Recently in Inspiration and Prayer Category

I was touched by this comment on the combox of my post "5 Ways Churches Can Minister to Those with Mental Illness" by Beyond Blue reader Vincent Zimmerman:

Therese, I sometimes think I must be the only person diagnosed with bipolar disorder and generalized anxiety who doesn't find peace and security in faith. I don't know why, but fostering a belief in a higher power has caused me nothing but misery and pain. I tried prayer, going to church, bible studies, and nothing did me any good. Different religious beliefs and practices have the same effect. Nothing feels right, nothing touches me on a personal level. I was desperate for a religious or spiritual experience that would touch my heart and point me down the right path. I no longer burn with the desire to find a higher power, because after years, even decades, of searching, I haven't found anything but anguish and agony. I am glad that seemingly everyone but myself can find peace and solace in a higher power, that they have a support, in times of trouble, someone or some thing that provides them with strength and comfort. I envy others for this, but I'm not bitter towards them. They have something wonderful, a true blessing. I wish I could say the same for myself.

Several readers composed compassionate, compelling responses to Vincent. What would you say to him?

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On Mindful Monday, my readers and I practice the art of pausing, TRYING to be still, or considering, ever so briefly, the big picture. We're hoping this soul time will provide enough peace of mind to get us through the week!

In the Gospel of Mark (1:21-28), we read:

Then they came to Capernaum, and ... in their synagogue was a man with an unclean spirit; he cried out, "What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are - the Holy One of God!" Jesus rebuked him and said, "Quiet! Come out of him!" The unclean spirit convulsed him and with a loud cry came out of him. All were amazed and asked one another, "What is this? A new teaching with authority. He commands even the unclean spirits and they obey him."

The unclean spirits obeyed him.

Now that gives me hope.

Because lately it seems like I'm surrounded by unclean spirits ... I run into more of them than pairs of dirty underwear in my son's room. Everywhere I turn, it seems, I'm being presented with an opportunity to buy into the lie of greed, jealousy, lust, and selfishness. And I'm not just talking about the billboard of a seductive woman in black lingerie (or a red, silk dress) pouring a glass of Absolut vodka for her George Clooney look alike. The more dangerous lies are the more subtle ones that whisper in my ear "if you simply do this ... you will make it to the promised land of happiness."

So sometimes I succumb. I do it. I tell a half-truth. I gossip about a friend. I agree to write a piece for an online dating service that I don't feel all that great about because they pay well. Only to find out these things don't bring me happiness and peace. On the contrary, they bring up breakfast. Because now I feel guilty, and dirty, and bad about myself.

Beyond Blue reader Frank Bucher sent me a touching email after he watched my video about Henri Nouwen and the Spiritual Life. I thought his interpretation of my cone was right on, and I wanted to share it with you in case you also have doors that you are tempted to go out. I wanted to nudge you to close the door, and stay with the spiritual life. Frank writes:

I never thought about life as a cone although I notice the older I get, the things I feel important dwindle down significantly. Gone are the toys I must have and the places I must go. The light of God burns brighter with each step, for me and for you too, I suspect.

But this leaves out the people I know who seem to be running as much as ever and searching for what I no longer care about. Money, fame, accomplishment to name a few. I got to thinking about this in relation to your doors and then I had it...

They walked outside the cone through one of those doors. Now they are on their own and it's wide open with no focus except for the name plate on the door.

I think we all step outside once in a while when we have that moment of being lost and fretting. For you, I think it's when you can't believe that what your do is wonderful and valuable. When you find it hard to believe it when someone tells you they love you and you change lives. I think it's because you look through the door you opened because you believe that's where you belong.

No, No, you belong in that cone. Throw those doors of self doubt closed and lock them. Never look through them again and walk through your life knowing that no one is opening a door you can't close. Even when people throw those doors open, you go on up and close them again. The key is to say, "NO, Frank (or choose a more appropriate name if you wish) says I mean the world to him and that's the reality I need to remember. Not the lies outside the door. My life is funneling right to the brightness of eternity."

Tell you what... You do that and I'll do the same the next time I say "I can't go any further" "I can't take this anymore" "I give up." I guess I have the same lessons to learn.

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The following is one of my favorite meditations in Henri Nouwen's "The Inner Voice of Love."

The love that came to you in particular, concrete human friendships and that awakened your dormant desire to be completely and unconditionally loved was real and authentic. 

It does not have to be denied as dangerous and idolatrous. A love that comes to you through human beings is true, God-given love and needs to be celebrated as such. When human friendships prove to be unlivable because you demand that your friends love you in ways that are beyond human capacity, you do not have to deny the reality of the love you received. When you try to die to that love in order to find God's love, you are doing something God does not want. The task is not to die to life-giving relationships but to realize that the love you received in them is part of a greater love.

God has given you a beautiful self. There God dwells and loves you with the first love, which precedes all human love. You carry your own beautiful, deeply loved self in your heart. You can and must hold on to the truth of the love you were given and recognize that same love in others who see your goodness and love you.

So stop trying to die to the particular real love you have received. Be grateful for it and see it as what enabled you to open yourself to God's first love.

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Ever since I was a young girl, I have been fascinated by the concept of guardian angels. Probably because I have always been in dire need of one.

Every morning before school, my mom would instruct my three sisters and me to "take our guardian angels with us," and we would roll our eyes, of course. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, he's in the backpack."

But I can't help but wonder if that's why my twin sister walked home from a car accident that surely should have taken her life and how I managed not to get mugged all those nights I passed out cold in the off-campus housing area of the University of Dayton called "the ghetto."

The writings of bestselling author (and friend) Joan Wester Anderson, especially, have long inspired me. I get goose bumps every time I read her story about her son and a friend being saved by an angel in the middle of a snowstorm on an isolated country road in Indiana.

A tow truck appeared out of the blue, offered to pull the stalled car to a nearby friend's house. But as soon as the two boys turned around to pay the kind and generous man, he was gone. And there was just one set of tire tracks in the snow: that of the boy's car (not the tow truck).

Writes Anderson in "Where Angels Walk":

Angels don't submit to litmus tests, testify in court or slide under a microscope for examination. Thus their existence cannot be 'proved' by the guidelines we humans usually use. To know one, perhaps, requires a willingness to suspend judgment, to open ourselves to possibilities we've only dreamed about. Was it an angel? Our family will never know for sure. But on Christmas Eve in 1983, I heard the whisper of wings as a tow-truck driver answered a heavenly summons, and brought our son safely home.