John 4: 10,13 – “Jesus answered her, ‘If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water…Jesus answered, ‘Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”
This is the story of my journey. The brokenness, the pain, and the joy. A story of redemption. A story of brokenness, healing, brokenness, and rejoicing. This is about being in the hard places, the suffering and coming through with a renewed spirit. This is my story broken, ugly, and beautiful all at the same time.
Jesus met me in my brokenness, just like the woman at the well. He came to see me in the middle of the day, when everyone else stayed away. He revealed the brokenness in my life and healing that lay on the other side. He gave me a new understanding of who he is and where he is in the midst of his children’s suffering. He revealed himself to me in a painfully beautiful way that gave me a new understanding of who he is and what he life he wants for his children. If you are looking for a story that ties up in a pretty package, you need to look elsewhere. That is not my story. My journey is long and hard, and not over. However, I believe that may be your story. Your story may be hanging on a comma. I want to come along side you and share some encouragement. I want to let you know that your best life can be found in the here and now. Living water can be yours today, come along with me and share my journey.
The sliding doors opened. I stepped tentatively inside. They were waiting for me. My husband had called earlier to let them know we were on our way. Their eyes were not kind, filled with compassion, they were distant and separated. I wondered if I had made a mistake. I was told this facility was not like the others, here I would be treated with dignity and respect. I could trust these people, they would bring me healing. Then, the doors closed.
They convinced me that I was just giving my intake information. I left my husband, my baby, and my dad in the waiting room. I gave them my information. “Are you wanting to harm yourself?” they asked. “Yes,” I responded. “Do you want to harm your baby or others?” “Absolutely not,” I said. However, I could understand how someone would, if they felt this way. There was no judgment from me. A door opened on the other side of the room. “Can I say goodbye to my baby?” The doors locked, “No.” “Please,” I begged. Not sure what would happen next. There was no apology, just asking me to follow them down the hallway.
I stepped into a 4ftx4ft room. There was a small green chair. “Take off all of your clothes,” she demanded. “Can I please keep my bra? I am nursing and I need the support.” She inspected it, gropping me. “It can stay.” What a relief. She handed me a gown. “Where are you taking me?,” I inquired. “To a room like this.” Bright lights, a small chair, white walls. I was beginning to panic. However, I knew I couldn’t break down, couldn’t loose it because they were gathering evidence. Wanting to know how sick I was, how long I needed to say. My rights were gone. I followed her out of the room and down to the psychiatric ER. The rooms were padded, there were cameras everywhere. There was a hard bed, and a small chair for family to sit in. There were no locks, not even on the bathrooms. I had to have my husband keep watch so I could use the facilities. I had been in for about 30 minutes, when I felt like I had made a mistake. Surely, how I was feeling before would only get worse, when you add in a dose of terror.