...And I Will Heal Him

….And I Will Heal Him


The hopelessness of the illness tightened a firm grip. Josh, my
oldest son, diagnosed with mental illness. I was now exposed to a segment of the human population I never dreamed would touch my life, usurp my time or change family priorities.
“Josh is a seriously ill young man.” The sinking emotion of sadness gripped my heart again while the doctor gave us no hope for his future. “Be prepared for Josh to never be able to function outside a structured environment ever again.”
Bipolar and schizophrenia were terms I had studied in psychology class, heard discussed on television documentaries , and read about. Those terms were being used to describe why Josh was acting so different.
There is no cure, only treatment. The odds weren’t in our favor regarding a normal life for Josh or for us, his parents, or his brother and sister.
The sadness felt like a big black hole trying to swallow me in its darkness.
“Lord, if this is the path you have chosen for him and me, then I know your grace is sufficient for me to endure this.”
February and September of each year brought fear and worry. February should mean the end of winter was just around the corner. September brings warm colors and the splendor of fall. But now it usually meant a hospital stay for Josh. Bipolar runs in cycles and it’s not unusual for the symptoms to manifest at the same time during the year. His mind would race, his brain couldn’t communicate what was happening or what he was feeling.
The first time it happened it seemed like the way you treat an infection, give the patient meds and they get better. The second time he relapsed it was attributed to a medication communication.
Then he seemed to get better. Surely this is not going to happen again. Then the day came in February when he relapsed again. Our hope was dashed. Would he ever be better? The psych ward was frightening. I kept thinking, “He doesn’t belong in here.” Why can’t they put him in a regular room?” It was embarrassing to say Josh was in the hospital psyche ward.
That, I learned, is the stigma associated with mental illness. “ My child does not belong here. He doesn’t have a drug issue, he doesn’t drink, he’s never been violent. This is a place for psychos, not my son.”
But as I soon found out, it didn’t matter that I didn’t want him there. Hospital policy was to place him in lock down. To the doctors, nurses, and security guards at the hospital the psych ward was the place for him. He needed special care, watched around the clock, special medication, and therapy. The staff was trained to give specific care for his specific needs.
As I sat in church that October Sunday morning I pondered what had transpired during the past months. I picked up my “Word From the Lord Journal.” It’s a written account of my fears-my dreams-my prayers and hopes. When I’m inspired to write down what is happening around me or when I’m moved to jot down what I’m feeling I write it in my “Word From the Lord” journal.
I sat in the church pew reading what I had written. The year had been a roller coaster of emotion. His second hospital stay brought the same hopelessness.
“Lord, I’m praying for Josh today.” “Give me wisdom to know how to help him.” “Lord, does he need to be taken to a special hospital? If so, guide me to the right one.” “Lord, I feel so helpless.” “Will this end for Josh?” “Will I wake up one day and this will be over because it feels like a bad dream?” “Why can’t he just snap out of it?”
A special word from God is like a flash of lightening during a storm. As the clouds roll back the light comes through the ability to see everything is there. Sometimes it lasts for only a few seconds. During those few seconds you will see what is around you as if it is the middle of the day. The darkness might return but those few seconds you can see.
During the praise and worship service I was able to let the singing uplift and encourage me. The hopeless feelings that had usurped my mind and my emotions overwhelmed me and again made me feel like there was no hope.
My dear friend, Joyce, began to speak words written by the prophet Isaiah. “I create the fruit of the lips…..” That needs written today went though my mind. As I opened my Bible to Isaiah 57:19 I proceeded to write down in the journal the words penned by the prophet many years ago.
“I create the fruit of the lips; Peace, peace to him that is far off, and to him that is near saith the Lord: and I will heal him.”Isaiah 57:19 (KJV)
I looked at the last four words again with a surprised reaction. I read them again.
My hopelessness took a back seat to hope. I don’t know what Isaiah had in mind the day he penned those words. He was following the inspiration in his heart as his hand formed letters. The interpreters wrote the passage in words that we could understand.
But, that October Sunday morning God gave to a praying Mom the hope that her son would be ok and the God I serve has His hand on the entire situation.
Josh is stable after five years. He still requires medication and we encourage him to see his doctor and follow the doctor’s advice.
There are very few who are not touched by the stigma of mental illness. So many that I talk with tell me of a family member, a friend, or someone dear who deals with the illness on a daily basis.
A mental illness diagnosis changes your life forever, but reading those words penned by the prophet Isaiah many years ago gave me hope.