Patience, hard thing

Patience, hard thing! the hard thing but to pray,
But bid for, Patience is! Patience who asks
Wants war, wants wounds; weary his times, his tasks;
To do without, take tosses, and obey.
Rare patience roots in these, and, these away,
Nowhere. Natural heart’s ivy, Patience masks
Our ruins of wrecked past purpose. There she basks
Purple eyes and seas of liquid leaves all day.
 
We hear our hearts grate on themselves: it kills
To bruise them dearer. Yet the rebellious wills
Of us we do bid God bend to him even so.
And where is he who more and more distils
Delicious kindness?—He is patient. Patience fills
His crisp combs, and that comes those ways we know. 

Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844-1889), Untitled, pub. 1918

Mental Health First Aid

March was crazy busy for many reasons, but at least I have something to show for it: I'm now officially certified in mental health first aid.

What, you may ask, is that?

You're all familiar with physical first aid, I assume.  Mental health first aid is the same idea: I've been trained to recognize and appropriately respond to mental health crises of various kinds.   It's not like I'm suddenly an expert, and can go around diagnosing people or giving them therapy—just like physical first aid certification doesn't equate to a medical degree—but I've been given the tools to be a "first responder," to help deescalate situations and direct people to further help if necessary.

The training I attended was specifically geared towards people who work within the refugee community.   Some of them work for resettlement or aid agencies, and most of them are members of the various ethnic groups represented here—they're leaders in the Bhutanese, Burmese, Vietnamese, and Middle Eastern communities. 

It was a helpful session to attend, because the fellow trainees were able to help address a problem that we as Americans often face: How to adapt western perspectives of mental health cross-culturally.  We can see, for example, that community X has a really high incidence of severe depression, but also know that community X doesn't recognize the existence of mental illness.  Or we can see that individual Y is showing classic signs of post-traumatic stress disorder, but also know that her community will shun her if she even acknowledges any "mental problems," much less seeks treatment for them.

For me, and the other Americans I've met in this situation, the concern is not whether people of other cultures switch to a western approach to mental health.  We aren't interested in making people use our mental health terminology or go to talk therapy or take medications that violate their religious principals.  We care about giving people who are debilitated by what we call depression, or anxiety, or post-traumatic stress the tools they need to function in every day life.

The problem is, we don't really know what those tools look like yet.  Even the people I mentioned above, who are themselves part of these cultural communities, don't know what those tools look like.  It is encouraging, though, to see that the dialogue is taking place—that the tools are being sought.   

There is so much pain and loneliness and fear in the lives around me.  I, of course, continue to pray as well, that the people around me would experience the healing and hope that only Jesus can bring.  He is so desperately needed here.