3 Point Shooter

This week has been a wake-up call.

The contrast between being immersed in God’s Word and settling into spiritual complacency is sharper than I expected. For the first time in a long while, I’ve felt a deep and lingering sense of separation—not only from God, but from my wife, my friends, and, to be honest, from myself. I’m home, but it doesn’t feel like home. And that’s no fault of my wife. Abigail is truly extraordinary. She brings light into my life, and I treasure her more than I could ever adequately express. She is my greatest earthly blessing.

Yet even surrounded by love, I’ve felt isolated.

This isn’t an unfamiliar feeling. I was diagnosed with depression at 18 and wore that identity for years—perhaps even found a strange comfort in it. From ages 18 to 23, I leaned into the label. It gave me a reason to disengage, to wallow, to stay numb. In some twisted way, I believed depression loved me back. It was always there.

But over time, I came to understand something powerful: I have agency.

For me—and I know this is not universal—depression became a choice. Not in the sense that I willed it away easily, but in the sense that I could choose how to respond to it. I chose to reclaim control of my thoughts, to stop accepting that I “suck” or that I’m undeserving of joy. Because that’s a lie. I am worthy of love, of joy, of peace.

So why this week? Why the shadows again? Why the weight?

I don’t know yet. Maybe it’s muscle memory—old habits trying to claw their way back. Maybe it’s spiritual fatigue. Maybe it’s the result of drifting just far enough from the presence of God to remember what distance feels like.

But here’s what I do know:

“You can’t control what happens to you. You can only control how you respond.”

It’s a quote I love (even if Abigail rolls her eyes every time I say it). And it’s true. Life will throw mud. The world will bruise. But I can choose joy. I can choose to smile through the mess, thank the world for the “mud bath,” and keep walking in grace. #HealthySkin or something like that.

Honestly? I don’t believe depression has a grip on me anymore. It doesn’t own me. I’ve walked a long, broken road to discover that Jesus is the answer to my loneliness, my sorrow, my joy, my love, and everything in between.

I live a life I don’t deserve—and yet, paradoxically, a life I do deserve. I deserve love. I deserve joy. I deserve my wife, my family, my home, my friends. Not because I’ve earned them, but because Christ has declared me worthy. He loved me first. He loved me most. He died on a sinner’s cross so that I might walk freely in the abundance of grace. That truth changes everything.

So yes, my life is imperfect. It’s messy, complicated, and full of contradictions. But it is also beautiful. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

My goal? To live a life not centered on myself, but on others. To love my neighbor, to love my Lord, and to reflect Christ in how I walk, talk, and live. If I can embody even half of what I know to be true, then I believe I’ll live a life worthy of hearing those words I long for:

“Well done, my good and faithful servant.”

That is my heart’s desire. And in that mission, there’s no room for depression to take root.

So if no one’s told you today—I love you. You matter. You are seen. And above all else, God loves you more than you can comprehend.

— Austin B. Grant