A Victory Song: Beneath The Veil

By Sarah Dickens

Sarah has been a Christian since she was eight years old. Her life seemed very carefree and innocent until her bipolar disorder diagnosis, which put her faith in Christ to the test and left her in a state of complete brokenness. Despite her brokenness, God was still able to use Sarah out of her pain in the midst of her struggle with bipolar disorder. This book portrays the many heart wrenching difficulties that Sarah faces, such as a challenging and emotionally-straining mother-daughter relationship, a former relationship with her ex-boyfriend, and seasonal friendships. This book depicts Sarah's testimony of how the Lord was able to use Sarah's bipolar disorder diagnosis to overcome these obstacles as well as strengthen her faith in Jesus Christ. Her story is one of great courage, valiant faith, and sheer boldness in the Lord.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9781639037759

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A Victory Song

Beneath The Veil

Sarah Dickens

ISBN 978-1-63903-774-2 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63903-776-6 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-63903-775-9 (digital)

Copyright © 2022 by Sarah Dickens

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Introduction

I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.

—Philippians 4:13 (KJV)

Philippians 4:13 is my favorite verse in the entire Bible. It is also my life Bible verse. You may be wondering why I picked this particular Scripture to mention in the introduction of this book. I picked it because it speaks to me, as a child of God with bipolar disorder. It speaks to me during the good seasons of my life. It speaks to me during the bad seasons of my life.

It was in those dark moments of my life in the circumstances surrounding my bipolar disorder that drew me closer to the light of God. From my birth to my twenty-eighth year, which is how far this memoir is written, I have experienced the good and the bad as well as the light of God and the darkness of the enemy throughout my experience with bipolar disorder. God chooses to use me and my bipolar disorder in how He wants to use me. Otherwise, Jesus would not get the credit He deserves for this book to be written.

My story is one of brokenness. It is one of absolute humility and total surrender. God in Christ alone taught me how to be content in the best of times and in the worst of times, which strengthened my faith in Him.

I have learned what it is to be content with having bipolar disorder and to be fully and abundantly satisfied in the way that God wants to use me and my diagnosis: to love, to teach, to talk, to laugh, to speak, to ballroom dance, to draw, to paint, to pick flowers, to pray, to experience healing, and most importantly, to write this book.

As you read this book, my prayer for you is that God will turn your pain into joy. My prayer for you is that you will gain a sense of peace in Christ as you become content with who you are in the Lord. Whether you have a mental health diagnosis or are just reading this book out of interest, my prayer is that you will fix your hope in Jesus.

Chapter 1

Fearless and Wonderfully Made

For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.

—Psalm 139:13 (NIV)

Why, God? Why? Why did you have to take Mom away from me? I pleaded as I cried out to Him.

My life was a mess. Things were very chaotic for me at the time. I did not understand why God had separated me from my mother.

My mother is now a very powerful person in that she wielded a great influence over my life during my early childhood years. She has deep blue eyes, blond hair, and has a slender figure because of her passion to exercise and stay fit. She has a gentle heart and kind spirit. The light of God always radiated from my mother, and it shone so brightly on her face whenever I had the chance to be in her presence. Her presence always warmed my heart so much that at times, it made me feel warm on the inside of my heart too. Based on what she taught me as a little girl, her tender heart always drew me deeper into the heart of God.

My mother gave me a foundation on the Word of God, the Bible, and what it teaches. When I was a little girl, she taught me what it meant for me to be a child of God. My mother always taught me that Jesus loved me as a little girl—that I was beautiful in the eyes of God as a little girl. My mother always told me that I was wonderfully made in the image of God too.

Now that my mother was summarily ripped out of my life, did what she taught me matter? In fact, did any of it matter? Where in my world was my God in the midst of the dire circumstances that I was facing?

*****

I saw a psychiatrist during the time that I got separated from my mother. For the purposes of this book, I choose to call him my psychiatrist so as to not disclose his identity. My psychiatrist was a very practical man. He was also a very sensible and compassionate doctor. He always wore a small pair of rectangular glasses, and had brownish-black hair and greenish-gray eyes. His eyes always shone through the rectangular pair of glasses that he wore. He had one goal in mind for me, which he expressed thoroughly in order to make his intentions known to me: to get me well.

How are you? he asked in a gentle tone of voice, peering over at me with such a calmness in his greenish-gray eyes. How is your mood? He asked me this in order to try and make sense of my wellbeing as he took notes and stared at me through his glasses.

I’m fine, I replied to him. This was a couple of weeks after trying out my medication that my psychiatrist prescribed, and it seemed to be working perfectly. I did not seem to notice though. It was as if I did not have a mental illness at all. The medication was working very well for me.

How are you feeling about not seeing your mother? My psychiatrist asked me, trying to make sense of my emotions.

I feel sad. I cry about it all of the time, I told him with a look of deep sadness in my eyes. I miss her very much.

Your mother has a mental illness, my psychiatrist promptly explained to me. You were embedded in her psychosis, and that is why she enabled you and your mental illness. You need to grieve the loss of your mother and her mental state.

I took a glance at my psychiatrist and then looked down at the floor, losing eye contact with him. I immediately started crying. Tear after tear began to pour down my face as the mascara on my eyes began to smear my tear-streamed face.

I did not understand why he told me that. However, looking back, I believe that the reason that my psychiatrist told me that my mother would enable me and my mental illness was that my mother would enable me to make bad decisions, therefore making symptoms of my mental illness to get worse. As painful as that reality was for me to face, my psychiatrist raised my awareness as well as gave me a deep understanding about who my mother was from a mental health perspective.

It was then that my mind began to go back and reflect. Even as I type this part of the book, I cry because of the emotions that I experienced as I grieved the loss of my mother. I was not grieving her death; I was grieving that, as her daughter, I lost her mentally. I lost the mother that I thought I knew very, very well because of her mental illness.

I wondered to myself, Did what my mother teach me matter at all? Did what my mother show me about God really matter? Does Jesus love me, as I thought He did? These were the thoughts that introspected through my mind repeatedly as I finally lost it at that point in my life.

I looked up into my psychiatrist’s greenish-gray eyes and continued to cry. The tears would not stop flowing down. It was then that I was now in the sad part of the grieving process as I cried, and cried, letting all of my tears out, just as Jesus did in the Bible. It is written in the Gospel of John 11:35 (NIV), Jesus wept.

*****

Crying was not a sign of weakness for me. In fact, it was a sign of humility as I poured my heart out to God and to this psychiatrist in these sessions. The fact that I needed help from my psychiatrist to cope with my bipolar disorder was a sign of strength and not of weakness because it helped me to dig deep into the truth of who I was and who I am as a child of God. Even through all of these sessions, I did not forget what my mother taught me about God and who He is.

Don’t worry, my psychiatrist explained to me. You will be just fine. Just breathe. Everything will be fine.

In that moment, my mind began to think back and reflect on the good things about my mother. I was now in the sad yet happy part of the grieving process, all the while the tears continued to flow down my mascara-smeared face.

I remembered that Jesus loved me. That is what my mother told me. I remembered that Jesus died on a cross for my sins. That is what my mother always taught me. I remembered that Jesus rose, alive again, from the grave and that was the reason that I am a saved child of God. As my mother taught me, once you are saved, you are always a child of God.

As I sat down complacently in the chair, facing my psychiatrist, I began to process what he was telling me and what I was thinking about my mother.

Your mother is not mentally stable, my psychiatrist went on to tell me further. That is why she cannot take care of you.

Then, my thoughts began to shift toward my mother. I suddenly felt angry on the inside. I was now in the angry stage of the grieving process. I never told my psychiatrist of this anger that I felt, but I realize, now that I look back, that the anger I felt toward my mother was never dealt with. I did not know that this anger I felt even existed until, many years later, I confronted it with a Christian counselor from First Baptist Atlanta.

The thoughts began to play in my mind as I thought to myself: If only she had been on medication for all of these years, then I would have had a normal family. If only she went to see a doctor all of this time, then I would not have the problems I have now. If only my mother went to church while taking medication and seeing a doctor, then my life would have been free of this anger that I now feel toward her.

I thought all of these thoughts to myself as the introspective tape recorder of my thoughts played over and over again in my mind.

Now, things were starting to make sense to me as my mind thought about the past. I cried about the truth. The truth that my mother had a mental illness was healing to my heart, and healing to my soul. At the same time, I was still grieving the loss of my mother’s mental state. I could not help but feel anger toward my mother.

Don’t worry, my psychiatrist notably informed me. What you are feeling now is completely normal. The fact that you admitted that you were sad is all a part of healing as you go through the grieving process. Is there anything else that you want to share with me?

I stared into my psychiatrist’s greenish-gray eyes with tears in my eyes. No, there is not, I told him faintly through my tears. I just want to see my mother.

Why do you want to see your mother? my psychiatrist asked me.

She taught me about God and the Bible, I blatantly told him through my tears. She would take me to church when I was young. She taught me about Jesus.

My psychiatrist then made a remark that I will never forget. Religion is bad. You should not let your mother’s influence and the fact that she took you to church affect you or your life.

Now, I believe that my psychiatrist said that religion was bad because he is not a Christian. I am unsure if he made the remark because he does not like world religions, but I firmly believe that my psychiatrist made the remark because he is not a Christian. I also believe that my psychiatrist was trying, at that moment, to make me think differently about how I perceived my faith, God, and who Jesus was to me.

I was silent after what he said. I was not going to let my psychiatrist change my love for Jesus. I completely and entirely disagreed with him, which made me angrier as I redirected my anger from my mother to him. I abruptly told him my convictions, No, I will continue to go to church. What I believe to be true is the truth. I will always believe in Jesus Christ.

My psychiatrist remained silent. He gave me a cold stare through his glasses.

My psychiatrist clearly did not understand the reason behind the hope that moved me. He clearly did not understand how I felt at the moment. He may have been educated on the subject of mental health, but he lacked knowledge on how my faith—Christianity—had a strong impact on my thought of life, especially since my mother was the one who taught me. I am not saying that my psychiatrist did not have an impact on my life, particularly in how he brought me awareness of my mother’s mental illness, as well as my own mental illness. What I am saying is that I disagree with the statement that my psychiatrist made because I viewed it as an attack on my faith, which I believe that my psychiatrist was trying to steer me away from because he believed that my mother’s influence of faith was bad.

I was not going to let my psychiatrist attempt to change how I thought about my faith in Jesus Christ. I continued on with conviction in my heart and in my mind: I will always go to church. I will always love God. I will never lose my faith.

Okay, we do not have to talk about that, my psychiatrist replied as he stared down at the page of notes on his pad.

Since that conversation happened, my psychiatrist and I did not speak about Jesus for a very long time. On the other hand, the problem still remained: I stayed and remained angry. I was angry at my mother. I was also angry at my psychiatrist. The tears were gone, and I was angry at both God and my mother. I could not understand the mixture of emotions that I felt. It was more than I could fathom and more than enough for me to handle. As I solemnly and sadly realized, not even my psychiatrist could fix me. Only God could totally heal my spiritual wounds. The pain remained inside of my deeply-wounded spirit, and I was a broken soul.

*****

I was nineteen years old when my mother was institutionalized and I began to see my psychiatrist. As I look back, a lot of events have transpired since then, leading up to our separation.

*****

I was born on March 25, 1991. My mother taught me about God. Growing up, she brought the light of God with her in everything that she did with me.

She sang Christian lullabies to me before I went to sleep at night, would read me many, many children’s books about God to me, and pray with me before I went to bed at night. The way that my mother prayed with me at night laid a solid foundation for me in how I prayed to God, as a child, in that she taught me to come before God with a sincere and genuine heart as I pray to Him.

Dear God, please help me to do well on this math test I have to take today, I prayed one day with my mother as we prayed together at night. In Jesus’ name, amen!

I would pray to God about the little things that mattered, or about the larger things that mattered, such as praying to God so that He would heal me if I became sick one day and had to stay home from school as a result. My mother even taught me to thank God through prayer. She taught me to thank God for the food that I ate as I prayed.

This is how you are to pray, she would say to me every time we sat together at the table for dinner. She bowed her head as her blond hair encompassed her slender face. Thank You, Jesus, for this food. Amen!

As I held my mother’s hand tightly, I kept my small head bowed. My strawberry blond hair engulfed my oval face. Thank You, Jesus, for this food. Amen! I repeated back out loud after my mother prayed.

Yay! Good job! my mother would congratulate me as she patted my hair and we began eating.

As a teenager in high school, the way that I prayed as a young girl influenced how I prayed to God. My mother even taught me the importance of worshipping God through song. During every car ride, she would turn on the Christian radio or put a children’s Christian CD in the radio player and have the radio play worship songs of various kinds and she would sing along with me. I knew pretty much every single song that played on the radio, especially the children’s Christian CDs, and was very excited every time that the songs were played. Whenever my mother drove the car, I would sing which showed every time that I sang as loud as I could. During the times that my mother drove the car, I would sing with a very kind and genuine tone of voice to try and match the tune of the sounds that the music played. Even though my voice was not like that of a singer, I knew that God knew my heart, and that I meant well when I sang my heart out to Him. I thank God that even though He did not give me a perfect sounding voice, at least He gave me a genuine and sincere heart to worship Him. That knowledge has resonated with me since my childhood. This made a difference when I joined the children’s choir at FBA later on.

One Christmas during my late elementary school years, my mother bought me an instrumental CD by a famous Christian artist. That Christian artist was one of my mother’s favorite Christian artists, which allowed me to remain and draw close to my mother, but to develop an even stronger relationship with God. I listened to it over, and over again on my CD player whenever I took walks. There were sometimes when my mother was listening to Christian music in the car and if I was in a different mood and wanted to listen to another song, I would pop in this particular CD and listen to it on replay: over and over and over again!

During that same Christmas, my mother took me to see my grandfather, who was a former preacher and evangelist, and who lived in Fayetteville, Georgia.

My grandfather had a bald round head with grayish-white hair surrounding the middle of it. The zest in his blue eyes revealed his zest, passion, and fire for the Lord, which twinkled right back at you when you talked with him. He often wore overalls and plaid long-sleeve shirts that covered his sleeves. He was a plump yet stout old gentleman, which showed in his polite mannerisms, mainly in his prayer life with God and his conversations with others, particularly my step-grandmother.

My step-grandmother had greenish-gray eyes, short red hair, and a round body. She loved cooking and had a passion to serve others through her good food that she prepared and the Lord. Through the countless wrinkles on her short, round face, you could tell that she loved God because every time I made praise, either to her or to God out loud, she would comment very loudly as she too praised the Lord, "Amen, Sugar!"

My grandfather and my step-grandmother lived in a small house, which my grandfather built himself. It had a screened porch that he sat, where he used to commune with the Lord, read his Bible, and pray to God during his alone time, which he spent with the Lord. He had a profound influence on me growing up because of his strong relationship with God, which would greatly impact my relationship with God many years later into my college years.

On that Christmas morning, my grandfather and step-grandmother gave me a gift. I remember when I first felt the gift.

What’s this? I asked my grandfather.

You’ll see, my grandfather told me with a gentle fire in his eyes. His love for God really showed itself to me in that very moment.

The box was very heavy. I immediately tore open the wrapping paper and saw that it was a Bible!

I was really, really excited when I first opened it, and could feel the love of God through this big and beautiful book.

Thank you, Grandpa! I said as I gave a big hug to my grandfather, who hugged me very tightly. I will make great use out of this Bible!

Even though it was a teen study Bible, it was a Bible and that was all that mattered to me in that moment. On that day, I remember enjoying the Christmas brunch that my step-grandmother prepared for all of the guests, who came into my step-grandmother and into my grandfather’s house. She always made really good food, which was one of the reasons I always looked forward to coming to her and to my grandfather’s house. The fact that her hands went into preparing this food was what brought me and all of my family together with her side of the family.

Can you say grace? my grandfather asked my step-grandmother as me and the rest of our family was preparing to eat Christmas lunch.

Absolutely! my step-grandmother replied as she bowed her round head and closed her eyes. Dear God, we thank You for this wonderful food. We thank You for everyone gathered here today. Bless this food that we are about to eat right now. In Jesus’ name, we pray, amen!

We all began to eat away at the foods that my step-grandmother prepared and laid out on the table in front of her kitchen. After serving ourselves, my mother talked with my grandfather and step-grandmother as I ate away at the delicious roasted chicken, ham, roast beef, mashed potatoes, and salad mix on my plate. All of the food was delicious; I always enjoyed my step-grandmother’s cooking. It was prepared through the works of her hands. Her food was always a real blessing to me as it always brought me and my family together.

After eating lunch, I would go outside and let my grandfather swing me on the swing that he built next to his big porch. Sometimes, he would sit on the swing as I sat in his lap and he would tell me stories about Jesus. He often reminded me of these truths.

Sarah, Jesus died on a cross for your sins. When did he rise from the grave? he asked me as he slowly rocked us back and forth on the motions of the swing.

On the third day, I said with a smile on my face, and with absolute conviction in my heart.

You are right, my grandfather told me, as he stroked my strawberry-blond hair and looked into my innocent brown eyes. Never forget that.

I thank God for these precious moments, especially during holidays like Christmas because they were a time to celebrate the good that God did for me and my family during the year. I thank God for the impact that my grandparents had on my life during my early childhood because this prepared me for what was to come during my middle school years, especially as I interacted with my siblings as we attended church.

*****

During my elementary school years on one Easter Sunday, my mother bought me a gift.

Go ahead and open it! my mother said as she looked at me with gentle eyes.

I immediately began to tear the wrapping paper open. It was a Bible storybook! I remember how excited that I was to receive this gift after opening it!

Wow, I shouted at the top of my lungs as I caressed the book close to my heart. Thanks, Mom!

I gave my mother a big hug as she hugged me with her gentle hands and immediately began to read stories to me from it. My mother would read pages from it every single night before I went to sleep at night. She would pick a story from either the Old Testament or the New Testament sections of the Bible storybook and read it to me. I would fall asleep to the soothing sound of my mother’s voice, which kept me asleep and resting peacefully each night.

In those moments, I would imagine what heaven was like. For me, it was a place of rest. It was a place where I could fall into a deep sleep anytime I wanted. I would lay myself to rest and fall asleep peacefully in the arms of Jesus while my mother read from the contents of this Bible storybook to me. The love of God was very evident as my mother’s soothing and gentle voice protruded through my ears and I fell into a deep, deep sleep. The noise around me was silent, even as the hands of God were cradling and holding me to rest, preparing me for the next day’s adventures.

*****

Going on nature hikes with my mother allowed for me to experience the love of God through my mother in many ways. I remember when my mother would take me, as she did many, many times on nature hikes on nature trails at parks during my early childhood years.

As we walked over the pine cones and the rustling leaves that crinkled through our feet, she would point out the flowers and the trees on both sides of the trails, telling me, God made these flowers, and God made the trees too like He made you.

Yes. What my mother shared with me was simple, yet it gave me a firm foundation of who God was as my Creator. He did? I asked my mother very innocently as I stared intently at a purple tulip that grew from the rich soil of the nature trails.

Yes, sweetheart, my mother gazed down upon me as she replied to my question while helping me pluck up the tulip. He did. He created this flower too!

As my mother helped me to pick up the purple tulip, she placed it in the palms of my hands, which were full of flowers that resembled a bouquet. The shape and form that these flowers took were so beautiful. They also had a very intricate and colorful pattern to them, resembling the daisies, the sunflowers, and roses, all in this purple tulip.

God made you special, Sarah, my mother looked down at me and smiled as she pointed out the purple tulip that stood out from the rest of the flowers. And he loves you very much! You are His princess!

I blushed, and yet, I smiled as my small heart pondered on this amazing and profound truth. I was silent and held my mother’s hand as the both of us continued to walk down the nature trails, with the bouquet of flowers in my other hand.

*****

When I was around eight years old, my mother would take me and my siblings to church at FBA every Sunday, and I would go to Sunday school. I was actively involved in the church for the earlier years of my childhood, and eventually got saved and baptized at this church when I was about eight years old. My passion and zest for the Lord continued to grow during my early childhood and middle school years spent at this church.

I remember when I first got baptized at FBA. After I got saved as a result of my mother telling me how to say the Lord’s prayer in order to get saved, not only did I make this a personal declaration of faith, but also a public profession and celebration of my faith, which I found in Jesus Christ.

I wore a white and blue gown to cover the short pink and white dress that I wore. At that moment, I went to see Pastor Jacob, who was waiting for me to come toward him in the water of the baptism pool.

Pastor Jacob was a bright, young man with short brown hairs circling his bald head. He was the leader of the children’s ministry at FBA. He always wore a bright smile on his face, which showed every time I saw him.

He asked me as he took me with his arm, Do you believe in Jesus to be Your Lord and Savior?

I replied with such an optimism in my spirit, Yes!

Pastor Jacob said, I now baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, before dunking my head in the cold water of the baptism pool.

My mother and family, who came to see me get baptized, all cheered as they crowded around me and I walked toward them out of the baptism pool. My grandfather wept tears of joy.

I’m so proud of you, Sarah, my grandfather looked down at me as I gazed up at him with my wide brown eyes. Welcome into the family of Christ.

My