When The Meds Fail

January 2023 started off not so well for me. After traveling for the Christmas holidays, I could not sleep peacefully for days. Towards the end of traveling and not long after I returned, I finally tested positive for COVID.

By the time mid-January arrived, I had not had a good night’s sleep for a month. While I was then, and am still getting older, and I know waking up in the night happens as you age, sleeping the whole night for 18+ years was the entire reason my antipsychotic meds worked for me to be able to manage the symptoms of my schizophrenia.

As I soldiered on that January, one day I was on social media and noticed a well-known pastor had made a post where people could ask for healing.

If there was any time I needed healing, at least to be able to sleep through the night again, it was then.

So, in a few words, I explained briefly that I had not been able to sleep well for a month, that I had a severe mental illness, and asked for prayer that I would be able to sleep well again and that my medications would work for me once more.

I did not expect anything to happen. Knowing that I had posted a prayer request on his page, I thought that even if a few people saw it, they could pray for me, and that would be good enough.

Yet, within minutes, I received a message from his assistant, who told me that her boss wanted to pray for me, and that he would give me a video call the next morning. She also provided me with a link to download a private messaging app that we would use to call each other on.

When I woke up the following morning, I got on the app and then, to my surprise, the pastor appeared and immediately began praying for me. However, there was a slight issue. There was no sound, and I could not hear what he was saying. Yet, I told myself not to focus on that, to know that God heard his prayers, and that was all that mattered. Still, there was a part of me that wanted to be able to talk to him properly with full volume.

I asked him if we could pray one more time, because I could not hear him when he initially was praying.

His response was a little shocking, coming from a pastor.

“No, that’s all for prayers.”

I knew he was human and imperfect. I also knew that, as a nationally known pastor, he not only had to take care of his own congregation, but that he had regular speaking dates and additional stressors that most pastors are never burdened with.

It was still shocking for me to hear, though, because I had never really met a pastor who was so quickly dismissive.

That awkward initial pause in our conversation did not last very long. He then texted me a few minutes afterward and told me of an African missionary overseas who regularly prayed for people to be fully healed of disabilities, illnesses, etc.

The chance to speak to someone from Africa was one I had not had for years. Just to be able to have a conversation with a true African pastor or missionary was something incredibly exciting for me.

A few hours later that day, I received a call from that African missionary. Initially, he was kind and offered his prayers. Yet, I could barely understand him.

There was a time, a decade before this meeting, when I would regularly Skype, call, text, or message several African men and women from Uganda. Between the years 2010 to 2013, I traveled to Uganda on mission trips three times during the summer. The sound of their voices, every vocal inflection of theirs, were all very familiar to me.

Remembering the many conversations and texts from the people of Uganda made me excited to talk to this African missionary. However, I was extremely disappointed when I understood one word that he was saying other than prayers.

“Money.”

This African missionary was asking for money from me and it was only because I was asking for prayer.

Living on disability and being disabled, I not only did not have enough money to do such a thing, but I was also uncomfortable sending money to a man in an African country when I did not even know which country in Africa he lived in.

With kind and carefully chosen words, I respectfully ended our chat and I told him, “Good-bye.”

Within a few minutes, the “well-known” pastor texted me once more.

He asked me why I was not comfortable sending money to that African missionary. I told him exactly what I told the missionary: that I was on disability, that I had very limited income, and that I was not comfortable wiring money 8,000+ miles overseas.

After trying to explain to this pastor my life situation, over and over again, he just did not get it.

Due to this pastor’s response, I ended my conversation with him as well. Within hours, and less than a day since I asked for prayer on his social media page, I ended all contact with him. I deleted the private messaging application from my phone and have not talked to him since then.

A few days later, I met with one of my doctors, who told me I was likely having trouble sleeping as a result of getting over COVID. Then, she lowered my anti-psychotic meds, and within a few days, I was sleeping through the night without any issues whatsoever.

In conclusion, I have wanted to share this story for over two and a half years. Yet, I have hesitated over and over again. The pastor I that I communicated with is someone who is very well known. He has shared spaces with prominent individuals. He is liked by some and loathed by others.

Even though he has his faults, just like I do, I believe at his core he is a good man. I think that he is a man who is just doing his best to serve the Lord and his congregation. His dismissive response to one of my questions that day, I believe, probably came from stress and simply being human. His inability to understand the complexities of someone living with mental illness, I believe shows that he perhaps has not had a child or loved one who lives or suffers from such a thing.

The reason I am finally telling you this story today, after over two and a half years, is to remind you of the timeless truth, one we all too often forget.

Psalm 118: 8-9 NIV

It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in humans. It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in princes.

Whether they are congressmen or senators, presidents or pastors, we should take refuge only in the Lord and not in any man, or any woman, who is just as broken and in need of a Savior as we are.

Until Next Time,

Jacob McGowen