Instead of rejection, shunning, or judgment, I walked into what I call "A Garden of Understanding," and that I "walked amongst angels" there. They understood.
They treated us with dignity and respect, that all we were experiencing was normal.
They didn't laugh at me for not being able to mark my own appointments down on the calendar they printed out for me because I couldn't figure out where I needed to write them.
They didn't laugh at me when the wires in my brain got crossed and I showed up for my appointments on the wrong day.
They didn't criticize me or tell me to cheer up when I was depressed from this dark, bewildering world that now surrounded me.
It was there the real healing began, a deep validation of this jagged path, and where I learned about real ministry. They had a plan for me, but if I came in struggling with something else, we dealt with that. I learned how often we fail at trying to help people because we have agendas of our own (often well-intended, but well mis-directed!)
My intellect has remained, and if you saw me on the street, just like many other Brain Injured folks, you wouldn't be able to tell the difference. But the grand struggle, the great Catch-22 is I can no longer work full-time. I can't do the work I used to do and due to short-term memory loss, can't learn a new job and actually remember how to do it. I've been doing the work I do now (piecework, real estate) for five plus years now. I still don't have the job down, and yes, I do get laughed at for my mistakes.