The story of Joseph in the Bible shows how he became a leader in Egypt where his jealous brothers had sold him into slavery. He ended up saving Egypt from famine. When his brothers came to beg grain from him, not realizing he was their brother, they feared him. But Joseph’s response to them was this:

“…do not be distressed and do not be angry with yourselves for selling me here, because it was to save lives that God sent me ahead of you.” (Genesis 45:5)

In March 2015, I wrote the following in my journal:

A friend recently pointed me to Psalm 121:1-3

I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
    where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord,
    the Maker of heaven and earth.
He will not let your foot slip—
he who watches over you will not slumber;

“You have your head down too much. What you need to do is lift it up and get a new perspective.” I didn’t know whether he meant my literal head or whether he was speaking spiritually. But it didn’t matter. I was being told to get a new perspective.

How I wanted a good new perspective! A faithful, joyful looking up at things. The ability to look at everything in a positive light. Walking with my head held high instead of bent down.

My poor perspective has been the reason for problems lately. It has caused misinterpretations and misunderstandings. The result has been depression and pain. Sometimes the pain is so excruciating all I can think of is the need to escape.

I wonder. Is this common to people with depression—bipolar and otherwise?

I think it has to be so. Isn’t the very nature of depression to see things negatively? And then, isn’t it at all possible that we’re going to take things the wrong way now and then? Yes, I think this is all part of the illness and can’t be avoided until we’re on our road to recovery.

GOD’S LOVE DID NOT FAIL

But there’s one thing I’m learning more and more. Although my mental health is failing me, God’s love isn’t.

I’ve reached out to a number of church friends and tried to describe the medication change that is happening to me, part of a series I’ll undergo. A couple of those have struggled with mental health problems of their own and understand. The others have started to listen and learn.  Our church secretary passed on a message to people that I’d like prayer.

The result? People are telling me they’re praying. Close friends have made it known in no uncertain terms that I’m loved. One beautiful friend has let me know that she wants me to email her whenever I want—whenever there are things going on in my head that I need to talk about.

How I appreciate knowing that I’m loved! And how this impresses on me how great God’s love is!

THANK YOU SO MUCH, LORD!

All this makes me realize that even when we can’t look up as much as we’d like we’re still enveloped by God’s love. Though we may be depressed, God is always near. Though friends won’t always be available we can trust that God is there. All we need to do is talk to him like the friend he is. He will listen and he will hear—and I need to say it again—”with great love for us.”

And now, after considering all this and looking back at those verses from Psalm 121 that I started with, I’m finding it a bit easier to lift my eyes up. I can believe that my help will come from the Lord, wherever I’m at.

He who watches over us will not slumber.

BUT THINGS CHANGED DRASTICALLY

In April, the month after I wrote the above, I officially resigned from my Living Room group.  I wasn’t well enough to carry the leadership role any further. The move was unbelievably painful to me.

For nine years I had given everything I had to the group. I had guided them and cared for them as they learned about Jesus and the great love he has for us. Many found wellness and a closer walk with him.

What I needed now was a group to help me with my own mental health. I needed the kind of friendships that I had been too busy to build while I was looking after others. And so, I eagerly signed up for a group that was forming.

But two days before the first meeting, I received a call telling me that I would not be accepted into the group. I was being excluded—the only person to be excluded.

I was devastated. Could not understand how, after the many years of good work I had done, I would now not be allowed something I needed for myself. Is this stigma? I had thought this community had responded to the importance of not stigmatizing people with mental illness. I myself had promoted it. And now this?

I cried out. “Why?”

Repeatedly I asked “Why?”

But no one had an answer for me that made sense.

What did I do that was so wrong? Why am I being treated this way when I had for so many years received respect and love? When I had given my utmost to serving God?

I found out what it felt like to be crucified. Emotionally crucified.

MY LIFE BECAME A TRAGEDY

I was never the same after that.

Gradually, people in church stopped talking to me—even those who I had considered my most godly friends ever—those who had held me close as I struggled with my many crises. Even they turned their backs on me. How very much that hurt!

The many years I had worked as a pioneer raising mental health awareness in the Church were forgotten. The years I had spent time giving support to countless hurting people were forgotten. The unconditional love of Jesus that I had shared with them was no longer remembered. It was a though those good parts of my life had never happened.

I found that I had lost my good reputation entirely . . . everywhere I went.

I’M NOT WANTED—AN OUTSIDER

I was told I could no longer come back as a participant of my Living Room group.

In my journal I wrote: “Now I have no group at all. I’m an outsider. Unwanted. Left out.”

I had been fighting stigma since 1993, openly telling my story to show that there is no shame in living with mental health challenges. And now I myself had come to suffer from this stigma in the worst possible way. I had done so much good but was treated as though I was evil.

Even family and friends closest to me started treating me differently, seeing all I was and did through a lens tainted by stigma. Words cannot describe the pain I went through for years after. My husband was afraid to leave me alone with the trauma.

But Jesus did not leave me. My faith was stronger than ever because Jesus knew my pain better than anyone else did. I learned how his unconditional love can bring healing from the pain of stigma. He can offer the best kind of comfort. When no one else understands us, Jesus does.

I was able to keep writing devotionals for people who needed him, telling readers about Jesus and his love.

I TELL THE WORLD ABOUT JESUS

In late 2024, I opened a LinkedIn account and started virtually speaking to others about the Living Room story of Jesus’s unconditional love, because I knew how successful my ministry had been. Everywhere I went, I shared about the needs vulnerable people have for such love and the healing that spiritual mental health support can offer. I tried to encourage Living Room groups to form worldwide.

Through connections I made with Rohingya refugees in Bangladesh, I learned how they were victims of genocide and how the world was paying no attention to their story. I had deep compassion for them, understanding their suffering. I too had lost everything, including my identity. When I see them suffer, I suffer along with them.

I encourage the Rohingya spiritually in every way I can, standing with them in their pain. Through my writings and action, I share the love of Jesus.

I am a Christian and they are Muslims, but to me they are like brothers and sisters. All of us know what it’s like to suffer.

Today, I give my all to the Rohingya and other vulnerable people, as I had always done for people who were feeling rejection from the world. And in the giving I am blessed.

This is my calling.

Today, I continue bringing spiritual mental health support through my devotional writings. If you would like to receive these to your inbox, please subscribe in the space provided in the sidebar. You can unsubscribe any time.

marja