BibleComfortforMentalHealth.com Messages

By Judith Beckman

I pray in Jesus' name that truth about mental illness will prevail. I pray for all who suffer from mental illness that they will experience relief from distress, enriched coping abilities, and soothing comfort. Lord, please help them to know that they are in the Palm of God's Almighty Hand where darkness will not overtake them. Help them to

• Language: English
• Publisher: Book Vine Press
• Release date: Apr 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9781958128183

Judith Beckman

Seeing her mother and brother suffer from devastation of mental illness gives Judith a heart of compassion for people affected by this. She is a pas-sionate advocate for the cause of mental illness. She is determined to pro-vide facts, destroys myths, and elevate this topic to the same status as oth-er serious, complicated medical disorders which deserve respect and care.Judith was raised on a foundation of Christian faith which allowed her to know God in a very personal way. She has always known that she can take her problems to God, that He loves us and carries us through every tough situation. Scientific research recently proved that including faith practices in the treatment equation for all illnesses brings better outcomes for healing and restoration. There is hope for overcoming torment of mental illness, making life better for all. Glory to God!

Book preview

What Motivates Me

My faith journey began before I was born. It began in the religious tradition of my father’s family who passed down Christian faith from generation to generation.

Both my parents were raised in families that were minus one parent. My dad’s mother died from a heart attack when he was three years old. My dad had two older brothers who were taken in by relatives. From a young age my dad did not get much attention. He had to fend for himself to have the basics of life. There was much deprivation emotionally and materially, but despite these circumstances religious faith was never neglected. He was raised with a solid background of teaching and participation in the church. This was the ultimate priority passed on to his children when he married and raised a family.

I am extremely thankful that he saw to it that we were raised in the faith because this is the most valuable gift I have from my childhood. I can’t imagine trying to get through life without it.

My mother was raised in a family where religion was not a priority. Her mother went to church at times and participated in the Ladies Group, but she did not require the children to go. Although she was a very nice, good, moral person my mother did not have much to say about religion. My father required her to join his church when they got married, and she went along with it, regularly attending, and raising the children in the faith.

Although my mother’s childhood was better than my father’s because she did not have the extreme deprivation he had, she, too, was raised without one parent. Her father had died before she was born, and my grandmother remarried when my mother was five years old. My mother was to clearly understand that her father was in the grave, and she did not have any other father. It was emphasized that my mother was a stepchild, and she always felt like one even though her stepfather was a very good, quiet, mild-mannered man. He was not mean nor unkind to her, but my mother knew she was not included as a part of his family when more children came.

Having never had a woman in his life at all while he was growing up, my father did not know how to treat a woman. Having never had a warm father’s love while she was growing up, my mother never learned good communication with a man. Being in their mid-20’s and feeling it was time to get married, they found each other at a singles dance, dated, and later married—two people from broken backgrounds who had trouble giving and receiving love. So far as I know the marriage was never happy.

Growing up, we six children—three girls and three boys–had stability and structure—two best things parents can provide for children. We lived directly across the street from a church and grade school which gave us a solid foundation of faith within the process of a good education. Daily household routines revolved around a structure where faith was primary. It was not an afterthought. Sundays were special starting out with going to church, having an extra good Sunday dinner, an outing and sweet treat afterward. No work was to be done. It was unthinkable to treat Sunday as just another day of the week.

I was a sensitive child who took religion very seriously. Although I couldn’t comprehend some of the doctrines I was memorizing, I believed every word, loving God, praying, and worshiping all my life. I was glad I could always pray whenever there were problems, that when I did wrong, I could repent and be forgiven. The thought of going to heaven when I die drove me to be as good as I can here on earth.

With a foundation of stability and good dependable structure, I was raised right, and I was equipped to face problems ahead. The most heart-breaking situation was seeing my mother have occurrences of mental illness.

Mom’s first psychotic break happened a year before I was born. It was in 1950 after she gave birth to twins. She had to be transported from the maternity ward to the psychiatric ward where she was given electroshock therapy. The twins were sent to a boarding home for care during the months it took her to recover and resume care of the family.

I was seven years old when I first saw mental illness. There was a different person inside my mother’s body. Mom was doing things she didn’t do before. She began dressing up and taking walks around the neighborhood. Sometimes she took us with her. She was in a world of her own, showing strange behaviors. Although this different person was very nice to me, I cried that the mother I knew was gone, and I desperately wanted her back.

One day Mom visited the pastor at the church across the street. This caused my father to be called home from work and ordered to take care of his family. Dad dealt with this by telling us to watch Mom and not let her go for walks. Children watched the mother instead of the other way around. I knew Mom wasn’t going to get better unless she got medical treatment. I often said fervent prayers for her recovery.

One day my sister, my father, and I went upstairs to check on Mom while she was resting. We found her face down on the floor, unable to get up. As he went to the phone to call emergency services, Dad excitedly ordered us to pray for our mother because she may die. Shocked and stunned, we got down on our knees, praying every prayer we knew, pleading with God to save our mother’s life.

This incident caused Mom to be hospitalized for several weeks. My sister and I were put in charge of housework and watching younger siblings. While I was relieved Mom was finally getting medical care, I was upset about my own losses. Housework and babysitting took away chunks of play time. The house was lonely without Mom’s constant, reliable presence. Mom always cooperated with medical care when it was given to her. There were some relapses, but eventually health increased, and illness decreased. In time she experienced full recovery. Overriding structure and stability of the family were not disrupted by these problems.

When I was twelve, my routine life of faith was revived in an unexpected way. One day in seventh grade class we were told that we would listen to a ceremony for the opening of a special Church Council. The beginning of this Council prompted my search to find more meaning and relevance in my faith. I wanted to focus on what was true and most important to Christian life. I wanted to understand more of what I was talking about when I studied religion and be able to apply it to daily living. I wanted to focus on the core of true Christian life by taking a closer look at the Bible. In addition to studying the Bible, I read books about Christian theological viewpoints and spiritual experiences. I persisted in my goal to know Truth and have a righteous, relevant, significant faith that impacted everyday living.

As I was entering teen years, I was thinking about career choices. Many young girls dream about meeting Prince Charming, getting married, having a family and living happily ever after. Because of a tense situation and poor communication patterns in my home—my parents’ quiet undercurrent of unhappiness with each other—it was like living in a cold war—I was not sure I would marry. I did know that I wanted to be a career woman, but my dad felt that a girl’s role was simply to marry and produce children, being financially supported by a man. To him college was a total waste of money. He advised us to learn a trade at a vocational school.

As to how life turned out for me, he couldn’t have been more wrong! I majored in business education and excelled in academic work. I didn’t give a thought to college, but a teacher, seeing great potential in my intellectual ability, put that thought in my head. She put steps in place for me to attend college despite my father’s attitude. That devoted teacher changed my life! With the help of an education grant and using business skills, I worked my way through college, majoring in sociology with an emphasis on social work.

Tensions within my parents’ relationship increased to the boiling point. My dad became angry with all of us when we were old enough to make our own decisions and did not want to follow his plans. Emotionally it took a toll on some of us children. My brother, one of the twins, had a nervous breakdown when he was in his early 20’s. I was devastated to see this happen to him. I had hopes that with treatment he would recover as my mother had, but this was not to be. He suffered from severe mental illness all of his adult life. He was very intelligent and creative, an excellent tool and die maker who could outshine others in his work performance, but repeated episodes of psychosis brought about disability in his early thirties.

Mental illness did not touch his character or his faith. He was a good, generous, responsible person and faithful Christian all his life.

Having observed mental illness in my mother made me determined to avoid this problem. But at the age of 19 I was experiencing ongoing anxiety and depression, feeling more and more distress. I didn’t want to have a breakdown. I knew I needed to see a doctor and have the help of medicine. My willingness to face the problem, the right medicine, my doctor’s kind, expert help along with a decision to change my negative attitude with the support of a loving, Bible believing Christian friend—all this prevented a breakdown. By the grace of God, I never felt these extreme symptoms again. This increased my hunger to understand the Bible and depend on it for help with daily problems.

Although I knew from my parents’ experience that marriage was not a fairy tale, as a young adult I was feeling lonely and more open to the thought of getting married. I felt compatibility and communication were key issues to hold a marriage together. I felt a husband would help me overcome my shy, withdrawn personality, and I would be happier. A few months from graduating college I met a man whom I dated a short time, and he asked me to marry him. I felt we were compatible. I felt we could communicate openly. I did not know anything about alcoholism and had no idea what it did to people because I had never seen it. My parents did not drink and I had never been around drinkers. I was a know-it-all—I felt part of my parents’ problems were that they never had fun. This man liked to go out with friends, have drinks, and have fun. I enjoyed myself, too. I would not believe how alcohol could change people until I