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In the summer of 2018, I was hit head-on and fell hard into the world of mental health struggles. I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t think. I couldn’t follow a conversation. I got angry at little things and cried at the drop of a hat. I was easily startled. I couldn’t be a passenger—I had to do all the driving. I became terrified of spiders, scanning every room looking for them. I started having panic attacks, and where I used to love walking in the pasture among our cattle, I was now afraid of them.
Several years ago, in a sermon on prayer, my husband, also my pastor at that time, encouraged us to pray on the spot when others requested prayer. He challenged us to think about how often we casually say we will pray for others but walk away, forgetting to do that very thing. I had watched him model this point in his sermon. When a friend asked him to pray, he would often take my hand, draw close to that friend, and say, “Can we do that right now?”
Of all the stories in Scripture, one that reaches into my soul and resonates deeply is the encounter between Jesus and the woman at the well. Many a time, I’ve reflected on how that day may have started. After years of being shunned, maybe she had convinced herself this was her cross to bear, and then she encountered the One who would bear it all on an actual cross.
It was a dare I couldn’t resist. I climbed the high dive one step at a time. I got to the top, walked to the edge, peeked down at my early 1990s white leather K-Swiss shoes, shrugged my shoulders, and jumped. I swam to the side, lifted my soaking wet self out of the pool, walked over to my pastor and collected on the $100 bet.