Hooked on CAMI

 

 I live in Canada. The winters are generally a perpetual, incesant, ceaseless affair of ice and snow. To break up the monotony, I started a book club with the ladies in my church. The 10th book we read was 'Broken Minds' by Steve and Robyn Bloem. Looking to see if these authors had discussion questions for their book (and secretly checking out what their ministry was about.....) I sent a quick letter asking as much. Well, that question began a string of copiously edited friendly business letters, followed by a round of more casual e-mails. Soon we got very serious and linked up on the social networking giant, Facebook where I believe we exchanged upwards of 1700 messages in 2 months. Of course, phone calls were littered in between and a friendship grew.


As I got to know the Bloems I learned about something they ran every Thursday night called CAMI. CAMI stands for Christians Afflicted with Mental Illness. And they did exactly what it sounds like they did--they met with a bunch of mentally ill people to talk about ...well...you know.
Now, being an ostrich for the last 15 years, I was far more accustomed to sticking my head in the sand rather than talk about....ummm...yup....(depression). That embarrasing word that defined me according to the medical doctors.


Desensitization is what I needed. De-shaming and education followed right behind. Robyn talked about depression like one would talk about the weather over a cup of coffee. The way she said the word was so...so...casual. It almost creeped me out. But I really liked Robyn, so I politely endured the uncomfortable chatter...flinging those loathesome, disturbing and shameful words far away. However, I was faced with a dilemna: I had questions about my problems and Robyn was just so...so....easy to talk to. She was deeply perceptive, working her own brand of magic and worming her way right into my heart and my life. I will never be the same.

Fielding yet another question of mine, Robyn told me about some material they had written. Yup, surprise, surprise....they wrote a CAMI book to go with their CAMI group. Apparently the question I posed was extensively addressed in their book. Knowing my love for reading, she kindly encouraged me to obtain a copy. That Robyn...she's so smart I tell you....

That CAMI book, indeed, is a book full of questions and answers. It is meant to be done as a study with several other individuals. Of course, by obtaining a leader's copy you can get BOTH the questions and the answers, but it takes away the strength of the book--the human element. Any fool can see that. And suddenly I wanted that human element.

As God's ways can often surprise us, I was soon on a plane, along with my husband, headed to Florida to meet these infamous Bloems. A four day itinery was planned, with an official CAMI study group meeting included for the last evening. 'Show us Florida' was our request, but experiencing CAMI night was the real unspoken desire.

We got to the church that Thursday night and followed the Bloem's to the class room. Robyn made a pot of coffee and Steve set out the CAMI signs. My husband and I sat down quietly to wait. As time ticked closer to 7:00, individuals started trickling in. Polite introductions were made and we all waited for Steve to open in prayer.

The CAMI books were opened and Steve decided to start a discussion on CAMI's Core beliefs. We talked about not being ashamed of having a mental illness. Citing 2 Timothy 1:12 we talked about how God ordains all our sufferings. We talked about how Christ intercedes for His people even when His people lie in deep, deep darkness. We covered how every trial, every suffering that afflicts us is meant to bring glory to God.

Drawing our attention to Luke 9:1-3, Steve pointed out that just as the Lord Jesus found no personal fault in the blind man or his parents for his disability, so we must not primarily seek to find sin as the cause of our own mental illness. And with that, the conversation around the table flew.

Now any fool knows that the best thing to do in a new group is to hang back and listen; figure out the people, learn their stories and their temperaments. Analyze tone and inflection and the general atmosphere. This is a mental illness group. Do we laugh, do we cry or do we analyze and scrutinize? I had no idea.

But all this fell to the wayside when one woman started talking. She started explaining the depression in her life. She shared her thoughts and her struggles and her pain. And as she spoke my eyes must have widened because she was perfectly describing ME. I was spell bound. I think I was pointing at her and nodding my head, absolutely incredulously. It's like she crawled right into my head, sorted throughall the muddled confusion and put my entire gammut of experiences into the words that I never could find. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. I definitely wanted to hug her.

Unbeknownst to me, my husband was having the same experience. His eyes, too, widened in amazement as the lady kept talking. My husband saw this woman describe his wife perfectly through her own experience. Depression personified is a most beautiful thing. When depression is given words it is taken out of the shadows. Suddenly depression has a face and a name. It has thoughts and actions and feelings. It is real and tangible, and the relief at seeing our enemy together was one of the more powerful moments in our entire marriage.

This lady must have seen our faces simultaneously display that great AHA moment, for she kept sharing, filling our silent cravings with experiential information. She kept talking and suddenly I truly learned/understood something I had heard many times before: Mental illness begs for community.

The conversations lasted long after the meeting ended in prayer. My 15 year depressive silence was shattered. I talked to people, my husband talked to people...and the only thing we wanted to talk about was mental illness. The dam would not be assauged.

As I rode in the car to return to our host's residence that night, a tear slipped from my eye, tracing its way down my cheek. These were my people. I had found my people and longed for nothing more than to be with them. This was to be our last night in West Palm Beach. The next morning we were to board the flight that would take us 3000 miles clear across North America to our home.

Leaving Florida was hard. No sane individual wants to leave vibrant green palm trees in exchange for the desolate grey and white tundra. But more than that, no sufferer of severe depression wants to leave a supportive, loving, understanding group of like minded individuals more than half a continent away. I left my heart in West Palm Beach, Florida. I pray the Lord reunites us again soon.