My daughter was recently diagnosed with mental health challenges. It’s hard for me to even just type those words out. I’ve spoken them out loud just a handful of times, to very close and safe friends. This summer we decided to cross the line and admit that we needed help, and she needed support. We started getting her the help she needed.
A few weeks in and we were already talking about diagnoses and what options were on the table. Some mental health challenges are more accepted than others. Some can feel almost even average because they are so common, and we are so exposed to them. Others though aren’t. For our family, we fall into the “other” category. Her challenges are not average, and her struggles are not something she’s likely to outgrow.
When I heard what her diagnoses were, I had two reactions.
My first reaction was relief. Relief that I’m actually not a bad mom and I wasn’t wrong. Relief that I was on a motherhood journey that wasn’t average and that was why I didn’t connect with other moms sometimes. This was why traditional parenting resources were discouraging and defeating, not helpful and insightful. I felt relief for all the times I’ve been so tired and stretched thin, realizing I’m actually a mom of disability. This is a big challenge to steward, and we’ve carried it silently for the projection of my daughter and our family. I felt so much relief that I’m not crazy and I’m not lazy and I’m not exaggerating my struggles.
My second reaction was fear. Fear for what happens next. Fear as I researched and learned what her future might look like. Fear as I realized my other kids were growing up in a home with a sibling with disability. Fear for what my community would think of my motherhood, or my daughter, or my husband and his role as a local pastor. I felt so much fear for all the unknowns and the possibilities. There were waves of anxiety and guilt. Did I do this to my daughter? Did I create this somehow, or make it worse by not getting help sooner?
I have grieved over the past months as I’ve processed and accepted. As I’ve shared with dear and close friends, as I’ve talked to my daughter, as we’ve unpacked it as a family, I keep coming back to the same verse.
Psalm 16:6 (NIV) The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance.
This aspect of our family doesn’t feel fair. It doesn’t feel fair that my daughter will have life-long struggles with mental health, unless Jesus grants her a miracle. It doesn’t feel fair that I don’t get to mother like other moms do, or like I pictured I would. It feels like this mental challenge holds us all back, my kids, my husband’s ministry and my own ministry.
Then I come back to Psalm 16. The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places. This challenge has been appointed to our family, and to me. God has created these boundary lines for me to live inside. I could spend my life complaining and depressed that this is what Jesus has chosen, or I could see His goodness in it.
I could see His goodness in the disability community. I could see how tender and empathetic my kids are to others with disability. I could see how life giving for me and for another mom it is to share our common struggles and find compassion and gentleness in my eyes. I could see how God has put my daughter in our home because the local church needs to see and hear about and learn how to love those with mental health challenges, especially from their pastor and his family. I could see His goodness in giving grace upon grace. I could see God giving strength to my weary heart and guiding me to purpose and calling within the disability community.
Stewarding a mental health challenge is not easy and it takes a lot of work. There are so many moments of discouragement and hopelessness.
But Jesus is close to the broken hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. Psalm 34:18 reminds me of this truth.
John 10:10 tells me that Jesus came to give me life abundantly. Even when we’re holding mental illness. There is abundant life available for me, for my daughter, and for my family.
I’d like to close with some phrases I use to speak life and hope over my heart when life feels heavy and too much.
The boundary lines Jesus has given to me are in pleasant places. Within those boundary lines I have freedom and abundance and peace. I’m right where Jesus wants me and He can and does use what He has given me for my own good, for the good of others, and for His glory.
In 2021 we moved to a new home, and wouldn’t you know it, but the street we now live on is Pleasant Drive. I’ve often cried at God’s goodness to move my literal home to Pleasant Drive and remind me I live in Pleasant Places in God’s kingdom.
Abigail Denton 
One response to “Living in Pleasant Places”
Beautiful. I came to investigate after listening to your study of Psalm 16.
Thank you . Boundaries protect our hearts. They also give us choice as to what we
focus on , and what behaviors we allow ourselves to engage in.
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