“You know, Mom, when you get to thinking about it,” my 16-year-old daughter said about her high school junior psychology class, and life in general, “If more people did more talking to God – we wouldn’t need so many psychotherapists.”

We both sort of sat there thinking that one over for a moment as the immensity of her statement soaked in. Molly had really said a mouthful that time!

As each one of my children has come in contact with their first psychology course, I always cringe, both inwardly and outwardly. Every amateur psychologist I have ever bumped into has given me the impression that they are taking me apart, piece by piece. The trouble is, when they get us torn limb from limb they still don’t know where we’re coming from.

Anyway – as we discussed that continual battle against stress which we all face, and Molly proceeded to give me some tips on ‘coping’ which she had learned in her recent studies, sudden inspiration struck me – I thought. Figuring that she would ‘just die’ at the mention of it, I said to her, “I know what – I can audit your psychology class”, continuing on to explain that “to audit means I would attend the class, listen to the lectures, but not take the exams.”

Instead of the expected ‘No way, Mom!’ which I was expecting, Molly said quite seriously, “That would be a good idea. I think they would probably let you.”

Then, reaching for her psychology textbook, she began flipping through it as she told me, “I’ve seen quite a few of your symptoms in here.”

From there on, the conversation led into the different types of mental illness and their suggested treatment.

Psychotherapy is, she explained, the practice of letting the person being treated be the one to do all the talking, with the psychotherapist merely guiding the way. Thus, as the patient hears himself describing the problem situation, the answer oftentimes becomes evident.

Listeners are of a rare group, with God being the only One which we can really count on not to interrupt or repeat the story to someone else. And as Molly thought about the description she used to describe the psychotherapist, she had realized that God would qualify as the Master of them all.

As I overheard my Dad talking about how he had spent a recent afternoon, it caused me to smile a ‘whole bunch’. As he talked, he told of visiting his youngest sister, our Aunt Jan, who stays in a nearby nursing home. During a visit with her he found himself seated in a room with three listeners.

In the first place, Aunt Jan does not talk much because of her illness. Another old friend of Dad’s, a past master in the art of talking until a ‘stroke’ affected his speech, had stopped by the room and seated himself for a visit. Then, according to Dad, another lady whom he was not acquainted with and whom also did not speak, joined the group. “There I was,” said Dad, “sitting in a room with three people who did not talk, but who wanted someone to talk to them – so I talked.”

“I don’t really even know what I said,” I heard him say, “but they seemed to appreciate it.”

Well – now we have discovered another source of good listeners. They are not ‘rare’ or ‘hard to find’ – we just must slow down enough to make full use of these resources. These people who have already travelled over the ‘bumps’ will obviously have a much better understanding of our own ‘rough roads’.

Nobody – and I mean Nobody – has got it made!

Visiting in another state several years ago, myself, my parents, and my sister’s family were all invited to a patio supper at the home of an established psychiatrist there. It was a long time ago, and probably an even longer story, but we were invited, and we accepted the invitation.

The folks and I were very hesitant…what should we wear? …how should we act? But, my sister laughed and said we should ‘just be ourselves’.

Making our way through those California streets lined with lush greenery, we were quiet as we tossed around in our minds just exactly how do we act when we are ‘being ourselves’. We pulled up in front of a beautiful ranch-style home, took a deep breath, and ‘went to dinner’.

At the door we were greeted by Mrs. Psychiatrist, wearing what appeared to be a housecoat…and she was barefoot! Naturally! It was a patio party, at poolside, and nobody gets dressed in California. You just keep ‘dipping’ into the pool as the mood strikes you.

Well, we had goofed, as a matter of fact. We should have brought our swimming suits. But Mom and Dad were so ‘cool’ you wouldn’t believe it. The thing that immediately jumped into my mind was ‘how my parents would react to this very different environment’ – but I needn’t have worried.

Actually, the family had just moved into their new home, and as yet, they were still missing a lot of furniture. There were boxes and boxes of stuff sitting around still to be unpacked, and for a dining table, the outdoor picnic table had been moved inside. Somehow, that made me like them, right off. Recognizing my own weaknesses, I was forced to admit to myself that most likely, in the same situation, I would have said – “I’d like to have them over but we just moved in and still are in such a mess.”

We had a real good time. Our host, the psychiatrist, was a very jolly fellow who seemed to be enjoying life. He played the mandolin and sang songs – just any song we could think of.

It was some time later and many miles away when Mom, Dad and myself felt a ‘stab’ through our hearts as we learned that our psychiatrist friend had taken his own life. We had only known him as one who gave joy and happiness to others – it was hard to acknowledge that, hidden inside of himself, that big happy man had problems which were just as big – or bigger – than those the rest of us were carrying.