I’m CSPC member Kathy Carlson, and this is how I’m living deeply.  

“When Pastor James Forsyth asked me to share my story, he said he sees me as an encourager. That word surprised me. I’ve always felt like my journey has been more about survival than encouragement, especially when it comes to my mental health struggles. But as I thought about it, I realized that God’s been at work in my life in ways that could indeed encourage others, particularly those who feel overwhelmed by life’s uncertainties. When James & Rosie first came to CSPC, I would go over and talk to them before the early service. I’d tell James, ‘I want you to know that I remember your sermons, and this is new to me. I could never remember sermons before.’ Sometimes I’d also encourage him after the service. One time he mentioned anxiety from the pulpit, and I said, ‘I want you to know, James, that anxiety is part of my journey, too. I understand.’ He responded, ‘It helps to know that somebody understands.’ I’ve also sent James emails affirming the content of his sermons. So maybe I’ve had enough conversations with him that he’s decided I’m an encouraging person. (I still think he encourages me more- I begin every day by listening to one of his sermons!) If you ask where my passion to be an encourager comes from, the answer isn’t simple. It’s shaped by my family, the career I loved but had to give up, and, most importantly, my faith. I was born in Tucson during World War II- my dad was stationed at an Air Force base. But shortly after I was born, my dad had a mental health crisis and was transferred to a veterans’ hospital in Indiana. At just ten weeks old, my family made the long trip from Tucson to a small town in Indiana, where we lived with my grandparents. I was cherished- spoiled rotten, really. My mom, who was a high school teacher, would give me chores every morning before she left for work. But as soon as she was gone, my grandma would say, ‘Now, Kathy, you go play. Grandma will take care of all that.’ It was wonderful, but of course, not everything was rosy. When I was eight, my mom remarried, and we moved to a farm in Illinois.

Moving to Illinois was a rough transition. I missed my grandparents terribly, and my stepdad -who had never been around children- certainly wasn’t prepared for a spoiled eight-year-old like me. (And I wasn’t used to someone I didn’t know very well telling me what to do!) But he put up a swing set for me, and we had a dog named Sheba who adopted me in the way only a dog can, so there were still many sweet aspects to my childhood. My mom, ever the mama bear, made sure I was protected and had everything I needed to pursue my dreams. I ended up going to college at Purdue. During that time of my life, something happened that shook me to the core. One day, while taking my grandma to a doctor’s appointment, she literally dropped dead at my feet in the doctor’s office. There really are no words. I was only 20; not at all prepared for something like that. Amid the shock & grief, I drove myself to my aunt’s house in the same small Indiana town, went to bed, cried, and waited for my parents to arrive from Illinois. At the funeral, people would exhort me, ‘Come see your grandma. She looks so good.’ I wanted to say, ‘No, she’s dead. She looks dead.’ I don’t like to see people after they’re dead. The impact of all this ran deep. My grades plummeted the next semester. A professor even called me in to ask, ‘What happened to you?’ It took a while, but by the next semester, I was managing okay again. It was during my last semester at Purdue that I met Paul, my husband. We were both in an abnormal psychology class. (We had no idea then that mental health would become a significant part of our journey together.) Paul and I were married 43 years. He was my greatest cheerleader, encouraging me in everything I wanted to do. After college, my career as a preschool kindergarten teacher began through a back door. We had moved to Knoxville and joined a church- the Wednesday night schedule was supper, prayer meeting, and then choir practice. I didn’t like the prayer meeting. (Perhaps unfair to say, but it felt to me like everyone was trying to out-pray one another.) So I needed something to do during that time, and I volunteered to teach preschool music.

I didn’t know anything about five-year-olds. I didn’t even remember any of the usual preschool songs. But the lead teacher was very patient and helpful, and I became enamored with preschoolers. After volunteering for several years, I took a job in the church’s weekday school- I taught preschool for four years and then graduated to be a kindergarten teacher. Those were some of my happiest years. During that time, I took classes at UT with the goal of getting a master’s degree in child and family studies. As I was completing that degree, I was offered a job as the preschool coordinator in UT’s child development labs. I was responsible for the preschoolers, the classroom teachers, and for facilitating the experience of the UT students with the children & the faculty research. Though I loved that job, changes were made and my responsibilities increased, so I began burning my candle at both ends. The result was a mental health crisis- I knew I wasn’t well enough to keep working, so I resigned. This was devastating, truly the death of a dream. I felt like I lost my identity. My diagnosis -that I was living with serious mental health struggles- was permanent and would have to be managed for the rest of my life. Thankfully, I had medication that worked and a therapist who helped me understand my new situation. By God’s grace, I was able to make peace with this new way of living. Paul was such a help through it all. He was deeply concerned for me and helped me in my goal of just getting through the day. What a gift from God he was, especially during such a bewildering season. Was our marriage always easy? Of course not. We had our struggles, but marriage counseling was incredibly helpful, and we learned how to manage our differences in a positive way. It was a joyful marriage. Paul died 15 years ago- he was only 66. He developed a type of cancer that 80 percent of people beat. Paul was in the 20 percent. Once again, I was devastated. This was a deep valley.

After Paul died, I was so frightened to be on my own. I moved into my sewing room for six months. I went to the kitchen to get food, but I would take my meal to the sewing room because that was my safe space. You could almost cut my grief with a knife, and the biggest part of the grief was fear. I was suddenly in charge of everything. (As sick as he was, Paul wanted to keep paying the bills from his hospital bed. So I would call him and get on the computer at home. It was because of this, and only this, that I learned how to find the passwords. It is VERY important to know the passwords!) I cried a lot. He passed in November- so of course at first, everywhere I went, there was Christmas music. ‘I’ll have a blue Christmas without you’, ‘I’ll be home for Christmas.’ I mean, I would be in a department store just crying my eyes out because of the music. Even after that, people would come up and say, ‘How are you doing? Are you doing okay?’ And I would want to say, ‘Are you kidding me? I am just destroyed here.’ But you learn to say, ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’ Because people can’t handle your grief- and I understand that. Thankfully, the therapist who helped me with the loss of my career helped me walk through this valley of grief. It took me four years to really feel like, ‘I’m going to be okay.’ I learned that until you get to that point, it’s okay to NOT be okay. When you’re dealing with sadness or confusion, it’s a very human thing to acknowledge frailty. So much has happened to me that I don’t understand. My therapist was a big help. Through him, I traced the outlines of my life and connected past trauma to lifelong struggles. For instance, my natural father’s mental health struggles; his nervous breakdown after I was born. There were times when I thought, ‘Did having me cause him to have a nervous breakdown?’ I don’t know. I hope not. But we never lived with him after that. My parents divorced when I was two. This man was such a mystery to me. He would visit me on occasion, not very often. And he was never to be alone with me, so I would be with my grandmother. He would always bring me a toy, and I’d play with the toy, and he’d visit with her.

My natural father would continue to show up in my life at odd times. When I graduated high school, I walked out of the gym to have an evening with a boyfriend. And there was Dad. I’m thinking, ‘I’ve got a date. And I don’t know why you’re here.’ It didn’t get any better when I was an adult. He lived in Indianapolis, and Paul’s family was in Indianapolis. One year my father told me, ‘I’ve got a Christmas gift for you, but you need to come to my house.’ So Paul and I went to the house, and Dad’s wife (he had remarried & started another family) and all the other kids were there. But Dad didn’t come. We waited, and he didn’t come, and didn’t come, and didn’t come. So I said to his wife, ‘We need to go. We’ve got to get back to Paul’s family.’ Then, just as we left, I met Dad in the driveway, and said, ‘Hello. I can’t stay.’ I told Paul after that, ‘I will never do this again. I will never see him again. That was too hard, too hurtful that he couldn’t show up to be with me.’ Now, maybe it took every ounce of everything in my father to show up at the last minute; I don’t know. But I never saw him again. It’s interesting- I’d always thought he only had the one breakdown episode, after my birth. But long after he died, I learned he had many, many episodes and times in the hospital. He had been sick over and over again. My father was still a mystery, but learning this at least helped explain to a significant degree my own mental health battles.

So what does it all mean? Over more than eight decades, I’ve had some sadness and struggle, but not a lot of answers. Let me answer by referencing a popular children’s book called The Runaway Bunny. In the story, the bunny keeps saying he’s running away, and the mommy says, ‘Wherever you go, I’ll be coming after you.’ THIS is what God has been saying to me- how He’s kept me going, enabled me to pursue becoming an encourager. Think of His Word to us in Psalm 139: ‘Where can I go from your spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go to the heavens, you are there. If I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there, your hand will guide me. Your right hand will hold me fast.’ This is so comforting to me. Another favorite scripture of mine is Jeremiah 29:9-11: ‘For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you hope and a future.’ Yes, I believe that! The Lord also strengthens me through several of the takeaways I regularly recall from James’s sermons: Jesus is in your boat, Jesus stands in the gap, Jesus comes after you, Jesus carries you to the other side. These statements are so understandable and easy to remember. They’re also so encouraging and easy to hang on to. And so, through the many mountaintops and deep valleys of my life, I’ve felt God with me- and I’ve chosen to be an encouraging person. Have I always been successful? Of course not. But I find when I’m able to be encouraging to others, it just feels right and good. If you’ve walked a similar path to mine, or maybe you’re even walking that path right now, my heart breaks for you. Yes, it is a struggle, but Jesus is in your boat. Jesus stands in the gap. Jesus comes running after you. Jesus will carry you to the other side.”