Mental Health, Suicide, and Resurrection Living

Sometimes you meet a person at Strawberry Fields, an apartment in DC, and as bridesmaids in a wedding, but it takes over 25 years, a tragedy, and a morning show interview for you to realize how much that person will change your life....that's how I know Dona.

If I'm remembering correctly, the last time Dona and I saw each other in person, or at least for any length of time, was at my cousins wedding in 1994. The thing about our family, is once you're a part of it, you're a part of it, and you get us all--siblings, cousins, parents, grandparents--the whole kit and kaboodle for better or worse.  I didn't see Dona and her beautiful family over the years, but I kept up with her through my cousin-and of course social media!

Cousins' Weekend 2019 Beth was catching me up on people we both knew and mentioned Morgan had been struggling a little with an injury and asked me to keep her in my prayers. I had no idea in less than a week Beth would call me with the news that Morgan had died by suicide. This was the third young adult in less than 5 weeks that I knew who had died by suicide. I had no idea what to say or do beyond daily prayers. My heart broke for these families.  

A month or so after Morgan died, I sent Dona a book on grief. I prayed daily and followed her on social media. I didn't know what else to do. Dona and her family did.

During the late spring of 2020, Dona began to post "cryptic" (in a fun way) messages about something big that was going to launch. I begged my cousin to find out what it was. I cannot explain why I felt so drawn (obsessed) with this. Morgan's Message launched on the year anniversary of Morgan's death. "Morgan's Message strives to eliminate the stigma surrounding mental health within the student-athlete community and equalize the treatment of physical and mental health in athletics. We aim to expand the dialogue on mental health by normalizing conversations, empowering those who suffer in silence, and supporting those who feel alone." Morgan's Message

I could write on and on about the good Morgan's Message has done over the last 15 months. I could wax poetically about the speed with which this organization has taken off across college and high school campuses changing and yes, I believe, saving lives. And I'm happy to, as a bystander and cheerleader, but it's not my story. I do believe, however, it's part of The Story.

Last night I watched an interview Dona gave last week. Dona's Brave Interview I began to shake as it became very clear to me what kept me so drawn to this story (other than my love for the family as people who were living the unimaginable). Dona and Morgan's Message was and is telling the story of the resurrection. They are living out an Easter people faith.  In an instant I understood in a whole new way what it meant to be Easter People, what it meant to live into the resurrection. Morgan's struggles were Good Friday. I don't know how long she lived in her Good Friday or how long her family and friends, even unknowingly did, but they did. When Morgan died, Holy Saturday. stretched out before this beautiful family and all who loved Morgan. But out of Good Friday and the depths of Good Saturday pain, Morgan's Message was born and there was resurrection--the birth of and the healing of many. 

Let me be very clear. I do not believe for one single solitary minute that God wanted Morgan to suffer and die. I do not believe this was God's plan so that Morgan's Message could be born. I also don't believe God wanted Jesus to suffer and die. Jesus died because of the brokenness and pain in the world. And so did Morgan. Jesus rose from the dead on Easter Sunday, but that does not erase Good Friday or Holy Saturday or all the days before--the days of laughter and healing and fellowship. Morgan's Message doesn't erase Morgan's life. 

As a mother, I think even knowing Jesus rose again, defeated death, and initiated the Kingdom of God, Mary would still rather he had not been tortured and crucified. I imagine she never got those images out of her mind, and I wonder if she still thought about what she could have done (the answer is nothing) to have changed the way things happened. 

Thanks to Dona and Morgan's Message, I understand what resurrection living looks like. It's not puppies, and unicorns, and rainbows. It's trusting that God truly can and will use all things for good. It's believing that even when the world brings about evil and brokenness, the world NOT GOD, God can bring healing and wholeness.

It's not about forgetting. It's about remembering. Re-membering.

This post was written by me. No one at Morgan's Message asked me to write. They've never asked anything of me, but they are my favorite non-profit. If you feel called, you can Donate here or buy merchandise here. If you are a high school or college student and would like to get involved, find out more here. 

M. Morgan’s Message strives to eliminate the stigma surrounding mental health within the student-athlete community and equalize the treatment of physical and mental health in athletics. We aim to expand the dialogue on mental health by normalizing conversations, empowering those who suffer in silence, and supporting those who feel alone. organ’s Message strives to eliminate the stigma surrounding mental health within the student-athlete community and equalize the treatment of physical and mental health in athletics. We aim to expand the dialogue on mental health by normalizing conversations, empowering those who suffer in silence, and supporting those who feel alone.

A Sermon for Maddie

I think I can safely say and be 100% accurate that not one of us planned on being here this Monday

morning. I think it's probably also very accurate no one wants to be here. I don't think Maddie wanted us to have to be here. And yet here we are surrounding her family with our love and prayers as they begin the journey of the unimaginable. We don't want to be here, they don't want to be here. The journey has begun; the journey that we all can only travel because the power of God working within us can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine.

Our liturgy today is an Easter liturgy. It is the liturgy of the resurrection remembering and celebrating that God came, lived and died for us so that we would have eternal life. God has conquered death and we know Maddie now rests in the loving arms of God. Maddie is finally at peace. But we also hurt. Our hearts are troubled even though as the Gospel tells us there is a place for us all, a place where Maddie now is, a place with many rooms, which let's be honest is a good thing because Maddie would rather move to another room than clean up the one she's in.

Our hearts are troubled because while we know Maddie is at peace and in God's loving arms we want her here with us. Our arms ache to hold her. God knows that. God understands that. God weeps and grieves with us while at the same time he lovingly holds Maddie.

God loves us completely, fully, unconditionally. God loves ALL of us no exceptions. That's how Maddie loved. Look around today and you can see that unconditional love. People are gathered here --people who may otherwise never cross paths--Maddie brought people together. And we loved Maddie. God loves Maddie and God loves each of us. Sometimes you may not feel that, you may feel so distant from God, and that's okay. Feel our love--let us wrap our arms around you and be the hands and feet of Christ here in the flesh. Let us be the love of God for you.

God loves us so very much that God came to live among us and to journey to the cross and beyond for us. Jesus lived a short 33 years, but during that time he too felt deep pain. He felt the pain of the betrayal of his friends, those he thought knew and loved him most. He felt unbearable grief at the grave of his friend. Jesus felt loneliness, betrayal, and fear. He cried out to God in his anguish expressing how he felt forsaken even by God. God understands the darkness that can overtake us.

There is nothing God desires more for us than complete and total wholeness. God desires that we all live into the people God created us to be--complete and whole. God journeys with us on our journey towards that wholeness beginning at our baptism and continuing until we are united with God for all of eternity. For some the journey is a long one and for others it is much shorter. Maddie's journey began here at her baptism and, for us, her journey was far too short. She is now complete and whole, pain free and resting in God's arms.

I need to say this very clearly. God does NOT cause, allow whatever verb you want to use, tragedies to happen to teach us or someone else a lesson. God does NOT want us to experience the pain we are feeling so something good will come out of it. God is loving and forgiving and merciful and full of grace.

Thursday morning I walked out to my front yard to look at what I call my resurrection garden. Every year I plant the lilies we have placed on the altar at Easter for my grandparents and my husbands grandparents and every year they bloom just when I need to be reminded of God's eternal love and of the resurrection. Thursday I looked down and noticed they were different sizes and heights. Some were very tall reminding me some people have long lives, others were very short. But they were all blooming--there is always resurrection. I looked down again and saw all the weeds crowding them (I'm not so good at keeping up with that). I thought that's the world we live in--a world that is broken and messy--a world of weeds but out of that, despite that resurrection does always comes. Always.

Alleluia the Lord is risen.

Resurrection is Not a Hallmark Movie

Since writing Depression, Death and Resurrection, I have been

asked by a few people what resurrection looked like.  I had one friend say, "Oh, I hope you made up with those friends and it's all been a really happy ending--and y'all (okay she didn't say y'all...) are best friends today."  It didn't happen exactly like that.  That would have been wonderful of course, but if everything was just neatly tied up--if the boyfriend and I reconciled, if I finished school and lived in my hometown forever and ever, and if those friends were all in our wedding party, well, I suppose that would be more a Hallmark

movie and not resurrection.

So I'll answer the question to the best of my ability--I'll try to explain what resurrection looked like for me, in my life. First and foremost, it looked like getting out of bed on a daily basis.  Simple, but true.  Resurrection looked like a roommate who knew I was sad but didn't know how devastating and dark my world was so she just kept being my friend and acting like everything was normal.  (After my last post she apologized for not recognizing how bad it was; there was no need for the apology--her not recognizing was part of my resurrection.)

Resurrection came when I mustered the strength to go to lunch with a lifelong friend (she babysat me and then I babysat her children) where she introduced me to a woman who would become one of my best friends and Boss's godmother.  (Not to mention she introduced me to Chris....)  This woman welcomed me into her circle of friends and resurrection came as each and everyone of them welcomed me as well (The Melrose Place Dinner Club).

Resurrection came when that friend invited me over for drinks with my new group of friends.  I had just finished exams and was tired.  "Just come," she prodded.  "Well," I replied, "I'm not going to shower or get dressed up."  "That's fine." she said, "We just want you to come."  I didn't shower or get dressed up, but that night I met Chris and five months later we were engaged (shh, don't tell anyone, I like to say 6 months--it sounds more responsible.)

Resurrection came through Chris who patiently loved me as everyday I said, "We are not serious.  I am getting out of here as soon as I graduate."  After he proposed he said, "Now can we say we're serious? Oh, and will you please not move without me."

Resurrection came when I took my daddy's suggestion and went and met with The Rev. Donald Fishbourne, and I found the Episcopal Church.  Resurrection came when Chris and I were received into the Episcopal church 9 months before we were married.  Resurrection came as The Episcopal Church, the Anglican Community has become a part of our lives and has seen us through five states and two countries.

Resurrection came through my job as one of my dearest most faith filled friends walked through the door one hot July day and I hired her.  Resurrection came when she and her husband honored me by naming me their firstborn's Godmother (and they are responsible for William and Caroline--good luck with that y'all!!!)

Resurrection came when I finished graduate school with honors, found a job at the Medical College of Georgia that I loved and met mentors on whom I still rely on.

Resurrection came when Chris and I moved to Athens, started (quickly) our family and made the best of friends through the neighborhood and the Episcopal church.  And resurrection came through a group of older women at that church who mentored me, loved me and mothered me.

As to those friends--well I can't say we're best friends today; I can say I miss them; I can say I still

sometimes wonder about what happened all those years ago and how things could have been different, but I can also say that resurrection came through facebook and reconnecting that way. Facebook brought resurrection; facebook brought a place where I have been able to celebrate their lives and they mine.

Resurrection looked different than I prayed for it to look during those dark months.  But resurrection brought new life and resurrection brought hope.  That hope is so important to me right now as I watch others struggle because it is through my resurrection and through that hope that I can hold onto the belief that resurrection will happen no matter how grim it seems for them right now. I know resurrection will come.

Resurrection, not a Hallmark movie came.

Depression, Death and Resurrection

Years ago I was in a deep dark place--looking back I realize I was

in the midst of major depression--situational major depression, but major nonetheless. My boyfriend, who I truly believed I would marry, and I had just broken up; I had a misunderstanding that I didn't understand with close friends, and I lost those friendships with no closure; I was living in a town I didn't want to be in; I was in graduate school, working, and trying to figure out who I was because everything I thought I knew about myself seemed to be changing; and I was struggling with faith and where I belonged in church. (That struggle ultimately brought me to the Episcopal Church--)

Having major depression while trying to maintain both graduate school and a job is, well let's just say, it's not very easy.  I lost motivation; I lost self direction--I wanted nothing more than to pull the covers over my head every morning and simply disappear into the world of oblivion.  This was over 20 years ago and like many other things (eating disorders for example--My Struggle with an Eating Disorder) people didn't talk about depression or any mental illness, or if they did, it was negative and judgmental, and so in addition to struggling with depression, I was full of shame.

Enter my daddy--several times a week as he drove past my neighborhood towards the hospital he would knock on the door, wait until I got out of bed and answered and say "I just thought I'd stop by to have a cup of coffee."  He would sit on my couch and read the paper while I showered and got dressed.  We didn't talk about why he was really there; I suppose I even let myself believe he really was just stopping by.  We didn't talk about the fact that were he not to stop, I may very well have just stayed in bed and let my world fall apart.  We didn't talk about it; we've never talked about it, but it happened.

This morning on my run I thought about those months.  I thought about how much grace and unconditional love Daddy showed me, and I thought about how hard it must have been for him to watch me suffer. I know I would go back to those dark dark months and live them over and over rather than watch one of my children suffer as I did.  And I shuddered because I knew as much as that's something I would willingly do, I couldn't. But what I could do is hold onto the hope that I believe in--the resurrection that I know comes, and then I thought about a conversation from last night...

A close friend and colleague was over yesterday--we were talking about our sermons for this week (okay, truthfully we were planning her wedding, but we did spend a few minutes talking about our sermons--a well spent few minutes).  It's Pentecost this week--you know the Sunday everyone wears red and we have to talk about the Holy Spirit--

We talked about how hard it is to preach this Sunday and yet how important it is.  We can't harness the Holy Spirit; we can't harness God.  God alone brings resurrection--what is so hard is that as people called to preach the Gospel, as my wise, faithful friend said, "we are called to help people walk to the cross; to help people let go and to die because we know the good news; we know resurrection will come."  "Yeah," I agreed, "We know it will come but not through us; all we can do is take the walk together and sit at the foot of the cross with each other knowing it will come because we have faith; we have hope." (Hebrews 11:1 "Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen." NRSV)

"It's the Paschal Mystery." Rachel named.  "And I believe," I piggybacked on her, "That we are called to name all the death and resurrection we see in the world--even the little things."  We talked about a recent incident in her life (but that's her story) and how it was clearly an example of death and resurrection.  We talked about how new life after death looks different, but that we are called to help people see that the new life although different, can and will be better--more life giving--a gift from God who loves sacrificially, unconditionally--God who loves everyone no exceptions.

This morning I thought about that conversation as I thought about those months of desolation all those years ago, and it struck me that clergy are called to preach the Gospel but we are ALL called, each and every person, as the priesthood of all believers to walk together to the cross, through the cross and into resurrection. And I believe we are all called to share our stories of death and resurrection because it is in sharing our stories that another finds hope; it is in sharing our stories that another can take the walk to the cross knowing that resurrection can and will come--that it has come for others and it will come for them.  My life was different after that time (during one of those mornings Daddy suggested to me I might want to talk to one of his good friends, an Episcopal priest, The Rev. Donald Fishbourne--look where that led.) Resurrection may look different for different people, but resurrection is available for ALL, no exceptions.

We are called to love as God loves, sacrificially and unconditionally. We are God's hands and feet working in the world--hands holding a newspaper, and feet walking up to a front door and rear ends sitting on a couch and lips drinking a cup of coffee--we can be God's instruments of grace and hope and love--someone's path to resurrection.  Guess my daddy knew that...

The Truth of the T-Shirts

It popped up on my facebook page, and I laughed out loud recognizing how true it was in our family. My sister didn't need rules--she was so good, but she was pretty bossy.  (and y'all wonder why I have issues...) I definitely gave my parents reasons to make rules (and no I will not share examples), and Dritte--not telling you those stories either!

I suspect my children could fit into these t-shirts too--need one more though.  I was thinking about this yesterday on my run and remembering conversations with, in particular, Sarah Katherine.  One of the things Chris and I have done for better or worse is to admit to our children when we mess up.  I used to say to Sarah Katherine, "You didn't come out with a manual.  I'm doing the best I can." or "You're our practice run; we'll get better as we go along."  Sarcastic?  Funny? But yesterday I realized how very true....

I started thinking about how strict we were about dress.  Only certain things could be worn to church; school dress collared shirts only for the boys and hats NEVER to be worn backwards. (We gave into the collared shirts when I went on a fifth grade field trip with Boss and he was the ONLY one in a collared shirt.)  Change started even earlier--SK went to preschool everyday in a smocked dress,
matching bow, monogramed panties (with matching color to the dress of course) and saddle oxfords; I'll never forget the morning Karin Truitte and I watched our youngest enter preschool in mixed matched clothes (Caroline did have on a smocked dress with a bow barely hanging on her head and not matching) and rain boots--it wasn't raining.  We looked at each other and laughingly said, "There are probably people judging us, but hey they dressed themselves." and we headed off to tennis. (She was on her fifth, I on my fourth--we'd had lots of practice!) As for church dress, now we're thrilled they're in church--sometimes in jeans with shirts untucked (not hats

Backwards cap/sibling love

though); Boss left for school today in athletic shorts, a jersey, and a backwards hat--and the world is not ending.

I did make him take the hat off at the table

A couple of weeks ago we let Boss take my car and drive with four friends to Florida (they were chaperoned when they got there).  SK said, "Are you kidding me?  You would have never let me do that."  She's probably right.  She's also right when she says she was never allowed to miss church and now sometimes the others do. That change has come in just the past year--we have moved from insisting they go to church with their questions and their choice of clothes to them not always going. (Why I Insist My Children Go to Church on Their Terms)--and the world is not ending.

I kept running and I kept thinking.  There is so much truth in those t-shirts although a different truth than the successful attempt at humor.  The truth is rearing children is a life long practice run.  We do the best we can with the information we have at the time.  Over time we sometimes realize we made things important that weren't and we need to make some things more important.  Sometimes by the time the youngest hits the teen years, some of the rules are cast aside.  It's not necessarily as is commonly said because we're just older and tired (although that is true to), but I think the real reason is we've been practicing and we recognize the game plan may need to change.  I think what we've also learned is sometimes the rules aren't nearly as important as other things.  We learn to choose relationship over rules.

Isn't a life of faith like that?  As we live we are constantly practicing.  Practicing living into the people God calls us to be; practicing being in relationship with all of God's creation, practicing tolerance, inclusion, forgiveness, redemption, and grace.  Practicing and changing; recognizing there are things we have to let go of--things we used to think were so important, and there are things we need to cling onto.  Wendall Berry writes in "Practicing Resurrection" (Full text: Practicing Resurrection)

So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.

The Dress and Resurrection

My parents and the dress

I was packing to head to North Carolina and then the beach.  For the first time in years I hadn't bought an Easter dress.  What to wear?  I went through my closets pushing dresses back and forth and my hand kept settling on one and something in my heart kept saying, "wear that one."  I argued with myself, "It's really too dressy for the beach--even for Easter."  "Wear that one." I kept hearing.

I've worn that dress one time--April 2010 to my Daddy's and Marguerite's wedding.  It was not a happy event for me at the time; it was not a night I'm proud of or a night I want to remember.  I've written about it--that too was painful.  (The Death and Resurrection of My Family) Oh we've come so far beyond that night, but that dress just reminded me of the grief and pain.  I don't know why I have never gotten rid of it.  I

The Wedding

really didn't want to wear it again.  It took me back, and I didn't want to go back. We had all moved forward--I didn't want to remember that night.  That was my Good Friday--I just want Easter.  "Wear that one."  I heard again.

Oops--as I drove into Charlotte I realized I had forgotten The Dress.  Oh well..."Wear that one."  I was beginning to think I was losing it.  Why wouldn't this voice shut up!?!?!?!  Fine, I'll call Chris and ask him to bring it.  If he forgets, well oh well..... guess what?  He remembered.

Last night I realized why I had to wear that dress--it needed, I needed, something tangible that reminded me of resurrection.  I hadn't gotten rid of the dress--it was a symbol of some sorts.  For me it was a reminder of pain--but it was just a dress, actually a nice dress, but I just looked at it and saw grief, and pain and figurative death.  I mentioned I was wearing it today for the first time since their wedding.  And I told my dear friend Jamie that Marguerite and I had fought that night.  She was shocked.  "Really?  You two?  I can't imagine that." "Yeah," I said, "It wasn't a good night.  We had words."--Marguerite looked at me and quietly said, "It was my wedding."

It stung; it stung because I knew that I had hurt her and she hadn't forgotten.  It hurt because I knew I had hurt her that night and despite that she has been nothing but good and kind to me ever since.  She had been hurt and she had never said, she had just loved me at my pace--on my terms. Now I was panicked--do I wear the dress?  Will it hurt her?  I do have something else I can wear.  "Wear the dress."  (Seriously voice--SHUT UP!!!)

I got up and put on the dress.  We took pictures--my parents and I--my daddy and my bonus mama. (I also realized this was the first weekend I introduced them to people as my parents--it doesn't change I still have two living parents, but some of us need more than two....) During church we passed the peace; I hugged and kissed Daddy and Marguerite.  After I kissed Marguerite a woman shook my hand and said, "I love your dress." and she concluded with, "I'm glad you and your parents are here today."  "Me too," I thought, "Me too."

This afternoon I've been thinking about Good Friday, Holy Saturday and Easter.  I've been thinking about the cross and all the beautiful crosses I have and I wear.  I thought about how in the first century the cross was just a symbol of cruelty, punishment, violence and death, and how we now adorn our churches, our homes, and our bodies with them.  That Easter morning over 2000 years ago, Jesus transformed the cross and the world.  Because of God's unconditional love, acceptance, inclusion, and grace the cross is no longer a reminder of pure violence--of grief and pain--but is also a reminder of God's redeeming unconditional love.  We don't have to live in Good Friday, but we do go back and we do intentionally remember--every year.  We remember so that we never forget how our lives, how the world, have been transformed because of the first Good Friday and Easter morning. Remembering doesn't mean we are living in the past, but it reminds us to give thanks for the reconciling love of God and it gives us the hope that the whole world will someday live into Easter morning.

It's a pretty dress; it's fine, but it's just a dress.  We--Marguerite and I-- have a beautiful relationship, a relationship transformed because of love and forgiveness and grace.