**Trigger Warning** This post contains language of mental health disorders, self-harm, and suicidal ideation. Reader’s discretion is advised. If you are in crisis, please call, text or chat with the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline at 988, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273 TALK (8255), or contact the Crisis Text Line by texting TALK to 741741

Writing. Just sitting down and writing has been invaluable my entire life. Journals upon journals, notes upon notes, poems, liturgies, and random essays have helped me process this wild life under the sun. In 2023, I plunged headfirst into a wonderfully organized writing class at my local church. I gained a greater perspective on the beauty of composing and arranging 26 letters into a unique form of expression and worship.

The class provided a way for God to speak to me about my gift of writing. I am not the best writer. I am not a published writer. I am not sure many eyes will ever read these words. (I feel like Julie Powell from the movie Julie and Julia. Julie sets out to blog about her experience cooking through Julia Child’s cookbook, and the only person to read her blog for a while was her mom.) But I feel called by God to share my gift of writing with whoever may stumble upon it, needing strength in their deep sorrow.

This first post is mainly composed of the first assignment in my writing class, a personal essay. My aim for the blog is to expand on this essay and bring to light the struggle of finding joy in Jesus amid the darkest depression and mental health woes. Yes, life has been a great struggle for me, but I count it all as gain. And I am still gaining in a brain that has difficulty finding joy!

Digressions into other areas of my life will likely happen (my family, my love of music, great sermons and podcast episodes, stabs at poetry). Still, I want all of my writings to return to the one simple fact I now believe is true: Jesus is better.

My prayer for this post: Lord, comfort these readers and whisper that you are right there in the middle of their joy or pain. Show them how acquainted you are with suffering. May they find encouragement and strength to reach out to you whether they have known you all of their life or are meeting you for the first time. May they feel the soothing salve of your Word on the most minor scratches or most enormous wounds of their hearts. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Golden Nuggets

“Most sufferers cannot be dismissed with just a word of hope and a dose of medicine, but require a long time in which to tell their griefs and to receive their comfort.” -Charles Haddon Spurgeon

I found myself in a psychiatric hospital for the fifteenth time in my adult life. Fifteen times, it had been decided my mental health was so low I could not safely care for myself. I felt like a cold, empty shell. I was convinced I would never escape the dark pit of my mind. I felt so hopeless and broken beyond repair. I realized I had ended up in the hospital because my approach to my mental health was the same as it always had been. I would grit my teeth, pull myself up by my bootstraps, and white-knuckle my way through profound struggles. I thought I had to be even harder on myself this time around. Why couldn’t I just use healthy coping skills? Why couldn’t I stay on my medicine? Why couldn’t anyone help me? Where was the reward of relief from my fight for survival?
Yes, there were biological and medical disorders occurring in my brain. Yes, I needed proper care and medication to help me live with these disorders, but I realized there was another disorder wreaking havoc in my heart—a condition no amount of medicine could cure. I felt spiritually lost and abandoned by God. All of these swirling disorders allowed a giant black hole to form in my soul. I could not understand why God had left me to fill this hole on my own. I had no strength or hope left inside of me.
My vision was so obscured by dark clouds that I could not get up from the hospital bed, but something inside me insisted I try to help myself just once more. I decided to write a letter from the hospital to the Austin Stone Church. I had never met Pastor Will and had not set foot inside the campus more than a handful of times, but I felt this was the proper destination for the letter. I explained my plight of chronic mental illness and pleaded for help with my relationship with God. I admitted I was so detached from my Savior that the only thing I felt was hopelessness. I knew my spiritual health needed just as much help as my mental health, but I did not know where to start.
My husband, Matt, and I met with Pastor Will periodically for a couple of months for spiritual counseling. I honestly do not remember everything he said, but I remember a question he asked me:

“Kayla, how long do you think it will take to feel like you are better?”

“A couple of months,” I replied.

“No,” he said. “It will take years.”

I was stunned into silence. I did not know if I could wait years to feel significantly better. I wanted to feel better right then. I had been suffering for ten years. Ten years of loneliness, ten years of extreme self-loathing, ten years of brokenness. I could not stay in the darkness any longer. However, I decided not to argue with Will at that moment. I trusted his wisdom even though it hurt my heart to hear it. Now, two years after that talk, I think Will was right.
At first, I felt I needed a massive rock of hope. Strength the size of a boulder was necessary to pull me out of frailty. Little things like prayers from acquaintances, a scripture text message, or a shiny new journal were so ordinary. Ordinary things were not enough! I needed tons of help and I needed it now. I was praying for a silver bullet, but instead was gifted with tiny golden nuggets. These shiny crumbs of encouragement were just enough fuel to keep me on the journey for more. It was only after I loosened my jaw, lowered my bootstraps, and relaxed my grip that I saw these gleaming treasures of hope being lovingly placed, one by one, in the black hole of my soul.
The first golden nugget came after I had been meeting with a faithful member of the Austin Stone staff about my disconnect with God. I confessed to her that my prayer life was nonexistent. I went so far as to say I was too angry to pray. I expected an explanation about the importance of prayer, an example of how to pray, and a reminder of Luke 11:2-4. Instead, she gave me Valley of Vision, a collection of Puritanical prayers and devotions. She said I could use these prayers when I did not know what to say. I was not a fan at first. It was difficult to comprehend the seventeenth-century language and apply the words to myself. I read through the entire book quickly and decided I needed more than a book of prayers. I needed a quick jolt of encouragement and compassion to snap me out of this apathetic attitude toward prayer. Feeling defeated after weeks of half-hearted prayer, I picked the book up once more and tried to read it again in a slower, more thoughtful way. Then, the opening poem was a blast of peaceful, encouraging golden flakes I did not receive the first time. Its lines revealed to me that the golden nuggets were not going to provide relief all at once. I did not need to search high and low for big, miraculous signs. I was right where I needed to be. The little specks were meant to be found in the ordinary pace of life. God showed me that though I may be “hemmed in by mountains… the valley is the place of vision.”.
Still navigating through the journey to “better”, I encountered another shimmering flicker of gold. Towards the end of a long day at work, I started an Ask Pastor John episode to pass the time. The content wasn’t what I thought it would be, so I almost turned it off until I heard John Piper say, “Usually, for me, life-changing insight comes in a moment, in a paragraph, in a sentence, not in a book.” After letting out an audible “Amen!” I was surprised I could relate to exactly what he said. It was a realization that I didn’t need huge amounts of help all at once. I was still trudging through my ordinary day, but God orchestrated bits of encouragement through my trials to remind me, “Kayla, I’m still right here with you.”
This reassurance propelled me to seek a greater knowledge of God and dive in to find more gold. I have listened to many of Tim Keller’s sermons, but there was one sermon on suffering that struck me. He not only preached on the suffering I as a Christian must endure, but also encouraged me to see the opportunity to grow in the suffering. Jesus, the Man of Sorrows, has proven that my sorrows are not in vain. He suffered to show me how to suffer. This is a view that I had never seen before! I suffer to clearly see the Holy Spirit’s merciful hand inserting these nuggets of knowledge and perspective into my heart’s Jesus-shaped hole. Without the harrowing events that have happened throughout my life so far, I could never see the pure joy that comes from having my Savior by my side.
Even after these events, I still ponder what good can come out of so many struggles. Pastor John opened my eyes to see the shiny, golden nugget of 2 Corinthians 4:17, which says, “For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison.” This scripture and Pastor John’s words filled my heart with such hope. His explanation of the Apostle Paul’s journey inspired me to continue walking along my own difficult road. Paul was ridiculed, beaten, and imprisoned for his faith in Christ, yet he called his suffering light and momentary. Such powerful and vivid words give me perspective on my many afflictions! This sermon I stumbled upon allowed me to see a glorious pebble, once again, being carefully planted into my soul. Christ was telling me that my suffering has magnified my purpose, which is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever. I cannot say it more eloquently than Pastor John, so I will leave you with this last golden nugget from him, “I’ll venture this: every millisecond of your pain — from fallen nature or fallen man — every millisecond of your misery in the path of obedience is producing a peculiar glory you will get because of that suffering.”
Pastor Will was right — my journey to relief would take years, but he probably wanted to continue that thought. My progress does not have an endpoint in this life. I will still have obstacles and trials that seem insurmountable, but oh, what a joy to know that I am connected to the Vine that will provide timely strength and nourishment to conquer whatever may slay me. I overlooked the golden nuggets of hope left for me in ordinary life at first, but I see now that these shiny pieces of His love have made all the suffering incredibly worth it. A sentence in a book, a song, a timely text from a distant friend, or a verse of a psalm; these were the morsels of love and hope I was missing. Little golden nuggets, not giant boulders, are continually being placed inside my soul like a perfect game of Tetris.
I started with a quote by one of the greatest preachers in the modern era who also suffered from crippling depression, so it is only right to end with a golden quote from Spurgeon’s Sorrows. “The sun may not rise for a few hours yet. But here amid the waiting arrows, the sorrowing have a Savior.”