More Than I Can Handle

By Celena Janton

“Wow,” someone said to me as I dropped my twin babies off at the church nursery, “You have twins. God didn't give me twins because He knew I couldn't handle them. God will never give you more than you can handle.”
I didn't say anything. Those days, tears were always stuck in the back of my throat, threatening to spill over as depression constantly clouded my mind. What does “handle” mean, anyway? I thought bitterly.
So many people told me the same thing but I knew it wasn't true. Unless I was “handling it” when I threw vases and broke them against the wall, thanking God I didn't hurt my babies during my fits of rage. Unless “handling it” was screaming at my husband or babies who cried all night. Unless “handling it” was running outside and slamming the door and wishing I had a license so I could run away. Unless “handling it” was crying into my pillow every night and wishing I could die.
When I first became a Christian, 5 years before depression set in and challenged everything I thought was true about God, I argued with a college professor that “God will never give you more than you can handle.” He said, “Well, Celena, there is a verse that says 'God won't tempt you beyond what you're able to endure' but 'enduring' is much different from 'handling.'”
To handle something means you've got it under control. While the world assumed I was handling being a new mother of twins, I was actually flying off the handle just about every other day. Mr. Webster described me well: “flying off the handle: going into a state of sudden & violent anger.” That was me, all right.
For about a year and a half, I struggled with postpartum depression. I think it's important to talk about it, because when I was going through it, I was very ashamed and thought no other Christian ever struggled with it. I didn't tell my doctor because she knew I was a Christian, and I wanted to have a good testimony.
When I was fighting depression, the only book in the Bible that could begin to console me was the book of Job, because he questioned God the same way I did. Job said things like:
“I was at ease, but He shattered me.”
“Why do You hide Your face and consider me Your enemy?”
“Though He slay me, yet will I serve Him.”
I would lock myself in the bathroom, the only place I could be alone, and cry out to God with an honest heart like Job's:
“God, why won't You deliver me? Do You hate me? Why do You hate me? What did I do wrong?”
And the Lord spoke to my heart the words He spoke to Peter: “You don't want to go away, also, do you?”
And even though everything within me felt sure He had something against me -- that He hated me, even! -- I cried out, “Lord, where else can I go?! I know that You have the words of eternal life. I believe and know that You're God. There's nowhere else to go!”
So, I endured. I endured. I didn't handle anything. I couldn't handle it on my own.

I couldn't even handle it as I prayed and sought God. But I realized how much I needed Him -- more than I ever realized before.

When I first prayed at the altar five years before all my real problems began, I was a very happy sinner.

Yep, sinners can be happy! I knew something was missing, and when I prayed to ask Jesus to come into my heart, that was just the icing on the cake.

I knew He died for my sins, but it was so superficial. Jesus was my buddy, my real life genie in a bottle.

But when He finally gave me more than I could handle and I realized how much I really, truly needed Him, He became my Father and my Savior, the One I could never run away from, no matter how bad it got.
So is God not God because He gave me more than I could handle?

I believe He gave me more than I could handle so I would understand that I'm still a sinner who needs His grace.

Before I fought depression and anger, I didn't realize I had that potential for such anger inside me. For five years I had a life of ease, just like Job did before calamity struck. I loved God because He was good to me, because He blessed me. I didn't realize that even if He never did anything else for me, dying for me was enough.
I am so thankful that my children will never remember that I used to scream at them, throw things, and slam doors.

I'm so thankful that I never hurt them. I'm so thankful that I can smile a sincere smile and can laugh so hard my face hurts. For almost two years, I wondered if I would ever laugh a real laugh again!

My friends tease me when I laugh so hard I snort, but I love it when I do because every single time, God reminds me that there was a time I thought I'd never be happy enough to laugh that hard again.
I am so glad I'm not there now, but I wouldn't go back and change it for anything. God truly did deliver me from anger and postpartum depression. When I had my youngest child, Samuel, depression didn't even try to sneak back in.

God blessed me so much by giving me such great joy with my final baby whose name means “heard by God.” God did hear my prayer, and He didn't answer it the way I thought He would, delivering me the moment I asked.

Instead, He did a more glorious work in me than I ever would've thought to ask for by making me endure.
And so, I praise His name, thanking Him for who He is: A God who sees the end from the beginning and who loves us enough to give us more than we can handle!