I was at the end of my rope. It was my second year of ministry school and nothing was making sense. I had questions for a long time, but I’d only been asking them aloud for a few months. And each time I did, I was met with the frowns and upturned noses of those […]
I don’t like being a Christian today. Actually, I should say, I don’t like most Christians today. Wait. What I really mean is, I don’t want to fight with Christians anymore. I was once a youth pastor, a speaker, a worship leader, an avid blogger, and a radio host. Everything that entered my brain was […]
Since I started offering soul-care sessions, I have been constantly blown away by the amount of trust people place in me. I’m meeting people for the first time, via phone or Zoom, and within the first few minutes, they begin to bare their souls, telling me about:their one deep woundtheir great sadnessthe thing that makes […]
As most of you know, Robert Vore and I launched the CXMH Podcast: A Podcast at the Intersection of Christianity and Mental Health a few months ago. We are so excited to announce what we hope will become an amazing annual event, “Liturgy of the Forsaken: A Night of Stories and Struggle,” which will take place […]
I don’t know what church would look like if Jesus was the pastor, but I wonder if it would look much like yours and mine.
We often read things about the blessed peacemakers. But when it came to broken people being exploited by the Church, the compassion of Jesus often presented as outrage. Jesus could be volatile in the face of injustice. He constantly reacted out of great compassion toward those in need of messy grace and radical hope.
My clients were concerned. When they couldn’t reach me, they called first my wife, and then the hotel. I was lying on my back, unconscious, covered in vomit, when the police and EMT’s found me. They thought it was a murder scene. Vomit covered the bed and the floor. It had projected up the wall behind me, and coated a massive picture that hung over the bed. Apparently the pink Benadryl pills, along with the tens of thousands of milligrams of other medication I took, created the effect of blood. I had been unconscious for a solid ten hours by then.
I will never forget how cold the tile floor was on that hot September afternoon, as I slid down the wall of ICU room number six.
The statement that made my knees buckle, as I stood at the end of that hospital bed, was, “No, I did not mix up my medicine. I wanted to die. I do not want to be here any more.”
My clearest thought was how I was not enough. But if not me, how was our beautiful baby boy not enough to make my husband want to stay? I wondered how I could possibly face family and friends at our son’s first birthday party the next day, alone. I wondered if I would spend the rest of my life the very same way.