Hello, friends.
Back in March, I had to write an article for my church's monthly newsletter. I wasn't in a very good mood that day - in fact, I hadn't been having a particularly good month in general - so, I wrote about it. I described my feelings of general down-ness, and followed it up with the story of Mary Magdalene on Easter morning. She was also feeling down, like nothing was ever going to be all right again, but then Jesus literally came into the picture and changed everything. I ended my article with my assurance that Jesus would come into my picture and change everything, too.
The responses I recieved were largely secondhand. Some members of the congregation approached some leaders and asked if I was really that unhappy here. It didn't help my emotional state to learn that they appeared to consider my state of mind as a personnel issue, not a personal one - and to realize that they missed the big picture: my faith that Jesus would make all the difference.
This week has been a tough one from the get-go, and it doesn't seem to be improving. Once again, today happened to be a day on which I needed to write a newsletter article. I considered for about thirty seconds the option of revisiting my March article. I ended up choosing a different topic, because I couldn't stomach the reactions I might get.
Talking about mental health is never easy, but it's made even more difficult as a church worker because we're not supposed to need these discussions. Even on an okay day, when I'm focused and feeling good, I have well-meaning people tell me to smile more, and you know what I do? I smile and nod and agree, because what else can I do? But inwardly, I'm shrinking even farther back into my shell, knowing that a conversation about why I'm not smiling more isn't welcome here. They want me to grin and bear it. No matter that vacancies are exceptionally stressful. No matter that when I ask, no, beg for help, I rarely receive it. No matter that I'm the senior called church worker after being a DCE for less than three years. No matter that, when our last pastor left, I had one less friend, confidant, babysitter in an already very sparse pool. Grin and bear it, Mary.
I'm not painting a picture of every person at Redeemer, of course. I have many wonderful people there who have honest and present concern for my well-being. But often, those people feel few and far between.
In these situations, I always return to Mary Magdalene on Easter morning. When she needed him the most, Jesus appeared and said her name. Conveniently, her name is also my name, which is only one of the reasons I love this passage so dearly. I know that, on any given day, at every moment, despite anything that might be happening, Jesus is saying my name and reminding me that I am not alone.
