Hard-pressed am I By your slithering words that curl about, By your heart that won't unfurl out To show me what's inside. But crushed I am not, Though your claims rain down like brimstone and hail, Though you act like your truth alone will prevail. Under your burden, to Jesus I've cried. Perplexed am I By the nagging doubts you sow in my mind By the thought of being left behind While you proceed with an embittered smile, But driven to despair I am not, Though you would

Look to Jesus (For the Joy Set Before Him) An Acrostic Poem of Philippians 4:8 I. Form he gave the earth. In love he shaped us, his crowning joy, Not just with dirt but imbuing life with his own breath, And in a shape none can know, veiled by cloud and fire, Light so glaring we fall by it to our death, Lives the One - Father, Breath, and Servant King - who would employ You and me and all besides, to become his by Second Birth Because at the Tree we proved traitors, grasping a

In recognition of World Schizophrenia Awareness Day, I want to talk about schizophrenia and my unique psychosis. I was diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder (a mixture of schizophrenia and bipolar disorder) in 2017 after years of sorting through other diagnoses. Before that, I had told myself, "I might be depressed and suicidal, but at least I don't have psychosis." It's funny how when you say something like that, the, "At least I don't..." and "never" statements, how often

The attire at a wedding and a chancellor's business breakfast are remarkably similar upon first glance. At least, all the men wear suits...

Mercy, true mercy, is uncomfortable, and grace is profoundly unsettling. But I don’t deserve it! our hearts cry, but that’s the point....

HOPE is the through-thread of my experience.

For the past four weeks, I have been undergoing an intensive treatment for my mental health ailments. The treatment is called electroconvulsive therapy, or ECT, and it will continue into the foreseeable future, though its frequency will taper down from the thrice weekly treatments I've been undergoing to eventually just once per month. First, I am delighted to report some success of the treatments. My psychotic symptoms, hearing voices and seeing objects and/or beings that ar

Sometimes we mistake depth of suffering for validity of suffering. We think to ourselves our broken finger is a less valid source of pain than someone having a bone marrow transplant or that losing a friendship is a less valid source of pain than losing a loved one to death. These are certainly different levels of suffering and pain, but none is more or less valid than any of the others, and they all have one thing in common—they hurt. This also happens with mental illness an

For the past month, I have fasted writing my novels and books, allowing myself only blog posts and journal entries to process the events...

Today, my eyes are dull, my senses numb. I feel distant, as though nothing in the world can hurt me, yet everything inside me screams of pain. I imagine my own death a hundred ways, often by my own hand. It’s horror, shame, and terror all wrapped up in a miasma of misery, dragging me down to depths unknown. It’s as close to Hell as I ever hope to get, yet it is not without hope. I dwell in utter darkness, but in the back of my mind, an inkling or a memory or even a dream of a

They take hold of us all at some point, twisting the truth, blinding us to reality, and dragging us down into whirlpools of anxiety. They...

It’s curious how words can hurt. When someone tells me something disappointing or painful, I can feel physically sick. A severe verbal...

I have a problem—I am obsessed with productivity. In my mind, I must account for every waking minute with what I accomplished that day. A...

“I love you!” my son shouts as he leaps out of the car when we arrive at his school in the morning. He slams the door and dashes up to...

I. Surely it is time, Surely this time I’ll arise to the refreshing of my soul. Can it be this time? Let it be this time, I pray, this...

I have always had trouble connecting with the Psalms. It frustrates me, as I enjoy reading poetry and studying Scripture. Why is it so hard for me to understand Scriptural poetry? In particular, Psalms 42 and 43, penned by a son of Korah, have always eluded me. I feel I should “get” them, as the psalmist writes, “I am deeply depressed” and asks his soul why it is “so dejected” several times. He seems to be struggling with despondency like I do, to which I should be able to re

John’s Revelation presents a beautiful picture of time spent in the presence of God. In case we think heaven will be boring, we ought to...

Never have I known my eight-year-old son to burst into song, or at least, not into songs I know. He has his own tunes and lyrics he...

I mentioned I love light—I love the imagery of light, the symbolism of light, the metaphor of light. Light in all its facets represents hope to me, but why? Is it because I grew up reading about light in the Bible? Is it because light has long symbolized purity and goodness in literature? Or is it because of the many times I wasn’t sure if I would make it to morning light, the times the dawn brought hope searing into my heart? In those moments, I didn’t want another day. I wa

Daylight is peace, night a battle. As the sun dips low in the sky, hiding its face from the pain, I gird myself for a siege. Not a physical siege—rather something much deeper, darker, and more dangerous to my soul. At night, I wage war with the darkness in my mind. You might never see it. Follow me through my post-dinner activities and you’d find nothing alarming. I sit in a comfortable recliner in my library with my husband or my son for most of the evening. Surrounded by bo