Every time a bell rings ...

The other day I stated on Facebook that I was having a George Bailey moment. My good friend Mary Beth astutely asked, "Before or after he discovers the bloody lip?" "Right about then," was my reply.

Let me explain.

Ever since I was about 12 years old, I have suffered periodic bouts of depression. It was never diagnosed until I was in my 30s. Toward the end of 2009 it came back with a vengeance, and I've been praying, working and medicating to fight it off ever since. 

They say that significant life events can trigger depressive episodes, and like anyone, I'd had my share of those in recent times: a job change; a big move; a serious health scare; the death of a close friend; the sickness and death of my father-in-law; the death of a pet; a separation from my beloved goddaughter; a difficult relationship with a supervisor; witnessing a series of disasters. Any one or two of these would have been plenty, thank you. 

Many of those things just have to be grieved, and that is simply a function of time and allowing yourself to feel your feelings. (The best thing anyone said to me after my mother died in 1998 came from my close friend Tony, who said, "Just feel what you feel, man. Feel what you feel.")

© Liberty Films

It can be helpful to write a letter to the lost person or thing, sharing everything you feel, good, bad or neutral. Read the letter out loud to another person, someone you trust and who won't comment or judge, but just listen. If you don't have such a person, a pet or a teddy bear will do.

It's a hard life being at once a Christian, an optimist, a liberal and a journalist. You want to see and hope for the best in people and society, but the evidence to the contrary is overwhelming. You trust in a loving and benevolent God, but you witness daily a corrupt and hateful world. You feel strongly motivated to reach out and help "the least of these," but the sheer quantity of them is paralyzing.

War, crime, cruelty, hatred, selfishness, greed, wastefulness, irresponsibility -- all of these are failings of humanity and are to be expected because we are a fallen race. That doesn't mean we have to like them, or accept them, or even overcome them. One thing we can do is pray for humanity, pray that the light of God's love will drive out the darkness of the world. It's frustrating to realize that this change has to happen one soul at a time.


As a journalist, I am witness to an unending torrent of debasement, degradation and disaster. Natural disasters are especially hard for me to deal with because they can't be directly blamed on people. Dating back to big earthquakes in places like Iran and Turkey, followed by the Indonesian tsunami, Hurricane Katrina, the earthquake in Haiti and the tsunami in Japan, these disasters leave my heart aching but powerless to offer significant help. It's hard to wrap my head and heart around devastation on such a scale. 

© Liberty Films

So much of my depression is based in frustration over my perceived failure to make an impact on the world. As a liberal and as an optimist and as a Christian, I have been imbued with a sense of mission and obligation to save or at least change the world, and I've failed. No matter how nice and loving and generous and gracious I try to be, the world just seems to get worse and worse and terrible things keep happening, from big disasters like tsunamis to individual disasters like child molestation and human trafficking.

However, with the arrival of this Christmas season, I started thinking about "It's a Wonderful Life." Jimmy Stewart's George Bailey character has a crisis similar to mine, where his focus on Mr. Potter's malignant greed blinds George to all the good things in his life -- including his own contributions as a good man and a nice guy. He lashes out at everyone around him before turning the anger on himself in a suicidal rage. And isn't that what depression is -- anger turned inward?  

Unlike George Bailey, I didn't meet an angel second class like Clarence who helped me come around, but my therapist and the film have helped me begin to understand that I'm not here to save the world. "That job is taken," my therapist, also a Christian, keeps telling me. 

I am lately reminded -- and I'll attribute this to the Holy Spirit speaking to me in a still, small voice -- of a couple of modern parables I've heard.

© umarko.blogspot.com

One involves a devout man who is approached by God and told to push against a great rock. The man obediently goes out, day by day, year by year, and pushes with all his might against that rock. At the end of his life, the man stands before God and hangs his head in shame. "I'm sorry, Lord," the man says. "I tried and tried to move that rock every day of my life, but it never budged an inch. I'm sorry I've failed in what you asked me to do." But the Lord looks at the man with love and compassion and says, "You have not failed, my son. You have done well. I never asked you to move that rock; I only asked you to push against it. And you have done that faithfully every day of your life. When I am ready for that rock to move, I will move it myself. Well done, good and faithful servant."

That man, I am beginning to see, is me. The Lord wants me to push and push against the darkness and corruption of this world, to resist it every day with all my might, and this I have done. But it is not my job to move the rock, it is his. 

© The Telegraph

The second parable centers on a little boy who goes to the beach with his grandmother. The receding tide has left hundreds of starfish stranded and dying on the sand. The little boy enthusiastically picks up one starfish at a time and throws it back into the sea, again and again. His grandmother sees the hopelessness of the child's efforts and tries to stop him. "It's nice that you want to help, sweetheart, but with so many starfish, surely one little boy can't make a difference," she gently tells him. The child picks up another starfish and tosses it into the water. "I made a difference to that one!" he replies.

So here it is, my bloody-lip moment: My real mission is to love and extend grace to those in my own sphere. I'm just one little boy, and I can't possibly rescue all the starfish on the beach. But as far as my strong will and weak flesh will allow, my goal is to help every starfish within my reach. And just think what the world would be like if we all put forth just that much effort. 

In "It's a Wonderful Life," the angel Clarence shows George Bailey how the world -- or at least Bedford Falls -- would be worse off if George had not been there, simply being a good man and a nice guy. He didn't have to build skyscrapers to make his mark on the world. I know I haven't always done everything I possibly could, but I can say with a clear conscience that I've tossed a fair number of starfish back into the sea in my time. By being considerate, by extending kindness, by choosing to forgive, by preferring others before myself, by offering words of comfort or encouragement where needed, I've leaned in against that rock and given a few starfish new hope. God commends the effort, even if the result is meager. Who am I to set a standard higher than the Perfect One?

© Liberty Films

In the end, George Bailey is saved from financial ruin and a possible prison term by the gratitude and reciprocal generosity of all the people whose lives he has touched through the years. In the basket amid all the cash, he finds Clarence's copy of "Tom Sawyer," with a special inscription: 

Dear George,
Remember no man is a failure who has friends. 
Thanks for the wings!
Love,
Clarence

© Liberty Films

In that climactic scene, George's war-hero brother Harry raises a toast: "To my big brother George: The richest man in town!"
You, my friends and loved ones, are what make me a rich, rich man, blessed beyond measure. Thank you.