The Mockingbird's Song

By Curt Iles

"The mockingbird that sang at midnight was only one of a thousand steps on my road to restored health and joyful living. I firmly believe it was a gift from God just for me. It is a gift that i now pass on to you" -Curt Iles

• Language: English
• Publisher: Curt Iles
• Release date: Dec 28, 2011
• ISBN: 9780982649244

Curt Iles

TheCreek is the home of our writing and stories. Creekbank Stories comes from the location of my writing: my hometown of Dry Creek, Louisiana. Legend has it the native Attakapas Indians named the creek, “Beautiful Creek” and it was corrupted when translated into English. Regardless, Dry Creek is my home and heart. It’s where I’ve lived for most of my life, the source of my stories, and where my heart feels most at home. My great great grandfather, John Wesley Wagnon, lived his entire life along Crooked Bayou south of Dry Creek. According to my older relatives he would say, “Boys, this is where I was born and it’s where I plan to turn up my toes.” I’m not sure Dry Creek is where I’ll “turn up my toes” but it is in my heart and no distance or time can take that away. Blessings, Curt Iles

Book preview

Preface: The Mockingbird’s Midnight Song

"But at midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the prisoners were listening to them."

(Acts 16:25)

It’s the middle of another restless and sleepless night. Being exhausted both physically and mentally, yet unable to get the thing you need most—sleep—is so frustrating. So I finally wearily rolled out of bed. That’s what all of the sleep books tell you to do when you have insomnia. Get out of bed and do something. Read. Eat a snack. Watch TV. Pray.

I’ve tried all of these night after night, and very seldom do any of them work. My mind and heart seem to be racing along at one hundred miles per hour. Nothing seems to be able to slow down the sadness and anxiety inside me.

On this particular night, I decide to walk outside. It’s about midnight, cloudy, and there is no moon. In the rural area where I live, outdoor light is not overwhelming so the yard is very dark, even as my eyes adjust to being outside. I’ve always loved being outside at night—looking at the stars, tracing the path of an overhead jet, and just soaking in the soothing sounds of a country night.

But in my depression and insomnia, my soul feels just as black as the darkness surrounding me. I’m completely enveloped in it. I stand there, trying to concentrate and pray in the quiet darkness. I think back to the books I’ve read by those who’ve been depressed. These books all have something in common. They always describe their depression in terms of darkness, night, or blackness. One writer called it, The black night of the soul. Author William Styron described it as The black dog of despair.¹ Winston Churchill, also a depression sufferer, called it my black dog.

Tonight the silence is deafening. It is as if even the night creatures—crickets, owls, frogs, and barking dogs—have found a hiding place to escape the darkness.

Then suddenly from the river birch tree in our driveway comes clear, beautiful singing. It is a mockingbird. If you aren’t from the South and haven’t heard this bird, it is hard to describe its song. It is loud and is made up of about seven sequences of sounds—some stolen from other birds or nearby common sounds. In the classic book, Louisiana Birds,² ornithologist George Lowery tells of a mockingbird that so successfully imitated a dinner bell that it frequently caused the farm hands to come out of the field expecting their noon meal.

This midnight bird in our tree is a real singer who sits up high in the tree as the guardian of our yard. And he sings—and sings loudly—with passion. To him, it doesn’t matter that it is a dark, moonless night when any respectable bird should be silently sleeping.

This mockingbird is going to sing even if it is midnight—even if it is dark—even if no one else hears his song. He is chirping away for the simple, pure joy of singing. Moreover, the fact that he has the entire sound stage to himself makes his song seem louder and fuller. It is the end of the opera and the great soloist is singing the aria—he needs no accompaniment. Any other sounds would only diminish the incredible beauty of this virtuoso solo.

This bird unknowingly gives me a great gift—I’m reminded of how a follower of God can sing—even in the darkness—even in the toughest of circumstances.

Moreover, I’m reminded by this bird, and really by the God who created both him and his song, that I will get through this time of darkness. There is still hope for the restoration of joy, and even though now it seems I’ve lost my song, it is still deep within me and one day will be sung loudly and joyfully again.

I’d like to say my depression ended on that night, but that would not be true. The mockingbird that sang at midnight was only one of a thousand steps on my road to restored health and joyful living. I firmly believe it was a gift from God just for me. It is a gift that I now pass on to you.

The gift of a mockingbird,

in the darkness,

singing at midnight.

Dedication: To Ricky, My Friend for Life

Writing a book about the dark times of one’s life is difficult. It is in our human nature to shy away from revealing the depths of our soul, especially when the subject matter is painful. This book of essays concerning my struggle with depression has been hard to write. Rather, let me rephrase that: the writing has not been the difficult part, but the revealing has been the difficult aspect. That is because it is very personal and reveals deep emotions that are even now, over six years later, still tender and not easily shared.

The easiest thing to do with these stories would be to store them away and let no one else read them. That is the safe way. However, my journey has taught me about the rewards of being a guide for others on this same journey. It is a large responsibility and one that I cannot, and will not, shirk. So share these stories I must!

The great British writer, C.S. Lewis, who went through many struggles himself, states this truth of helpful empathy so wonderfully well: Think of me as a fellow-patient in the same hospital who, having been admitted a little earlier, could give some helpful advice.

However, the real courage to write and then publish The Mockingbird’s Song occurred several years ago. The event was the soul-rending death of my lifelong friend, Ricky Gallien.

Ricky, who died at age 43, was a man loved and admired by his wonderful family and thousands of friends who had been touched by his life as a coach, principal, pastor, and most of all, a godly man. Even now, nearly four years since his death, the shadow of his influence continues to stretch far and wide.

Ricky’s death, at his own hands, will never be fully understood by any of us. Although deep questions remain, we must go on, as well as carry on. Ricky’s rich life and sudden death have both been motivators for all of us to look for, as well as care for, others who are hurting. Being Ricky’s friend and knowing his heart, he would be pleased with that.

Over the years, I heard many excellent sermons by Ricky. He was a tremendous speaker with an intelligent mind and a heart in tune with God. While reading my Bible a few weeks after he died, I came across notes from a sermon Ricky had preached. He had shared an illustration from the 1986 explosion of the space shuttle, Challenger. According to his illustration, the last recorded words on the Shuttle before transmissions ceased were the calm voice of the flight commander Francis Scobee saying, Give me your hand.

Scobee’s words were spoken calmly and without panic. In my mind, I will always see this man reaching out to his pilot, Michael J. Smith, as they lived the final seconds of their lives.

Simply said, Give me your hand. Not with terror or hysteria, but with courage and compassion.

I firmly believe those are the same four words Ricky heard as his life ended. The words of the Savior he served throughout his life—the words of the Son of God who said, I will never leave you nor forsake you. The same Jesus who promised,

"I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in Me, though he may die, he shall live. And whoever lives and believes in Me shall never die" (John 11:25).

As I share my own journey through depression, my prayer is that others will hear this same voice of Jesus saying, "Here I am. Give me your hand."

Jesus said, Come unto me all you that labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest . . . (Matthew 11:28). He does not wish that anyone would suffer alone in the dark. He is as close as your next breath and your whispered heart-felt prayer.

One of Ricky’s last requests was that I speak at his funeral. It was the hardest thing I’d ever done. I honestly did not think my legs would work or my mouth speak when it came time to stand and share.

Standing before the huge crowd of friends, family, and students gathered, I simply shared something I’d read concerning another untimely death. I held up a card with 99.99% on one side and 0.01% on the other. I shared that we would all be tempted to remember that terrible Saturday morning of September 7, 2002, as the defining moment of Ricky’s life. However, it was important that we remember, and celebrate, the 99.99% of such a rich and beautiful life.

Ricky’s daughter, Kristi Gallien Watkins, whom he loved so deeply, shared these words:

I, for one, had no concept of what depression was, or how serious it is, until my dad lost his battle with it. Depression hit my dad out of what seemed like nowhere. He was the strongest and most wonderful man I’ve ever known. So it was a step outside of reality to see him down and depressed to the point of being suicidal. I could have never imagined that I would have lost my dad that way . . .

My prayer is that those who are struggling with depression will know that not only is it OK to ask for help, but it is necessary. God will put people around you that will love, support, and pray for you.

To others I say: Reach out to those around you. Love them and care for them. You never know who is hurting and who needs to see the love and hope of God through you.

. . . There is hope for those with depression. Never ever forget that. Never ever give up.

Therefore, I dedicate the words of this book of essays and stories to the memory of Kristi’s dad, my lifelong friend and encourager, Ricky Gallien.

As Kristi shared, may we all be looking for, and reaching out toward, those who are hurting so we can help them. May those who appear so strong, yet are in deep anguish, realize that there is nothing wrong with saying, I’m hurting. I need help.

May those without any confidence in their future see the thin red ribbon of hope in front of them. May they come to Jesus who calmly holds out His hand and says, Give me your hand.

The Challenge …

The lady stood over me with her hands strategically placed on her hips and a wrinkled scowl on her face. My earlier years from being a high school principal had given me a sixth sense of when a good chewing out was coming from a parent. The sudden sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as I put my hot dog down and looked at her let me know that she was not happy.

It was during the last meal of girl’s camp at the church camp where I served as manager. I was innocently trying to quickly finish my hot dog, chips, and brownie before the final service started in a few minutes.

It was in the middle of this wolfed-down meal that the lady stood over me. In an emotional and passionate voice she started, Mr. Iles, when are you going to finish that book you’re writing on depression? There are people out there dying, waiting for your book!

I felt a lump in my throat and it definitely wasn’t from the hot dog. I looked up and a middle-aged church counselor from a north Louisiana church was squinting into my eyes through her glasses as she wagged a finger at me. I felt as if I was back in third grade and had been caught putting glue on the classroom door handle!

My teacher continued, Now, I’m serious about this. What you’ve written can save lives. People need it. She then pointed across several tables to a younger lady, That girl there lost her daddy when he jumped from the high Red River Bridge several months ago and they’ve never yet found his body.

The younger woman walked over and joined our conversation. With hesitation she began, I’ve had such a hard time getting closure on his death—no body to bury—so many unanswered questions. We talked a long while before she turned and silently went out the door.

My appetite was gone. What could I do but accept this lady’s blunt challenge to finally put this book into print! The book you now hold I’ve had in manuscript form for several years. I’ve made copies and mailed it out to folks all over America. It has been part of my ministry as a depression sufferer and survivor. However, I’ve hesitated about putting it into true book form until now.

It may or may not be a big seller, but I know it will touch lives because I’ve seen it happen over and over in these past few years. People and families in the relentless grip of depression need help and encouragement. Yes, they need medical help, counseling, medications, prayer, and countless other aids. But oftentimes, what they most need initially is the voice, guidance, and hand of someone who has traveled this road and come out on the other side—back into the light and joy of life.

That is my job and calling, because I’ve been as deeply depressed as you can get and still survive. Now, I’m living, walking proof that you will make it through.

Recently a friend from another community called me outside at a meeting we were both attending. He put his hand on my shoulder and looked deeply into my eyes. His question was short but piercing: Curt, will I ever get my joy back?

The answer in this simple book is Yes. There is joy ahead. There is light in spite of the darkness you are in. This book is my testimony. My statement is that there is joy awaiting you.

Depression sufferer, you didn’t get where you are overnight. Therefore, you cannot expect depression to leave you instantly. Some days it will be two steps forward and one back. On other days it may seem as if you slide two back as you reach for one step up. But you will get there!

Yes, this book is my story—of how there is victory over depression. It is a collection of essays written from my heart. I hope that these inspiring stories will connect with your heart. Other stories, while sad, carry a message of hope that people need to hear. Some are written from the days of the depths of