What I found when I joined a Christian organization that believed what I believed in but which I never felt accepted by.
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The world’s claims of progress are an illusion. Their promises of a better, more productive society are just a marketing ploy. Take a closer look at the city of the future, and you’ll see that it’s really empty inside.
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During my childhood, my family moved around a lot, and so I had few friends. During the tumultuous teenage years, I knew rejection from peers and crushes. During my twenties, family members and love interests disowned me.
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Whether one’s mental condition is temporary or constant, our churches do not seem well equipped to accommodate the variety of mental health needs most congregations encounter. Why is this the case? The Church is supposed to be a place of welcoming, fellowshipping, and renewing for all, isn’t it?
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As a counselor, I work with people from different walks of life: children, adolescents, adults, families, low-income populations and people who struggle with depression, anxiety, bipolar disorders, substance abuse, and much more. I get to know them. My heart aches with them.
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I wrote “To My Fallen Comrade” after hearing that the son of a man my father worked with had killed himself after a long battle with mental illness. I realized that I was the same age as this young man, we were both Christians, and apart from the grace of God, I could have done the same.
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