LifeDate Winter 2025 – Fearfully and Wonderfully Made
by Deaconess Janet Nicol
A young woman dreams of expanding her family, even as she navigates physical health challenges, a demanding full-time job, and the daily joys and trials of raising a toddler.
A successful, career-driven woman in her forties quietly wrestles with the absence of marriage and children in her life—milestones her siblings and friends have reached—as the years continue their steady march.
A midlife professional, devoted wife, and mother confronts the lingering shadows of past trauma, including the pain of an abortion she did not choose.
A woman in her sixties endures chronic health struggles while carrying the profound grief of losing her only son, her grandson, and several other beloved family members.
An elderly woman tenderly cares for her husband as he battles the slow decline of Parkinson’s disease.
Another, having lost two children, two husbands, and the mother she lovingly cared for, now faces the quiet ache of loneliness and the search for purpose.
I know these women. Perhaps you do too—or versions of them.
Each carries a unique story of resilience threaded with sorrow, strength, and the silent weight of mental anguish. We know that at times that mental anguish can get the better part of us.
The statistics detailing mental anguish and depression are staggering, and as the Church, we are uniquely positioned to minister to the broken-hearted. For Psalm 34:18 tells us:
“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.”
And again, in Psalm 147:1-3: “Praise the Lord! For it is good to sing praises to our God; for it is pleasant, and a song of praise is fitting. The Lord builds up Jerusalem; he gathers the outcasts of Israel. He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”
Yet, while mental health has become a widely discussed topic, spiritual care remains elusive. Mental health is in vogue in our society, while spiritual well-being seems overlooked. What sets them apart?
We typically define mental health as a state in which one recognizes personal abilities, manages everyday stress, works productively, and contributes positively to the community. In contrast, spiritual well-being is reflected in a profound contentment—a steady hope and comfort that sustains us through life’s trials. But how do we separate mental well-being from spiritual health? This is where my heart wrestles.
I firmly believe that true mental health cannot flourish without spiritual health. Even the secular world, albeit with different terminology, admits that inner spirituality is essential. I recall a secular psychologist who studies despair and cynicism drawing a clear distinction between optimism and hope. He explained, “Optimism is the belief that things will be better,” and then added, “Hope is the notion that things could get better.”1 His further reflection—seeing hope as a radical, fiery emotion that inspires us to challenge destructive forces—resonates deeply.
When I hear him speak, I sense his reliance on hope as a catalyst for change. For me, optimism is inseparable from hope—a hope anchored not in transient emotion but in the undeniable truth of Jesus and the Cross. Without that assurance, our mental health initiatives risk becoming mere band-aids rather than pathways to genuine healing.
As Christians, our hope is solidly placed in Christ. Yet this raises another question: Does our hope equate to a complete cure for our afflictions? It depends on how we define a cure. A cure implies that the ailment is entirely eradicated. But in our human experience, suffering is a constant companion. When we grieve, the pain never vanishes—it transforms and becomes part of our story. It doesn’t define us, but it refines us. Whether it comes in the form of illness, physical limitation, addiction, depression, or anxiety, suffering can deepen our relationship with God as we lean into the redemption offered by Jesus, who lived and died for us and now offers us eternal life and forgiveness.
In this light, suffering need not be seen only as something to be eliminated. Rather, it can be embraced as part of our journey—an experience that, while painful, also shapes and molds us into vessels for God’s grace. This perspective does not preclude seeking medical help for mental illness; we are both physical and spiritual beings, and each aspect deserves care. What I propose is that we reject the myth that suffering is intrinsically bad. Suffering is interwoven with our human reality, particularly as Christians. Though we do not seek it out, when suffering arrives, we can accept it as a gift, a means by which God equips us with everything we need to endure and grow.
Let us share this hope with those around us. As Psalm 27:13-14 proclaims, “I believe I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord, be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!”
In embracing this hope, we acknowledge that suffering, while inevitable, is not our ultimate enemy—it is the backdrop against which God’s redeeming love shines most brilliantly.
- From Hidden Brain: You 2.0: Fighting Despair, Sep 16, 2024, Apple Podcasts.