It is past my bedtime. And yet here I am working through a certification course on Mental Health Coaching within the church.

Ironically, or rather providentially, it seems fitting as I started the classes in May, which I later discovered is Mental Health Awareness month.

I’m not sure how to squeeze this additional big something into my life. But scholarships were available, and I was granted one. 

Late last September, I met a lady, Mary, who was a self-proclaimed pastor who only did what Jesus told her to  do (her words exactly). She was homeless, moving through our area on her way to Florida. But she couldn’t get an affordable ticket for the train, and Hurricane Ian was just about to make landfall. She felt that God was telling her to stay in our little community. Several of my coworkers and I pooled some money to get her into a local motel room for the night. 

It wasn’t long before I began to observe signs of paranoia and delusion. But by all appearances, she truly loved God and seemed to be obedient to what she perceived was God’s call on her life. I continued to dialog with her. However, it was increasingly more difficult to engage well with her when the signs of paranoia were growing. 

But I remember a moment in her motel room when we were talking. She was telling me what she had been doing to share about Jesus along her journey and about obstacles she was encountering. Suddenly she began to sob. “I’m just so tired,” she said. 

I believe she was being completely honest. And I could see the weariness in her face. Her faith appeared genuine, but her mental health issues were taking a toll.

Eventually, as she continued to accuse the motel owners of all sorts of unrealistic scenarios, she was informed she had to vacate the premises. She called me to ask if she could stay with me. Unquestionably, the answer was no. My husband would not be comfortable with someone he didn’t even know staying at the house with him all day every day while I was gone to work. Because I was frustrated, I didn’t respond the way I felt I should have. But I was at home recovering from foot surgery at that point and had little capacity to respond appropriately to her request. I gave only what I had to give. 

The situation with Mary is never far from my thoughts. I often wondered why God would allow her to come into my life when I was unable to do anything to help her. Except show her love up to the point where she wanted me to give more than I had to give.

I have trusted that because God brought her into my life, He had a specific reason. And when I look back at my post on Mental Heath and the Church, I feel compelled to do what I can to help those struggling with mental health issues. 

The more I feel God calling me to help others learn to trust God’s promises, the less qualified I feel to do so. This new certification course will give me definite guidance as to how to help.

Therefore, I labor into the evening hours, preparing for the next Mary I encounter.

“I have learned now that while those who speak about one’s miseries usually hurt, those who keep silence hurt more.” ~ C. S. Lewis