13th October, 2015. 17.51
To: Bink’s prayer group.
Subject: Miracle or Nature?
And do we care which, anyway, since God heals all?
(Note: in a sermon once Shaun said, “Every time I've ever been ill, God Himself has healed me.” Gasps of wonder from a few enthusiastic ladies in the congregation at so many miracles for one so young.)
I wrote this last Sunday but never had time to finish:
Mental illness is so mysterious, so almost invisible in some ways, that I have often imagined it possible for Bink simply to wake up one day and be well. To bounce out of bed early one morning full of sunshine, saying, That's it: no more destructive washing, no more anxiety, no more lunacy. I'm going to get a job and be well and have friends and flush all the little white pills down the loo and simply be happy, from this day forth. And for that to be true and real and lasting.
And now she has sprung back like a piece of elastic, almost as if she had never left us. She sits patiently with my father, going through a beautiful coffee table book with him about the college they share, to keep him company in the early evening. She gives Rosie a two hour maths lesson to help her with her scholarship papers. She has been out of bed at a fairly normal time almost every morning. She eats, she laughs, she is beautiful again. She is even – and this is saintly, believe me – set to go church with my father (hard work) to sing in the choir (even harder work) which no one else in the family is kind enough to do for him!
Who ever complains when God uses the ongoing miracle of Nature to bring about healing?
So much hope.
So many times.