Depression is still stigmatized.
It was more so in 1985, when Steve first became frighteningly ill. The stigma
was worse because we lived in the world of conservative Christians. We had
nowhere to turn in our confusion, for the help from Christian brothers and
sisters came in the way of opinions as to what Steve’s “real problem” might be.
Suggestions ranged from bad water to demon possession.
Was it the End for Us?
I was just deathly afraid that my husband would never recover,
that he might shuffle around an institution wearing pajamas for the rest of his
life. I had just turned thirty; he was twenty-nine, and life as we knew seemed
to have ended.
Depression Misunderstood
As a child, Steve had no symptoms of depression. He was not the type who fought
to get out of bed in the morning. He was not moody or negative. He whistled and
sang, trusted the Lord, loved his family openly, and walked with God admirably.
This man now told me that he couldn’t accept a
call to become pastor of the church in Florida. I was beyond angry. I was dumbfounded.
How could he not accept what seemed so clearly to be God’s providential
direction for our lives and ministry?
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