Years ago, while driving home from work, seemingly out of nowhere, I had a monster panic attack: my heart raced, sweat beaded my forehead, my knees turned to Jell-O, and a terrible sense of doom overcame me. Well-meaning Christian friends sometimes made unhelpful comments and insinuations like “A good Christian doesn’t get bad anxiety.” And conflicting advice like “Take medication. It fixed my brother” and “Do not take medication. You’ll become addicted.” Topping these off were my two most hated suggestions that if I “prayed harder” or “had more faith,” then my anxiety would disappear like Houdini. Can you or your counselee relate? Continue Reading →