If someone told me they had cancer or gall bladder problems and asked for my prayers, I would certainly pray. Then, I would ask them what the doctor told them about their condition.
“Oh, I haven’t talked to the doctor about it. I’m waiting for God to heal me.”
To that kind of comment, I would give a nice long lecture about how God certainly does heal, and is perfectly capable of doing miracles, but more often than not, He uses means. Doctors, medicines, these things are means that God uses to bless and help us. Why, I would ask, have you not availed yourself of those means? Why do you insist God help you on your narrow terms only?
God so often answers prayer through means. I saw Him do this with my dear daughter when He cured her of her seizures, finally, after a long year of grief and medicine and trial. He used the wonderful folks at Cleveland Clinic--- those dear people that He made, that He blessed with smarts and desire to help and various abilities--- He used them to restore her to health. It was a miracle, done by God through human hands.
I know God uses means.
Why, then, did I find myself on the receiving end of this lecture from my husband regarding my depression?
Why is it so hard to accept medical help for emotional/mental problems?
The easy answer: I don’t want to deal with the cruel stigma associated with this kind of illness. It’s much safer to hide it. I’m dealing with enough as it is.
Plus, it’s not that bad. Other people have it worse, I’m sure. I’m not so crazy I actually need medical help! See, I’m functioning… kind of.
The more complicated, honest answer:
I am depressed, sad, overwhelmed, and having a hard time just getting through my days. I am humbled enough already. I do not want to have to admit my struggles out loud to my husband, a doctor, the pharmacist. I do not want to carry pills around with that kind of label. I hate the cruel stigma, and I partly believe the cruel stigma. I do not want to be one of those weak people. I can conquer this. I can find the right mental gymnastics, and I can find the effort to do them. Somehow. I’m pretty sure all of this is my fault, so I am the one who needs to fix it, and I will fix it. I just need to find the energy.
Oh yeah, and God will help me do all of this. Right God? So where are you then? Would you just zap me with healing already? Or tell me the secret password I need to get out of this pit?
God’s gift of medicine came with strings attached, it seemed: I’d have to go to a doctor and say it out loud. I’d have to go to the pharmacy. I’d have to be honest with my husband. None of those things have been easy, but He has given strength for each of them, and I did survive taking that first pill.
God’s blessings sometimes come in prescription bottles.
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| Blessed means. |