Last week, I had the distinct honor of speaking to two groups of high school students in New York. My friend and colleague, Sarah Fader, and I talked about mental health, stress, self-care, bullying, and panic disorder. At the end of each session, we answered questions from the class (always my favorite part of any […]
I’m left in awe that God, in all of His splendor and majesty and beauty and purity somehow finds grace for the father who rapes his daughter. The mother who breaks her child’s arm in a drug-induced rage. The teenager who has a stupid one-night stand and lets that boy talk her into killing her innocent baby. For the grandfather who never has time for his family.
The insanity of GOD is that grace is available, equally for them. And for me. Not subpar grace. Not heavenly leftovers. Full, unending, marvelous, matchless, messy grace.
The world is full of people who feel hopeless. While the holidays may be a favorite time of year for many people, for others, the time between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Day only compounds the pain. For many people, the cold and cloudy days of winter triggers seasonal depression. For other folks, the thought of gathering with family and friends spikes anxiety, anger, and sadness.
I’ll never forget walking back into the delivery room after my wife received her spinal block. My son was on the way. I was proud and excited and anxious but I was not prepared for the sights and sounds of the delivery room. I remember the doctor asking if I wanted to help and for the first thirty minutes or more, I opted to stand at the head of the hospital bed, offering encouragement and letting my wife nearly squeeze my hand numb.
I’m thrilled to tell you that my brand-new book, co-authored with Kate Pieper, LMFT, is now available on Amazon! Self-Care for the Wounded Soul has been called a gift that keeps on giving.
When I shared glimpses of my darkness, well-meaning Christians said things they didn’t understand. Choose joy turned into snap out of it in my head, and I couldn’t force that. Believe me, I’d tried.
There, at that stoplight, I felt the gray and weight and cloud pressing. I don’t remember my specific pleas, or if I said anything at all. What I do remember are the sweetest words, clearer than anything I’ve heard whispered in my heart.
Together, we are living in the gaps.
With the tension of unfulfilled dreams.
With the heartache of loss and the sickness of deferred hope.
Somewhere along the way, we run right into that painful space between what is and what should be. We hope for relationships, for children, for jobs. We long for healed bodies and souls, a better future, just a taste of success. Sometimes, we simply long to know we matter.
And maybe, just maybe, we’re all looking for friends for this journey. Maybe we’re looking to laugh and cry and make sense of this life with others who won’t make us feel ashamed of our pieces. Maybe we’re looking for hope that a life of soul holes and unfulfilled dreams can still be joyful and meaningful.