DIARY OF A FIERCE WOMAN 10/28/2026 I AM LOVED

This past Sunday my church surprised me with cards signed by the whole congregation, a plant, and a video montage during the service to recognize my service to God and the church. I cried. I have been so depressed as my faculties have begun to diminish, and I’ve had to step down from ministries I’d run for years. Over the last two years, ministry by ministry, I’ve had to pass on my “babies” to others. In every case the person taking over has blessed these ministries with fresh eyes and a new perspective. In some ways that’s made me feel like my contribution didn’t matter. That I was a placeholder. Sunday helped me see I have made a difference. I always say my goal in life is to hear the words, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” This past Sunday gave me hope that I will.

I have schizoaffective disorder, gastroparesis and now have frontotemporal dysfunction. I live with psychosis, pain, and cognitive impairment. As I realized the impact of these, I grieved. Dreams were never realized. Hope for the future turned to terror as I realized tasks I had taken for granted: tracking a conversation, organizing an event, or even being able to drive to activities like Bible Study and Sunday School became impossible. Step by step, ministry by ministry, I stopped doing what I love.

Other people took over my ministries as I struggled with loss of memory, executive function and processing. I can’t lead anymore, so I help with ministries instead of leading ministries. I’m still involved but it’s hard to step back. I have led many ministries over the years. Now I’m down to just a few quick and easy ones. I send cards to people who are sick, grieving or have prayer requests and I help out in church services. I still write and preach but that gets harder with each passing day. However, I want to share my story through my writing, and I hope it makes a difference in someone’s life. I pray it will make a difference in my own life.

I hate to admit it, but I don’t like going to church anymore. I can’t understand the sermon. I sit in the pew, listening as the first words roll over me, I wonder if maybe it will be different this time and I’ll be able to follow. But then the words blur. I realize I don’t remember the first sentence and don’t know how it connects to the second. Then I realize I’m lost and have no idea what the speaker is saying. I’m frustrated and just look at my hands in my lap trying not to cry.

Having a positive attitude is hard for me. I say I’m not an optimist, and I’m not a pessimist, I am a realist. I look life squarely in the eye. I address the negative and I try to embrace the positive, but my default is to question myself and worry. It’s hard. I struggle, but I also fight. I step down from that which I can no longer do but I don’t quit. I don’t give up. The pain doesn’t stop. The difficulties don’t stop. I don’t stop. Too often I want to quit. I want to give up. But I don’t. I keep going. I am fortunate in many ways. Between my wife and friends, I go to church every Sunday and my REFIT exercise class on Wednesday, but struggle to find rides to the myriads of activities my church offers. I still try to stay connected – even if it’s not as much as before.

The isolation takes its toll. I battle loneliness. I feel left out. It’s hard to count my blessings when I see so much loss. People struggle to understand. I seem so competent. They don’t always see the loss. They don’t know about the near-miss car accidents and forgetting how to fill the gas tank that led to my stopping driving. They don’t realize I don’t read books anymore because I can’t follow a plot. I watch the same TV shows over and over for the same reason. I use a planner to keep track of events when I don’t forget the planner. I’m aware of the struggle even if others aren’t. My wife, best friend and counselor see it. I’ve developed swallowing difficulties which can lead to aspiration pneumonia. That makes it less subjective. I’m very good at compensating but the decline is there and becoming more and more obvious to others.

But this past Sunday, I didn’t think about everything I can’t do and acknowledged everything I have done. I realized that even if my dream of writing a book is likely over since I can’t think clearly enough to come up with 70,000 interesting words and edit into a polished manuscript, I can come up with 1000 words twice a week. I’m sure it will dwindle to once a week, then once a month, but I will keep writing until I can’t. I have friends in their 70’s, 80’s and 90’s and think it’s staying busy – doing what you love – for as long as you can that keeps you going. So writing is my one thing. The thing that gives me purpose. The thing that keeps me trying even when I get tired and discouraged. Preaching also gives me purpose. The days of theological analysis are gone but I can still talk about God’s love and forgiveness. I can share my story. And the scriptures that I’ve read most of my life are still within me. I can still draw on their words and messages.

For those that struggle as I do, you’re not alone. See past the isolation. Move past the grief. Find joy where you can. The losses are real and trying to “think positively” through it can feel herculean but find that something that still matters. Seek out ways to stay connected. I know I’m drifting away but I’m not done yet. Sunday, I realized while I do feel isolated, I’m still connected to people that love me. And now, I have a beautiful plant to keep on the windowsill next to my chair, a tangible reminder of that love and caring, I don’t serve as much as others, but I think the congregation saw my pain and need and let me know I am loved.

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All previous posts are available on Substack and my website.

Photo by Forsaken Films on Unsplash