It is important for me to recognize that random thoughts, ideas, and memories may not be as random as they appear. I search for the path that connects them and then write it down. For example here are three thoughts/ideas/memories that have occurred to me recently.

1. Is God silent or am I just deaf?
2. Why is it that life hands me screws when the only tool I possess is a hammer?
3. I have Jesus for this.

Without going into inappropriate detail, I’m struggling with what my role and course of action are when relating to a person with mental illness. I truly don’t know what to do. My anger is quick to provide answers. My personal brand of anger finds expression in the cruelty of my words. Sometimes I am able to think before I allow my anger to express itself. When responding to people, especially when they are ill, I really want my responses to promote kindness and healing. I have difficulty finding a way to be firm yet kind. I struggle with finding a way to help without enabling. How do I reason with someone who doesn’t care about or believe in the inevitability of negative consequences? When I hear the words of the illness I have no response except silence. I have nothing constructive to offer because I have no ability to reason with a sick mind. The illness wounds those of us who live in close proximity to it. As the very predictable consequences of bad choices ensue how do I walk with a sick person without shielding them from the result of their actions? I have a handful screws but my only tool is a hammer.

What does God say? God says nothing because God is not speaking to me right now as it pertains to this matter. In my imagination God is the librarian in her domain of silence and knowledge. I approach the librarian who stands behind the counter and I whisper my questions of how and why. Her response is to look at me over her half moon glasses with a look that says that I should already know these answers. Maybe I do, but I want different answers….easier ones…a way out that doesn’t break my heart. I leave the counter and hide between the stacks. Leaning my head against the books, I remember that I didn’t choose God. He chose me….he chose me for this. What am I to do? My instruction has always been simple yet profoundly difficult to carry out….do not give up….never give up. But how do I do this….how do I carry this? Then I remembered the words of a preacher spoken in a church service when I was a boy. He said, as it pertained to the trials of life, “I have Jesus for this.” I will not attempt to articulate the power, comfort, relief, and peace my heart has experienced by the memory of those five simple words.

My Keri has been God’s picture to me of perseverance and steadfastness. She did not give up on me when reason, logic, and theology would have permitted it. Is it the damaging things people do that break our hearts or is it the act of giving up on them that does it?