Anxiety, Pt II

My church has been doing a series on anxiety over the past few weeks and as Christians, how we are to cope, deal, or address it. You can seek a counseling, you can even seek additional help with medication and a doctor monitoring that, what you cannot do; is be alone. We are never alone as children of God but often times when we have struggles and feel we are letting others down, it’s a human reaction to retreat and hide. In Gods word, it is written that we are to carry each other’s burdens. That means we help others with everything, not just stuff that’s in our face every day like divorce, job loss, and death. But the stuff that is hidden behind the doors like depression, fear, and anxiety. Mental health is becoming more and more of an issue, especially amongst our teens. I encourage you to try and learn it, address it, understand it, and one day you may be the light for someone in their darkest hour.

With on it dark, with on it be known. I hold this blackness proud. Many not understand this pleasure, yet few have lived their lives by it.

Strong, harsh, courage, truth. Be it once not mine.

Let it ride here within me, through the depths of this blood; let it consume the only light I

still, call my own.

Power beneath me holds me down, for fear of taking on the deed.

Hold this! Don’t let go of that! Get it done! Do it right!

Forces and curses, prayers of “Help me, God!”

Let me be me, love me for this hate me for that. I no longer care.

Bars and rails, constriction or conviction, either make that critical bend. Let me go or

keep me safe; one must be your doing.

I’ve walked in circles I’ve run for miles still I cometh to this wall.

Brick, Concrete, Marble or Steel, let it rise as Gods choice.

For brick may crumble, concrete crack.

Marble shows the beauty of love I cannot possess, steel shows the unfortunate of my

freedom not.

My known lack of trust, my known loads of fear, yet more, this un-assurance.

My body bloody.

My heart burned.

My soul blackened.

My choice of punishment beyond conceivable.

Close my eyes describe me, love.

Give me a hope it exists,

even if not for this ugly soul.

How ironic,

my heart so repulsive.

My tragedy so beautiful.

Lori Schafer-Fruehauf

Published 2004.


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