Sunday, September 21, 2025

An Invitation

Today I had a class about centering justice and anti-racism in social work practice. The thing about social work is it’s a values-based profession. Many professions have underlying values, but social work has its own very specific code of ethics that outlines what each of us is committing to as we enter this field.

We commit to seeing the inherent dignity of every human being. We commit to acting for social justice. And we also commit to the importance of human relationships.

So here I am, trying to connect with any and all of you who are willing to listen and connect back.

Many of you know that I have some perfectionistic tendencies, so of course I want to hurry up and master being a social justice advocate and expert on anti-racism. And that’s just unrealistic. The reality is that it’s a nonlinear process. I’m a novice, and also I’m learning. And the learning is uncomfortable.

I’m confronted with the privilege I hold in the world. I’ve had access to health care, choices of quality education, a loving family with parents in respected professions, stable housing, and most people in leadership positions, movies, T.V, and even books I read look like me.

And I’m learning how my privilege stems from my country’s history impacts on all the systems we’ve made and policies we’ve written, the good and the bad. And now I have to hold space for the discomfort and tensions that come with accepting how my position in society affects other people, especially people who have been ‘othered’ by society, that my privilege and power are not the global majority or even national majority. 

In my class, I’m listening to the stories of other people who hold different identities than me. People from different class, race, ethnic, and religious backgrounds who haven’t had all the same privileges and powers as me. These are people I respect and am getting to know and care about.

And it made me think, maybe the greatest disconnect in our society is that we classify people as worthy of our time or not by how similar or different their ideologies are. We push away anyone different and we hold tight to people who offer familiarity and validation of our ideals. 

But what we need in a hurting, broken world where people are suffering in poverty, racism, sexism, fear, guilt, shame, and a million other things is connection. Maybe we need to sit with our discomfort long enough to connect with people who see things differently, not to change their minds or to change our minds, but to remember that we’re all people and all worthy of being here, of being heard. And we’re going to say the wrong things. Maybe even hurtful things. But the healing comes when we can have an open dialogue and offer repair for the sake of relationship over being right.

So I’m here, if anyone wants to connect. I’m here to dig into the tough stuff and hold space for difference and tension, for my own gaps. If you’re here with me, let me know, and let’s chat. Because things can’t stay the way they are. We need change. And it starts with us. 


Wednesday, March 29, 2023

My story as a girl in a world with guns

I’m not a lawyer. I’m not a politician. I’m not a police officer. I’m not a judge.

I don’t have years of experience in criminal justice or healthcare or social work. I don’t know all of the terminology. I don’t know all of the rules.

I’m a girl. And all I have is my story. And what my story taught me.

I’m a girl who teaches kids the alphabet, long division, and how plants have adapted to their habitats.

And one time, I bought a gun.

I’m a girl who struggles through bouts of depression and anxiety. Sometimes they hit so deeply and precisely and randomly, with no seeming source or solution, that all I want is OUT. Logically, even in the moment, I know this isn’t the way. But, our brains our problem solvers, and mine was coming up with the only way it could think of to solve the problem of its current and future suffering.

So one day, the twisted logic of a ‘way out’ instead of a ‘way through’ led me to a hunting, fishing, and camping store. I was familiar with these stores. I had gone with friends and family. We bought tents, tried on hiking boots, and dreamt about where they’d take us.

This trip started similarly. I thought it would be suspicious to walk straight to the fire-arms section. So I perused apparel. I tried on hats. I even found a pair of faded-orange hiking joggers that I decided I would buy. Pretty confusing for someone who didn’t foresee any upcoming adventures.

Eventually I meandered over to the glass cases. Mind you, I had never bought a gun before. I had never gone with anyone to buy a gun before. I didn’t know how to do it. I didn’t know what you needed. So I brought all of my important documents, just in case.

I started looking at all of the options when a very kind, helpful worker came to check on me. He asked what I was looking for.

I panicked inside. I had feared the interrogation.

I told him that I wanted something small to keep in my apartment for safety.

A bald-faced lie.

There was no interrogation.

He led me over to a a selection of small handguns. He pointed to three he thought would suit me: a purple one, a vintage one, and a black one. I chose purple. I thought it went well with my cover/reality as an ignorant, first-time buyer who looked better suited to lead a round of Simon Says than shoot anything.

From there, another clerk came out with a tablet while the first ran off to find the proper ammo.

My new, baby-faced clerk in his thick Ray-Bans started typing away.

Now, I don’t remember the exact order of the registration events, but here’s what I know I did:

I handed over my license to be scanned.
I went through a criminal background check.
I filled out my personal information.
I received some kind of card I was supposed to take to the police station.

And at some point, I had to fill out my own mental-health survey.

Alone. Unsupervised.

Without the input of any personal reference or mental-health professional.

Now, if you have any kind of ‘negative’ plan while purchasing a firearm, you’re DEFINITELY going to lie on the self survey.

I lied, hardcore.

Now, this story ends with me buying a $400 gun in under 30 minutes, heading to my car, driving toward a park, and then, thankfully, turning and driving to my support people, revealing all, staying safe, reselling the gun a few days later with a hefty profit loss, and learning more difficult lessons about life and pain and coping and honesty.

That’s my story. Thankfully, my story ended with me safe at home. Because of how this story ended, my full, messy, heartbreaking, marvelous, complicated, glimmers of light in a swirling world can continue through today and into tomorrow.

In this story, my choices would have only physically hurt myself. Obviously the emotional and spiritual pain would have permeated to those who cared for me. Thankfully, those loving, caring, unknowing people never had to walk through that pain; and we can continue on together in community through today and into tomorrow.

BUT HOW MANY DAUGHTERS, DADS, SONS, MOMS, GRANDMAS, GRANDPAS, AUNTS, UNCLES, BROTHERS, SISTERS, COUSINS, TEACHERS, STUDENTS, FRIENDS, COMMUNITIES HAVEN’T HAD THE GRACE OF ANOTHER TODAY AND TOMORROW BECAUSE THEIR GUN STORY DID NOT END LIKE MINE?

too fucking many

I don’t know how to change things. I don’t know what to change. But I’m going to look. I’m going to learn. I’m going to connect. And I’m going to try.

Now imagine that this story ended tragically, not because of my own cause-and-effect choices, but because someone else pulled the trigger

because someone else was allowed to fill out their own mental-health survey

because someone else went to a store or auction or website and bought a gun in under 30 minutes.

I don’t have an answer for the inherent good or evil of guns or people.

Here’s what I think.

We created government. We created laws. We created guns. We created schools.

Are the things we created now so far out of our care that we will let them destroy each other without compassionate action?
 
We have outrage, empathy, separation, time, complacency, and eventually tragedy strikes again.

We are fragile human beings in a tough world that is full of broken systems and hurting people. All of your feelings and fears and ideas are valid.

AND

Choosing to help humanity requires we DO and SAY something from those personal places.

If you’ve stuck with me this long, you either have the patience of an angel or the passion of a thousand fires.

Whether it’s passion or patience or fear or curiosity or outrage that’s driven you here,

SAY

DO

LEARN

something about, and from, and for all of this that’s happened, for the loved ones still grieving, for all of the kids and grown ups you don’t want to die.

Here is a link to the Alliance for Gun Responsibility. Maybe there are better organizations or movements. Maybe you just want to talk to your local or state authorities. But if you have nowhere to start, let’s at least start here:

https://gunresponsibility.org/resources/

Here is an incomplete list of 248 schools affected by the presence/actions of gunmen:

Covenant School
Thurston High School
Columbine High School
Heritage High School
Deming Middle School
Fort Gibson Middle School
Buell Elementary School
Lake Worth Middle School
University of Arkansas
Junipero Serra High School
Santana High School
Bishop Neumann High School
Pacific Lutheran University
Granite Hills High School
Lew Wallace High School
Martin Luther King, Jr High School
Appalachian School of Law
Washington High School
Conception Abbey
Benjamin Tasker Middle School
University of Arizona
Lincoln High School
John McDonogh High School
Red Lion Area Junior High School
Case Western Reserve University
Rocori High School
Ballou High School
Randallstown High School
Bowen High School
Red Lake Senior High School
Harlan Community Academy High School
Campbell County High School
Milwee Middle School
Roseburg High School
Pine Middle School
Essex Elementary School
Duquesne University
Platte Canyon High School
Weston High School
West Nickel Mines School
Joplin Memorial Middle School
Henry Foss High School
Compton Centennial High School
Virginia Tech
Success Tech Academy
Miami Carol City Senior High School
Louisiana Technical College
Mitchell High School
EO Green Junior High School
Northern Illinois University
Lakota Middle School
Knoxville Central High School
Willoughby South High School
Henry Ford High School
University of Central Arkansas
Dillard High School
Dunbar High School
Hampton University
Harvard College
Larose-Cut Off Middle School
International Studies Academy
Skyline College
Discovery Middle School
University of Alabama
DeKalb School
Deer Creek Middle School
Ohio State University
Mumford High School
University of Texas
Kelly Elementary School
Marinette High School
Aurora Central High School
Millard South High School
Martinsville West Middle School
Worthing High School
Millard South High School
Highlands Intermediate School
Cape Fear High School
Chardon High School
Episcopal School of Jacksonville
Oikos University
Hamilton High School
Perry Hall School
Normal Community High School
University of South Alabama
Banner Academy South
University of Southern California
Sandy Hook Elementary School
Apostolic Revival Center Christian School
Taft Union High School
Osborn High School
Stevens Institute of Business and Arts
Hazard Community and Technical College
Chicago State University
Lone Star College-North
Cesar Chavez High School
Price Middle School
University of Central Florida
New River Community College
Grambling State University
Massachusetts Institute of Technology
Ossie Ware Mitchell Middle School
Ronald E McNair Discovery Academy
North Panola High School
Carver High School
Agape Christian Academy
Sparks Middle School
North Carolina A&T State University
Stephenson High School
Brashear High School
West Orange High School
Arapahoe High School
Edison High School
Liberty Technology Magnet High School
Hillhouse High School
Berrendo Middle School
Purdue University
South Carolina State University
Los Angeles Valley College
Charles F Brush High School
Georgia Regents University
Academy of Knowledge Preschool
Benjamin Banneker High School
D H Conley High School
East English Village Preparatory Academy
Paine College
Georgia Gwinnett College
John F Kennedy High School
Seattle Pacific University
Reynolds High School
Indiana State University
Albemarle High School
Fern Creek Traditional High School
Langston Hughes High School
Marysville Pilchuck High School
Florida State University
Miami Carol City High School
Rogers State University
Rosemary Anderson High School
Wisconsin Lutheran High School
Frederick High School
Tenaya Middle School
Bethune-Cookman University
Pershing Elementary School
Wayne Community College
JB Martin Middle School
Southwestern Classical Academy
Savannah State University
Harrisburg High School
Umpqua Community College
Northern Arizona University
Texas Southern University
Tennessee State University
Winston-Salem State University
Mojave High School
Lawrence Central High School
Franklin High School
Muskegon Heights High School
Independence High School
Madison High School
Antigo High School
University of California-Los Angeles
Jeremiah Burke High School
Alpine High School
Townville Elementary School
Vigor High School
Linden McKinley STEM Academy
June Jordan High School for Equity
Union Middle School
Mueller Park Junior High School
West Liberty-Salem High School
University of Washington
King City High School
North Park Elementary School
North Lake College
Freeman High School
Mattoon High School
Rancho Tehama Elementary School
Aztec High School
Wake Forest University
Italy High School
NET Charter High School
Marshall County High School
Sal Castro Middle School
Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School
Great Mills High School
Central Michigan University
Huffman High School
Frederick Douglass High School
Forest High School
Highland High School
Dixon High School
Santa Fe High School
Noblesville West Middle School
University of North Carolina Charlotte
STEM School Highlands Ranch
Edgewood High School
Palm Beach Central High School
Providence Career & Technical Academy
Fairley High School (school bus)
Canyon Springs High School
Dennis Intermediate School
Florida International University
Central Elementary School
Cascade Middle School
Davidson High School
Prairie View A & M University
Altascocita High School
Central Academy of Excellence
Cleveland High School
Robert E Lee High School
Cheyenne South High School
Grambling State University
Blountsville Elementary School
Holmes County, Mississippi (school bus)
Prescott High School
College of the Mainland
Wynbrooke Elementary School
UNC Charlotte
Riverview Florida (school bus)
Second Chance High School
Carman-Ainsworth High School
Williwaw Elementary School
Monroe Clark Middle School
Central Catholic High School
Jeanette High School
Eastern Hills High School
DeAnza High School
Ridgway High School
Reginald F Lewis High School
Saugus High School
Pleasantville High School
Waukesha South High School
Oshkosh High School
Catholic Academy of New Haven
Bellaire High School
North Crowley High School
McAuliffe Elementary School
South Oak Cliff High School
Texas A&M University-Commerce
Sonora High School
Western Illinois University
Oxford High School
Robb Elementary School
Denver East High School
East Carter High School
Richland High School
Frontier Middle School



Monday, June 6, 2022

Our Spot

 

I can see our spot from here. Just down the hill, it seems small and far away, like when you look through the wrong end of binoculars; but I keep walking, sure that I will get there when I get there and that the journey can be equally as beautiful as the destination.

I take slow, steady steps, feeling the soft verdant grass fold beneath my bare feet. I leave my shoes at home when I come here. I want to steep in every sensation. My whole self begins to ground, from my toes to my soul to my mind.

A gentle breeze tickles my cheek and sends my hair fluttering around in wisps. I close my eyes and smile. I giggle with pleasure. You are here.

The sun glows through my eyelids, lighting up my inner world of typical shadows. I feel the light travel through me. It flows like molten gold to fill every corner of my head, down my neck, out to my fingertips, into my belly, and through my legs to my toes. I am light. I am warmth. I know this feeling. It is Love welcoming me.

I open my eyes and start to sashay and twirl as I make my way down into the valley. Dance bubbles up in moments like this, and I can’t help but let it out, like a song that’s beats out through my body instead of my voice.

I can smell the hyacinth bushes that sit in little bunches throughout the valley. The fragrance mixes with the lavender that’s shooting up among the wildflowers. Bluebird shaded forget-me-nots and delicate Queen Anne’s lace wind together through the tall field grass. I stretch out my fingers as wide as they will go and brush them along the tops.

As I get closer, I can see you waiting for me by our tree. I start to run. Padded patches of moss replace the grace beneath my feet. Our tree, the great weeping willow, towers above. She casts her shade over our sitting spot, a mossy hollow at her base, just wide enough for two.

You reach your arms out wide, knowing what I’m about to do. I take my last few steps and leap into your arms. You catch me with unparalleled strength and gentleness. I nuzzle my face into your neck, glad to be home.

Setting me down, you grab my hand, and we walk to the little hollow. We sit down in the springy moss and lean back against our faithful willow. Pockets of light flicker through the waving fronds, each leaf taking its turn to glow and dim like an array of firefly foliage.

I lean my head on your shoulder. We sit. We breathe. We notice the beauty around us and take time to just be.

I start to trace the ridges on the root next to me. My finger bumps along: forward, forward, slight left, sharp right, forward, down. When I reach the end going into the ground, I slide back up to start again.

After a while, you stand up. I hold up my hands so you can pull me to my feet. I don’t need you to, but I love doing things together.

We wander a few yards away to the edge of the river. I can almost taste the crisp, cool water before I’ve even touched it. I kneel and cup a clear pool in my hands to drink. The water satisfies a deeper thirst than I knew I had. It’s all I want, yet one drink is enough.

You tenderly pat my back between my shoulder blades and give me a knowing look. Of course, the river is yours. This whole place is yours, yet you let it be ours. Could anyone love me more?

I stand back up, stretching out my legs. I watch your gaze turn toward the rocks strewn about the water. They start small, only big enough to walk across on your tip toes. But the smooth gray stones grow as you move toward the middle: they fit one foot, then two feet, then there’s room to stand together, and finally you reach a boulder with enough space to sit side by side.

We make our way out to the sit rock. I teeter and wobble on the water-washed path, but you seem to float with unspeakable grace. Once we make it to the middle, I sit criss cross and you settle with your feet dangling in the stream.

You know why I’ve come here. You know what I need. Here’s where I remember. We watch as ivory toy sailboats float toward us, each one whispering a new thought that spins through my head. I reach to grab one, nearly tipping forward and falling in. You slowly pull me back and fold my hands in my lap, covering them with your own. I wanted to take the boat and quiet it, to turn it off so it would not ruin the moment, the peace. I peer into your face and see that peace is held in your eyes. I see the promise that you will always rescue me, that doing so brings you deep gladness.

Some of the boats speak out a bit louder, vying for my attention. You smile at me and look out at the flock of white sails. You don’t make them disappear. You don’t quiet them down. You don’t stop them from coming. But you sit with me. You hold me, and we watch them go by, together.

Together, our favorite spot.

Thursday, May 19, 2022

Uncomfortable

Change can be scary. Growth can be scary. Vulnerability can be scary. Healing can be scary. It’s all so unfamiliar. 


The clouds, the spirals, the isolation, the dark, they’re terrible, but they’re familiar. 


The girl I was four years ago is not wholly me anymore. Since then I’ve broken and mended countless times—usually feeling like I wasn’t going to make it. 


I’ve started therapy—which took a few tries to find someone I connected with. 


I’ve started taking medication—which was a long process full of breaking down shame mixed with trial and error. 


I’ve been to hospitals and inpatient facilities a few times—which was certainly uncomfortable, yet I felt so understood there. People could put words to feelings and habits I didn’t even consciously realize I had. I found hope in those places. 


I’ve quit jobs, jobs where I worked with people and kids I loved dearly. I quit because if I didn’t stop and learn how to care for myself, then I would never be able to care for anyone well again. I was all poured out. I felt guilty. I felt ashamed. But it opened the door to a long season of healing I desperately needed. 


I’ve walked through doubt in myself, my faith, my calling, my relationships, and my worth. 


There have been times when it all seemed like too much work and I just wanted to give up. Sometimes I did. Then, somehow, by the gentle care and compassion of another, I would be revived, not always wholly, but enough to take one more step. 


So no, I’m not the same person. My relationships aren’t the same. My faith isn’t the same. My perspective isn’t the same. Maybe you wouldn’t recognize me anymore if we had a chat, and that’s uncomfortable. 


But, you would find a compassionate soul ready to listen and understand. You would find a woman who is learning to set boundaries on her time and energy. You would find the spirit of a teacher ready to love on students again. You would find a child of God who is finally learning the meaning of the Father’s unconditional love, endless grace, and peaceful, constant presence—for herself, not just others. You would see a reflective mind in need of more stillness and solitude. You would see a warrior enduring, ebbing and flowing with the tides of daily life and emotion. You would see a very imperfect person practicing how to live a healthy, abundant life in the midst of mental illness. 


I’d say I’m not successful every day, because some days are hard and dark and scary and I want to quit. But the fact that I’m still here, still breathing, means that I am completely successful. As long as I’m here, there will be time to rest, reframe, and try again. 


So listen to your body, listen to your mind, listen to your spirit. What do you need to be whole? It takes time. It’s scary and it’s uncomfortable, but I am glad that I started my journey instead of avoiding it because I know how much I’ve grown, learned, changed, and healed. It’s not perfect and it’s not linear, but it’s my path. So I’ll keep walking, even if they’re baby steps. 


As always, if you need a hand walking through any of it, I’m here ❤️ 


Be well friend,


Hennessy


Monday, October 4, 2021

Normal

Normal.
 

I just want to be normal.
 

We all think it. We say it. We cry it out into the universe.
 

I think when we say we want to be normal we really mean that we want to be perfect.
 

We don’t want messy feelings.
We want tidy relationships.
We want things that make sense, that fit into boxes.
We don’t want to have pain or struggles.
We don’t want to feel rejected or on the outside.
We crave acceptance. We crave love. We crave stability.
 

In our heads, these things come so naturally and abundantly to normal people.
The problem is that normal people don’t exist.
Perfect, tidy, neat, whole, people are something we’ve imagined.
It’s an expectation we made up to express what we want;
but there is no secret colony of normal people.
There is no utopia where everyone has it together,
everyone knows what they want, how to get it, and then does it.
 

What we have to accept, what I have to accept, is that we are truly normal.
Normal is messy.
Normal is confusing.
Normal is weakness and struggle.
Normal is coping and finding new ways to live in the midst of life’s constant meteor-shower.
 

Those desires for love and acceptance and stability are deep and valid;
but the solution is not to somehow get rid of all the things that make you you and become normal.
 

The solution is to first accept yourself, love yourself, create a safe space within yourself for yourself.
Then slowly, like roots reaching out their tendrils to find water, we branch out and connect with other sources of life: beliefs, people, purposes, passions, nature.
 

Along the way we create our own normal;
and normal is ever changing.
Normal only lasts a season, then it shifts and sheds and is born into something wholly new and necessary.
 

So yes, I want to be normal;
but what I really want is to see that I already am, and to learn how to be just so.

Tuesday, January 12, 2021

Presence

sweet relief and sweet pain swirl together

becoming one without beginning or end

yet in your presence they unwind

disappearing in your aura of sweet love

your nearness makes all things well

nothing has changed but all is different

I can breathe again with you

        breathe            with you

        breathe            with you

        breathe            with you

Selah . . .


Wednesday, January 6, 2021

My Testimony

This is a piece of my story, a piece of God’s story. I promise it ends in hope, but there are dark parts. I’m sharing this season of life with you because I want to tell of God’s goodness. I want people who feel stuck deep in the abyss to know that God is Mighty to Save. My story is unfinished. I’m still in the midst of this battle, but I believe there is power in sharing your testimony. My prayer is that this story can encourage someone else in their own journey. Praise the God who uses broken vessels.

                                                *        *        *        *        *        *        *

I thought I knew myself, until I lost myself. I lost myself in doing, in trying, in theology, in relationships, in work, in my head. I was lost.
 

This fall I woke up to see just how lost I was. An important relationship in my life came to an end and I realized that I needed help. I couldn’t deny the anxiety anymore. I couldn’t deny my depression. I couldn’t get out of bed. I couldn’t focus. I was on autopilot. On the outside the lights were on, but inside no one was home. I was wrapped in the shame and guilt of believing I’m not enough, I’ll never do enough, I’ll never be enough. How could anyone love me? How could God love me? Why does anyone trust me to do my job, to be a friend, to be an aunt, to be a Christian?
 

On a Friday night, the first wave of suicidal thoughts washed over me. I figured that if I could never do enough, then why bother? If it will never change, then why try?
 

I reached out for help. I called mentors and friends. People prayed with me. I told my counselor. I met with a doctor. I took a week off of work. I read my Bible. I tried to get better. I tried to heal. I did the things everyone told me to do. That should work.
 

6 nights later I snuck out of my mom’s house with a bottle of alcohol and several bottles of pills. I just wanted rest. Forever. I was so tired. All of the trying wore me out. I drove to a park. I poured the pills into my hand. I held the bottle of alcohol. I stared at them for ten minutes. Finally, I called a friend. They picked me up. They took me home.
 

The next day I was admitted to an inpatient psychiatric care facility. I was met with kindness, acceptance, grace, strength, and love. I met people who could encourage me in my faith, to build self-esteem, to know I wasn’t alone in my struggle. I learned to take care of myself. It was beautiful and hard. I was there for 10 days. I felt good when I left.
 

In less than 24 hours I had made a checklist plan to end my life. I faked my way through the morning around my loved ones. I went to Walgreens for supplies. The cashier was so kind and concerned. He asked me several times if I was ok or if I needed anything. I now see Jesus in that cashier’s face. I remember thinking I was so glad he was the last person I’d talk to.
 

I drove to another park. I wrote a letter. I went to get into the back seat. I looked at the trail. The fall leaves were perfectly golden and formed a tunnel. I could hear Jesus beckoning me, “let’s go for a walk, come to me.” I ignored him. I got into my backseat. I took pills. I drank. I thought I would finally have peace.
 

The world vibrated. My vision shook. My stomach roiled. I puked. Praise God that I puked. I instantly regretted what I’d done. I instantly remembered the tiny, glorious beauties of life that I would miss: my nieces’ laughter, warm sand, Monday night tacos, singing at the top of my lungs, and so much more. I didn’t want to die, “O God please don’t let me die.”
 

I laid in my car for an hour. I decided the shame of getting help would be too much. I just got help. I messed it up. I learned my lesson. I would just go home. Praise the God who got me home. I should have crashed. I should have hurt myself or someone else in the state I was in.
 

I made it home. After an hour of faking with my roommates, I finally told them. They called 911. Everyone was so nice. Why didn’t they hate me like I did? How could they treat me with mercy? All of my same nurses, therapists, technicians, and doctors were just happy to see me in a place where I could heal. I didn’t get it, and I was still grateful.
 

I don’t get it, and still I’m grateful.
 

God rescued me. When I believed I was beyond the desire or capacity to save, God saved me. When I believed I was worthless, unlovable, never enough, He treated me as his beloved child. He gave me a second chance to live. There was no stomach-pumping. I didn’t spend days in critical care. I just needed an IV and lots of sleep.
God showed up. He got me home. He sent me encouragement through letters and phone calls. He taught me about myself, about my condition, about the validity of my struggle, about the hope and help that abound. He gave me community.
God revealed his goodness in a room with a view of beautiful fall trees; a reminder of his call to, even now, come to him. He put verses in my head and songs in my mouth. He restored my soul.
 

He is still restoring my soul.
 

The work isn’t all on us. The weight isn’t all on us. It may feel that way. It is an illusion. Jesus carries the cross. Jesus defeats death. Jesus rolls away the stone and reveals life. I am a recipient, an often unwilling one. Praise the God who is patient and who fights for me when I won’t or can’t fight for myself.
 

It is hard, and I can do it with Jesus.
 

I can do it. Say it, even if you don’t believe it.
 

It’s ok to be weak. It’s ok to be broken. It’s ok to feel lost in the dark.
 

God is strong. God is able to redeem and restore. Even the dark is as light to God.
 

If you ever need someone, I am here. No one should ever feel alone, lost, abandoned, less than, unloved, ashamed, guilty, or forgotten. No one should feel that their only way out is death.
 

You are worth the effort. You are worth happiness. You are worth being around.
 

God loves you. God LOVES you. GOD LOVES YOU.
 

And so do I.
 

Thank you for reading. Go and spread Light.