A rule of writing. Don’t bury the lead.
Ok. I won’t.
I take medication to help with occasional depression.
Some of it’s because of chemical stuff in my brain that’s out of sorts because of an illness I have. Something I can’t control.
And some of it’s because I don’t always do the greatest job handling uncertainty and stress. Something I can control.
My peaks on the top and bottom are now leveled off a bit. That helps.
But it’s been a process. And still is.
I’ve been in a helping vocation most of my adult life, so I worried.
Was my faith inferior?
Does this invalidate credibility?
Will people follow a leader who occasionally limps?
I think I’ve discovered the answers.
I’m profoundly grateful.
I guess this all comes to mind because of the month we’re in.
When she walked in the door about three weeks ago I saw her name badge.
“Hi. My name is May. How’s your thinking?”
I have to admit, I always look forward to seeing her because she’s got a warmer disposition than her friend April, but her Mental Health Awareness pitch tagged me pretty good this time.
So, I’ve been thinking about her question (my thought bubbles have thought bubbles).
How *is* my thinking? My emotions?
No. The real answer.
Um, kind of a mixed bag.
Most days are decent, but, most isn’t all. And it’s those others that are tough.
Especially this year.
Everything’s so weird.
Inside and outside and responsibility and freedom are in a cage match. And no one really knows who’s winning.
And the same.
The red and blue teams are still fighting. Their fans are still shouting. And common sense is still dying.
I get the sense we’re trying hard to handle it all. The stuff now. And the stuff before. An imperfect struggle.
So, beyond catharsis, maybe this post is simply to say, let’s keep going.
Let’s keep fighting through.
Let’s break the stigma and ask for help.
Let’s admit our humanity.
I know. It’s hard.
But days go better when we do.
And let’s trust God.
For the first time, or again.
He’s still good.
Even when we’re not.
We’re gonna make it.