hope?"

"Yes, mom."

I torture him long enough to repeat this, twice more withdrawing a not-so-helpful tool from the toolbox, until triumphantly my hand emerges with a screwdriver and we both agree that now, after several tries, we have the right tool.

I close the analogy by telling him that fighting depression is like fixing my chair.  We have a huge toolbox filled with wonderful tools:  a plethora of different medications that address a variety of physical issues, counseling, support groups, psychologists, etc.  All the tools are useful, but not all of them are the best for doing what we need done. 

I encourage him that his recovery will be a process.  The first tool we pull out of our toolbox may not be spot-on the perfect tool for the job.  We may need to try a different medication.  Or add individual counseling.  Or support group.   But we will press on.  We will not give up.  We will try everything and anything until he is well.  We shall overcome!  Together we can do anything!

Seriously, I am not clever enough in the flesh to have come up with the toolbox analogy/lecture.  It just happened.  Poof!  It was in my mind, and I believe it was given to me by God Himself.  With that belief, I just knew that in a couple of months, all would  be right again.

As I said before, boy, was I naive.

I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, 
and in his word I hope; 
my soul waits for the Lord 
more than watchmen for the morning, 
more than watchmen for the morning. Psalm 130:5-6

Then Jesus told his disciples a parable to show them that they should always pray and not give up.  Luke 18:1

But do not forget this one thing, dear friends: With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day.  2 Peter 3:8