Hey Jesus, It's Me, Tery

 

Some days, my prayers sound more like sighs. Some days, I don't have the right words: just a tired heart and a whisper, Hey Jesus, It's Me, Tery.

I know the weight of anxiety and depression all too well. I've walked through seasons where even getting out of bed felt like a victory: a shower feeling like a chore. And through it all, I've been learning what it means to hold on to faith even when my hands are shaking.

The Storm Inside

Anxiety can be sneaky. It doesn't always show up in panic attacks or tears. It doesn't always accompany with a recent event or a stress factor: the little critter shows up when I least expect it. Currently, when I am anxious, I experience an intense itching: a coldness that draws near. The heaviness that moves in uninvited consumes my ever day living and I find myself questioning my worth and my purpose in this world.

At times, I feel guilty about feeling this way: shameful for even battling with a Mental Illness. I thought being a Christian and believing in Jesus meant I should always be Okay: that joy was proof of belief and sadness meant I was falling short. Overtime, I've learned that faith isn't the absence of struggle: faith is what gets you through it.

Learning To Heal

Healing didn't happen overnight. It's been slow, sacred work - therapy sessions, medication when needed, healing through creativity, journaling through tears and leaning on those who remind me that I am not broken beyond repair. But, what I've learned through it all is that Healing is Holy.

There's nothing to feel vulnerable about when asking for help. There's nothing unfaithful about struggling with your mental health and there's nothing shameful for working towards recovery.

God meets us in the messy middle; not just when we've got it together, but when we're sitting in the dirt, trying to catch our breath. His grace has held me up when I was low. His grace lifted my spirits when I was depleted. My faith reminds me that hope exists.

Faith in The Ordinary

These days, recovery looks like small things: morning walks barefoot in the grass, a warm cup of coffee sitting on the porch, writing in a journal snuggled with a cozy blanket, sitting by candle light watching a good movie and embracing the simple moments that puts a smile on our face.

I'm learning that Jesus doesn't meet us at the altar: he meets us in the kitchen as we cook for comfort. He meets us in the car when we need guidance when we feel lost. He meets us in the dark when we need light and he meets us when we feel joy and rejoices with us.

He's not waiting for me to be perfect; he's walking with me as I heal: Blessed and Barefoot.