Jesus does not shame the broken–hearted. Indeed, Jesus calls the broken–hearted blessed (Matthew 5:2), and offers rest. He says, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:28–30, NIV).

God “heals the broken–hearted and binds up their wounds,” according to the psalmist (Psalm 147:3). Time and again, the Scriptures invite us not to hide our burdens, to self–medicate our wounds, or toughen up, but to recognize our needs, our vulnerabilities, our pain. The Psalmist declares

    Cast your cares on the Lord
and he will sustain you;
he will never let
the righteous be shaken.
(Psalm 55:22, NIV)

Could it be that God isn’t in the business of asking us to toughen up or get it together?

Could it be that God isn’t in the business of asking us to toughen up or get it together?

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For Cynthia, that was a difficult proposition. Her earthly father was a devoted church–goer, a tireless worker, a respected dentist in their small town. Her image of “father” was tough, unbreakable, and prone to demand the same of others. Two voices battled in Cynthia’s head. One voice sounded a bit like Jesus: “Come to me. I love you Cynthia. You’re not too much for me. I want to walk with you and heal you and give you my rest.” But another very loud voice sounded a lot like her father’s voice: “Stop complaining and get moving. God doesn’t help those who don’t help themselves.”

Cynthia’s therapist was a committed Christian who took anxiety seriously. The therapist wasn’t interested in demonizing Cynthia’s father, but did help her to see that perhaps her father wasn’t infallible on matters of mental health. Cynthia began to realize that accepting the imperfection of her earthly father might be a pathway to embracing the perfect love of her heavenly father. She could grieve and even forgive his shortcomings, in time. She could also begin to open herself to the only real Source of faithful love she could find. Slowly, she began to see herself as God’s beloved daughter, held and comforted in her anxiety.

We’re also called to bear each other’s burdens (Galatians 6:2), the fulfillment of the commandment to love our neighbor. Sometimes the church kicks its wounded while they’re down. There are far too many stories of people with mental health issues, disabilities, and spiritual struggles who’ve found the church to be far less gracious than Jesus. But there are also countless stories of churches opening their arms to those in pain. And Cynthia experienced this.

Jane, a deacon and a therapist, opened the first door. In time, Cynthia discovered kindred spirits, fellow believers with bipolar disorder and depression, panic attacks and addictions. She could hardly believe that many of the women and men who sat around her at church every Sunday struggled in ways that she struggled. In time, her husband admitted to an addiction to pornography, and even this difficult betrayal led to humility and, in time, connection. Jane’s open door led to many other open doors, as the church and its community became a place of hope and healing for Cynthia and her family.

In fact, all of the women and men I’ve introduced you to in this short book needed the multi–dimensional care of God, a good church community, and trained professionals. This is not a sign of weakness, but strength.