Ty: There’s a lot that we don’t yet understand about mental illness and depression. In fact, it seems the only thing experts can agree on is the fact that we don’t quite understand the complexity of mental illness. When we do recognize the complexity, however, we acknowledge that the root causes of mental illness for each individual person could be entirely different. For some, it could be entirely biological and physiological. For others, it might be a previous trauma that sparks their feelings.
And for some, it could be fear.
Fear is a natural feeling. We feel it when we are little and we cry in the darkness. We feel it as we grow into adolescence and worry about rejection. We feel it when the pressures of this world become too much to bear. And we feel it as we age and wonder about what lies beyond.
And sometimes, we feel it for no reason at all.
When we think about fear in the context of mental illnesses like depression and anxiety, it’s easy to see a connection. It’s easy to be afraid in a world that demands more and more of us each and every day. That fear can become paralyzing, and in my Dad’s story, that fear can become fatal.
Reverend Dan Walters is back to continue telling his story of battling with mental illness. I commend Rev. Walters for doing something that so many pastors are afraid to do. Dan is being vulnerable. Dan is being authentic. Dan is being courageous. And Dan is still giving glory to our God in the midst of his struggles.
He is speaking life into our suffering, and if you’ve arrived at Seeya Bub because you’re struggling, I hope you realize Rev. Walters is speaking directly to you.
Dan Walters: I recently wrote a book about “The Trap of Silent Depression.” It describes my story of depression caused by rejection from my significant others. I spent many years thereafter trying to prove to my rejecters that I was worthy of their approval. Many people are trapped in this prison of silence in hopes that someday they can hear the words from a mom, a dad, a family member, a teacher, a spouse or some other significant person from whom they have longed to hear and set them free from the silent disorder that lies within.
One of the greatest torments of many depressed persons today is their fear of failing. I know, because it was an ongoing torment in my own life. The fear of failing may be the result of various disorders and traumatic life situations. For me, it was the trauma of being rejected by a pastor and friend when, as a young man, I announced my call to ministry. What should have been a celebration turned into a ridicule. It was a sucker punch that I did not see coming, and the effects would have life changing consequences for years to come – which manifested itself in a silent, unspoken depression.
In my case, the fear of failing produced within me an almost constant anxiety, and became an irrational and abnormal driver to succeed. The problem with the “fear of failure” is while on the positive side it served to drive me onward, on the negative side it served to drive me downward and inward. In other words the “fear of failure” had a devastating effect on my physical and emotional being. Physically, I experienced ongoing anxiety and panic attacks, along with episodes of intense stress, which often times made it difficult to even breathe. Other times it caused chest pains that made me feel that I was having a heart attack. These physical effects required medications to partially control them. However, the medications required to control anxiety and panic attacks induced weight gain, which produced even more anxiety since I was already overweight. I gained 14 pounds in one month from one medication. It was a hopeless vicious cycle.
In my depressed state of mind, failure was not an option, which only intensified my fear of failing; and while this fear of failing was driving me to be successful in order to gain approval from my significant others, it was also driving me deeper into the prison of silent depression and despair. Note: Take into consideration that fear of failing is magnified for the person of a melancholy/perfectionist personality. Thankfully, there are various treatments today for the different types of fears. However, I would like to share with you some simple truths that set me free from the fear of failing and can help set you free from your fear of failing also.
First, understand that failure is universal, and everyone experiences it. Whether it be eating properly, brushing our teeth after each meal, obeying the speed limit, etc., the truth is we all fail at one time or another. Everyone fails – you are not alone. Thomas Edison, the great inventor once said, “I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.” So remember failure is not new; it’s been around for a long time. The Bible bears this out in the book of James 3:2 “For we all stumble in many ways…” If you were to do a study on the rate of humans who fail you would find that the failure rate is 100%. Everyone fails! This includes the great men of the Bible like Noah, Abraham, Jacob, Moses, David, and modern day people like you and me. Hebrews 4:15 reminds us that only Jesus, the Son of God has never failed. I read somewhere that “Failure is when you feel like your best just isn’t good enough.” But our best is good enough for God because we are made in His image.
The second truth to overcoming the fear of failure is to remember that failure is not final. Proverbs 24:16 teaches us “For though a righteous man falls seven times, he rises again…” The late Billy Graham said when he was asked to preach his first sermon he had prepared four sermons and he was so nervous he preached all four of them in under 10 minutes. Can you imagine if Billy Graham had said, “You know, I’m just not cut out for this. I don’t want to endure that kind of embarrassment again”? The world would have missed one of the greatest preachers of all time. Failure doesn’t have to be final. We need to learn to make the most of our mistakes. I heard a humorous story of a man who worked both as a veterinarian and as a taxidermist. The sign on his office door read: “Remember, either way, you get your dog back!” We must look for the positive side of failures – it is one of the ways we become successful. So, remember failure is not final.
Thirdly, try to recognize the benefits of failures. Romans 8:28 reminds us “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him…according to His purpose” – Yes, that includes failures! Failure isn’t special – everybody does it. But to learn from failure is special, and wise people learn from their failures. One benefit of failure is it often becomes a stepping-stone to trying something new. Remember Ray Kroc who failed in real estate and decided to start a restaurant franchise called “McDonalds.” Or how about Colonel Sanders who failed at everything in his life until he was about 70, and then started “Kentucky Fried Chicken.” Another benefit to failures is they tend to make us more sympathetic and less judgmental with others who fail.
Lastly, a sure way to fail is to continually compare ourselves with others – this is the root of a lot of our failures. We live in a competitive society…Everybody competes with somebody else…Parents compete with each other through their kids, through their sports, the clothes their kids wear, the stuff they buy, and the competition goes on and on. This is one of the downsides to Facebook. When you compare yourself with others, you set yourself up for the fear of failure. Speaker Beth Moore says “On Facebook we see only the highlight reels of other people’s lives, while we only see the behind the scene reels of our own lives.” It creates jealousy, and jealousy is the predisposition to failure. The Bible says “Each one should test his own actions. Then he can take pride in himself, without comparing himself to somebody else.” (Galatians 6:4).
Where in your life are you afraid of failing? Are you seeking someone’s approval like it was with me? Maybe you fear failing in your future plans, or that new job interview. It could be a relationship, the fear of failing in your marriage or perhaps you are afraid of being single. Whatever the fear of failure you are dealing with today try this: Commit yourself to Christ by placing your faith in Him as your Savior, for the greatest failure is when we fail to respond to God’s love. And, remember that everyone fails, but we can overcome our fear of failing when we understand that failure is not final, and failures can be beneficial when we use them as stepping stones to something else, and particularly when we don’t compare ourselves to others.
Ty: I mentioned this in Rev. Walter’s first guest blog at Seeya Bub, but I so wish that my Dad would have been able to talk about their struggles with one another while Dad was alive. I think Rev. Walters would have given my Dad unbelievable perspective, encouraged him, and built him up in ways no one else could. Moreover, I think Rev. Walters would have been able to normalize my Dad’s fears.
I don’t claim to know exactly what caused my Dad’s death. In fact, I think it was a collision of multiple factors that all combined to create the whirlwind that made my Dad feel as if life wasn’t livable. But I do know that one of those factors was fear.
My Dad had a fear of being inadequate. He had a fear of letting people down. My Dad was a fixer his entire life. He fixed houses when they fell apart. He fixed our home appliances when they failed to work. He fixed ceiling fans and cars and well water pumps and lawn mowers. As a matter of fact, Dad’s job as a maintenance technician at Matandy Steel in Hamilton was to fix huge machines that processed steel products. Dad had an uncanny and impressive understanding of the mechanical world—one that I could study for my entire life and still not understand an ounce of what he did. When something broke, my Dad was the man with the answers. He was the man everyone came to when they wanted to figure something out.
And that’s why I think Dad was afraid. He was afraid to admit that there was something he couldn’t fix. He was afraid of letting people down. He was afraid and ashamed that the problem he couldn’t fix was his own.
But that’s the danger of mental illness; it falsely convinces us we are letting the people we love down, when the opposite is true. Mental illness isn’t self-induced. Like any other illness, mental illness is something we should never fault individuals for experiencing. And my Dad had nothing to be afraid of because he has never once let me down—in his life, or in his death.
You might be saying “That fear is irrational,”; and you’d be exactly right. But an irrational fear isn’t any less real in the mind of the believer. An irrational fear isn’t any less threatening. An irrational fear isn’t any less paralyzing. How many times have you been afraid of something that isn’t real or never happened? I can count at least six times that’s happened this week alone! In varying degrees, we are all afraid that we aren’t enough, that we won’t be enough, and that we don’t matter.
But God speaks truth to this lie. He tells us that He created us for a reason, and that our life matters. He tells us that we have the power, through Him, to overcome the challenges that face us. God doesn’t say we will be immune from challenges—that would be a fairy tale; but He tells us that He will always be by our side. He will be there with us through our fear, through our anxiety, through our sadness, and through our doubts.
And He also said he would put wonderful people at our side to help us in our struggles. I’m thankful that He’s put Rev. Walters in your life and in mine. And I’ll always be thankful that he gave me a Dad who never failed me—not once.
Dad, There have been so many times when I’ve thought about the fear you must have experienced in your life. You were always my Superman—that strong rock and foundation in my life when everything else seemed dangerous. On the outside, you were always “Mr. Fix It,” and I know it bothered you that you couldn’t solve your own struggles with depression. On the surface, you always held everything together—for your family, for your friends, and especially for Mom and I. But Dad, I wish I could have told you that your struggles with mental illness were never a disappointment to any of us. We never thought less of you when you battled with your depression. Sick or healthy, we always loved you and wanted to be near you. You were never a failure to us, Dad. You never failed us, and I wish you had known that more. I am afraid of doing life without you. I have a fear that I can’t do what God is calling me to do to tell your story. But I know that He is with me, and I know that you are with me. I know that you are watching down and pushing me and urging me onward, just as you always did when you were here with us. We all miss you, Dad. We will never stop missing you. You never let me down, and I can’t wait to tell you that in person. Until that day, seeya Bub.
“So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” Isaiah 41:10 (NIV)
Reverend Dan Walters
Dan Walters answered the call to preach in 1977 at age 31. He left secular employment in 1979 after fourteen years with the Ford Motor Company to enter full-time ministry. In 1982 Dan was ordained as an elder in the Church of the Nazarene and graduated from Mount Vernon Nazarene College that same year. He pastored churches in eastern Kentucky and southwestern Ohio. He retired in 2017 after almost 33 years as senior pastor of Tri-County Church of the Nazarene in West Chester, Ohio. Dan has been married to his childhood sweetheart, Darlene, for 53 years. They have three grown sons, Danny Scot and his wife Jenny; Darren Joel and his wife, Jody; and Devon Paul. They also have two wonderful grandchildren, Makenzie and Silas, who round out the Walters family. The family still resides in West Chester. Dan is co-author, with the late Stan Toler and Dan Casey, of an all-church discipleship program titled Growing Disciples. He has also developed a church leadership and growth program called “The G.R.E.A.T. Church.” Reverend Walters’ first book The Trap of Silent Depression: My Untold Story of Rejection, Depression, and Deliverance was published in 2018 and is currently available at Amazon.
When I was extremely young, my family never took beach vacations. To this day, I’m not sure why because we all loved the beach so much. My very first time seeing the ocean was on a family trip to Panama City, Florida as an eighth grader. Our entire family (grandparents and cousins included) spent a wonderful week on the Gulf Coast, and I remember the momentous nature of that trip, even as a middle schooler. A 12-hour, multi-day car ride had finally concluded, and my Mom and Dad walked me out towards the ocean once we arrived. With my parents, I saw the ocean for the very first time and I got to experience its magnitude. I got to touch sand, and taste saltwater, and splash in the world’s largest pool. Even as a young kid, I appreciated the significance of this experience.
After a really, really long drive, my family finally arrived to our condo in Gulf Shores. Shortly after arriving, I think we all knew then that we had found our family vacation spot. There was something about it that made us feel like we were home.
As I’ve written before, Dad was a tremendous athlete. And also as I’ve written before, I was a horrible one. But Dad never let my lack of athleticism curb an opportunity to play. At the beach, Dad and I could throw a frisbee for hours—as long as the wind cooperated. We would warm up close to one another and gradually step back as we threw until we would finally hit a point where we had to wind our torsos like a corkscrew to get the frisbee to sail over the white sand. Dad and I would leap and dive into the sand to catch a frisbee—his leaps and dives always significantly more graceful than mine—and we would yell at each other for not being able to properly hit our target. “Did you actually expect me to catch that?!” we would yell across the beach at one another. “You’re gonna kill a kid with that thing if you don’t learn how to throw it!”
And at the beach, Dad never played it safe. More than anything, I think Dad and I probably got the most enjoyment of our daily game of “See Who Can Swim the Furthest Out from the Shore and Make Mom Freak Out the Most” (catchy, no?). Much to my Mom’s displeasure, Dad and I were notorious for jumping into the water and swimming straight ahead until our arms gave out. The water would grow colder and colder the further we would swim, and periodically Dad would stick his arms high above his head and straight-dive down to see if he could still touch the bottom. If he could, we still weren’t out far enough. All the while, my poor Mother would sit anxiously in her beach chair watching our bobbing heads grow smaller and smaller in the waves. The best version of the game was on the beaches where there were life guards on duty, and in those scenarios, we tried to see how loud we could get them to blow their whistles at us! We knew we were really killing the game if we could swim far enough to encounter a deeper sandbar, and if we did, we would sit out on the sandbar and rest until it was time to swim back in. Dad would wave to Mom on occasion from the depths of the mighty ocean, and it was amazing how peaceful the deep ocean water can be. All the ambient noises of the beach fade away when you’re that far out (you especially can’t hear life guard whistles or motherly-shrieks).
My Grandpa even told a story at Dad’s funeral about his love for always being the last one up. On occasion, my family would take vacations with our extended family, which included my Grandpa Vern, Grandma Sharon, my Uncle Lee, my Aunt Beth, and my two cousins Jake and Megan. Those were always wonderful vacations, and every day, my Grandpa and my Dad were always the last ones up to the condo. But even my Grandpa couldn’t hang with my Dad.
Standing there at the beach, I told Steve how much I missed my Dad. I really didn’t have to say anything, because Steve knew—and he was experiencing the grief himself. Steve had been tremendously close with my entire family, and my Dad treated him just like he would treat his own son. Instead of only crying, though, I was able to share tremendous memories and stories of my Dad, telling Steve all about the funny things he had done at the beach on our family vacations. I shared stories about Dad’s Banana Boat expedition, his wave-runner sandbar collision, and how he was always the last one up for dinner. Little by little, the tears were slowly replaced with a smile and laughter. I didn’t miss him any less; I just had a different focus. Instead of focusing on the loss, I was able to focus on his life. Instead of focusing on the time we didn’t have together, I focused on all the wonderful times we did.
I spend a lot of time on the beach during dusk as many of the families on the shore will begin to retreat to their condos. And I do this for a simple reason: that’s what Dad would have done. I’ve learned why he loved it so much. As the beach starts to quiet down from a busy day of frivolity and fun, there’s a quiet stillness that begins to wash across the shore. That stillness is enticing and comforting, and it’s in those moments that I often feel closest to God. And I think about how peaceful those moments must have been to a man who struggled with depression. Dad treasured that peace. And now, I treasure the memory of his life during those peaceful moments, and I try to live it out every chance I get.
Dad, there has never been a time when I’ve gone to the beach without thinking of you—and there never will be. You made our time at the beach together so memorable, but more than that, you taught me so many important life lessons while we were there. You taught me to slow down and relax. You taught me to soak in God’s beautiful creation. You taught me to be kind to people and get to know them, because God created them, too. You taught me to let go of all the busy things from back home and simply enjoy the life that was in front of me in that moment. I take these lessons with me everywhere I go, but especially when I go to the beach. Even though I’m still able to have fun when I go, it just isn’t the same without you. I miss our throwing sessions, and sometimes I’ll just carry a baseball in my backpack to turn over and over in my hands and think of the time we spent together. I miss trying to see who could swim the furthest out, and watching you beckon me further even when I felt like I couldn’t keep swimming. I miss walking along the shoreline with you and listening to your stories about oil rigs in the distance or planes flying overhead. You had an inquisitive, appreciative spirit for all life had to offer. And more than anything, I miss watching you enjoy those moments on the shore by yourself being the last one up. It’s strange, but sometimes it’s like I look down from the balcony and I can still see you sitting there. Dad, I know you’re still with me. I know that you’re guiding me and watching over me in everything that I do. Thank you for always being my best teacher. Thank you for being a Dad unlike any other. And thank you for always teaching me that the last one up wins. I love you, Dad. I miss you tremendously. I sure hope there are beaches in heaven, because if there are, I promise I’m going to swim further out than you. Until that day when we can be beachside together again, seeya Bub. 
Dad, There were so many moments just like that night in college where your presence alone was all I needed to find happiness. You had an uncanny way of knowing the moments when people needed you most, and you responded with grace and unconditional love each time you were called. Nearly every day, Dad, I experience a moment when I just wish more than anything that you were here. I miss your smile, your voice, your heart, your shiny bald head, and everything that made you so very special. But in those moments where I experience your loss most severely, I try and remind myself that you are here. You are still watching. You are still listening. And you are still loving me and all those who feel your absence. Dad, thank you for always being there and for still being here. Thank you for being at my side at a moment’s notice–both in the moments when I knew I needed you, and especially in those I didn’t. I’ll never be able to say thank you enough. But, until that day when I try my best to let you know how much you are missed and how much you are loved, seeya Bub. 
Dad, You didn’t have to wear a mask. I think I know why you did. You wore a mask because you loved me and you loved all of us. And you couldn’t bear the thought of letting us down. Dad, you never would have let any of us down. Even in your death, you aren’t letting me down. You could never disappoint me. I would never be ashamed of you, no matter how sick you felt. Dad, you were courageous. You were brave. And you always had a huge smile on your face because you wanted others to smile, too. I know you were trying to be brave, but I wish I could have told you that being vulnerable and getting help was one of the bravest things you ever could have done. Thank you, Dad, for making my life happier. Thank you for teaching me how to enjoy life. And Dad, thank you for being the fighter that you were. Your story is teaching us all so much. Thanks for teaching me how to share it. Until I can say that I love you in person, seeya Bub. 
God wanted me to hear that message the day that I originally wrote it down, but he wanted me to live it in this new storm. That was the message God gave to me in a moment of ease to prepare me for a lifetime of perplexing grief. That was the message that God put on Harville’s heart, knowing he would need to pass it along to the members of the flock he cared for. That would be the message of my life, given to help save it.
Dad, You were always so courageous and so brave, and I wish I had more of that in me. You never let a daunting challenge intimidate you. You believed in your ability, and you believed in your God. Ironically, it was watching your brave example that prepared me to survive the grief of losing you. You taught me that I could do anything if I believed in God and let Him lead my way. Dad, I don’t focus on the one battle that you lost with depression. Instead, I focus on the many years that you fought successfully and conquered your sickness. You tried so hard—for me, for Mom, and for those who loved you. You fought the hardest fight of your life each and every day, and you were unbelievably brave. I’ll always remember that. I’ll always live my life through your example. And until I can see you again and tell you just how courageous you truly were, seeya Bub. 
Dad, You have no idea how I wish I could wind back the clock and play this song for you. I wish that I could play it, watch you listen, and then say to you that whenever I hear the words I immediately think of you. I desperately wish I could see you thumping your thumb on the console of your truck like you always used to do. I’m sorry that the first time I had a chance to play this for you was at your funeral. So many people have heard the song and told me how perfect it was for you, which is the best testament to your life. It’s what you deserve. Dad, people still talk about how strong you are. People still talk about how courageous you were for fighting through your mental illness for so many years. I know you were hurting desperately, Dad. I know that your soul was troubled. But I pray that you’re able to hear this song in heaven and know that I think of you each and every time I hear it. I’ll always love you, Dad, and I’ll always admire how strong you were. I’ll try to live up to example you gave me—the example that you gave all of us—each day for as long as I live. Someday, I’ll look you in the eyes again and tell you that you were the strongest man I’ve ever known. Until that reunion when we can listen together, seeya Bub. 
Dad, Christmas hasn’t been the same without you. I have such wonderful memories of the special Christmases we spent together as a little family. You bought thoughtful gifts for all of us. You laughed as our family pup would open up gifts, just like you always taught them. You put amazing detail into the wrapping and the decorating, and you had a smile on your face no matter how hectic things got. You made us especially happy around Christmas, but you honestly did that each and every day. Now, your memory and your spirit get us through the tough times and remind us to continue celebrating in spite of our grief. Dad, please continue reminding us how we can make the Christmas season special. Continue watching over us as you rest among the angels. I miss you so much, Dad. I know that I still have many wonderful Christmases ahead of me, but I desperately long for that first Christmas with you in heaven. Until that day when we can celebrate together again, Merry Christmas, bub.
Dad, I’ll never stop being thankful for you. I’ll never stop being thankful for the man you were, and the memory you left behind in my heart and the hearts of everyone you met. I’ll never look back on the days and moments I once took for granted without feeling a deeply profound appreciation for all the good times we shared. I’ll always be thankful for a Dad beyond compare. I’ll always be thankful that my Father was an example of what fatherhood should be. Someday, I’ll be thankful when I raise my own children. Yes, I’ll be tremendously sad that they won’t be able to meet and enjoy the presence of their Grandpa, but I’ll make sure they are thankful for you, too. More than any other tradition you might have encouraged, Dad, the most important tradition you established for me is having a thankful heart. I’ll hold onto that for as long as I live.
Dad, Even though you’re not here with me, I know you’re always with me. I know you’re always watching over me and guiding me and pushing me to be a better Christian. On the days when I feel sad that you’re not around, it’s always moments like this one that remind me that you’ll never leave. Yes, we haven’t talked face to face since that horrible July day in 2013; but I feel like we’ve been talking ever since. Little things happen in my life that allow your memory to shine through, and I’m so grateful for that. Dad, you would be so proud to know that your story is inspiring people to live better lives. You have no idea how many people miss you and love you and wish you were here. Remind them, and remind me, that you’re always here as long as we live life the way you did. Remind us all that love is more important than absolutely anything. I’m reminded each and every day how much I love you. Thank you for teaching me what it means to be a Father. Thank you for giving your entire self to me. And thanks for never taking it easy on me when we played checkers. I love you Dad, and I miss you terribly. Until we can share a seat at a table even better than one at Cracker Barrel, seeya Bub. 
Seeya Bub 