Suicide

For months, I have wanted to write about suicide from a Christian perspective.

It is hard to know what to say. I desire to express truth that is accepted and not received as a defense.

I believe that to this day, the only thing more shocking to me than Jason's death has been the way people have reacted to it. Mostly the reaction includes complete avoidance of me and my family. Few dare to even ask, "How are you?"

There are actually days when I contemplate..."This is what it must feel like to have leprosy."

Christians, by and large, have been the most strikingly judgemental group of all with few exceptions. Jason's death among this group will forever be linked with the word "sin". I am always shocked at the extent to which so few realize that he was the victim, not the perpetrator.

I am saddened by the extent to which people simultaneously dismiss the grief experienced by survivors of suicide and blame the victim as though the decision made to end a life is done in a coherent, rational state of mind...an act of selfish dispair to be judged and condemned.

I will never forget one particular conversation that occurred about three weeks after Jason's death in which I was criticized for grieving. "This was Jason's choice...an act of free will...you have to move on...accept it." I literally would have preferred being stabbed with a knife. The knife wound would most certainly have healed by now.

Suicide is the not the same as any other death. To pretend that it is shows the extent to which so few have any idea of the sorrow that its survivors carry. I have never known anyone who lost a loved one to cancer or heart disease face the type of shame, avoidance, fear, and judgement that my family and I face on a daily basis. May God forgive those who have dealt us such sharp blows. I honestly believe they cannot fathom the pain they have inflicted.

While I have not, as of yet, found the strength to write extensively about this difficult and deeply personal topic, in one single column, Ron Rolheiser was able to sum up nearly everything I have ever felt or learned about those who die by suicide. He was able to express that which somehow I did not, up until now, feel that I had the right to express.

I will post his column as follows...

The poet, Hafiz, wrote a poem nearly 700 years ago entitled, "We Should Talk About This Problem." In it, God addresses a wounded soul:

There is a Beautiful Creature

Living in a hole you have dug ...

And I often sing, but still, my dear,

You do not come out.

I have fallen in love with Someone

Who hides inside of you.

That's God's feeling, and perhaps ours too, when someone is in a suicidal depression. Few things can so devastate us as the suicide of a loved one. There's the horrific shock of losing a loved one so suddenly which, just of itself, can bring us to our knees; but, with suicide, there are other soul-wrenching feelings too, confusion, guilt, second-guessing, religious anxiety. Where did we fail this person? What might we still have done? What is this person's state with God?

What needs to be said about this? First, that suicide is a disease and generally the most misunderstood of all sicknesses. It takes a person out of life against his or her will, the emotional equivalent of cancer, a stroke, or a heart attack.

Second, we, those left behind, need not spend undue energy second-guessing as to how we might have failed that person, what we should have noticed, and what we might have done to prevent the suicide. Suicide is an illness and, as with any sickness, we can love someone and still not be able to save that person from death. God loved this person too and, like us, could not, this side of eternity, do anything either.

Finally, we shouldn't worry too much about how God meets this person on the other side. God's love, unlike ours, can go through locked doors and touch what will not allow itself to be touched by us.

Is this making light of suicide? No. Anyone who has ever dealt with either the victim of a suicide before his or her death or with those grieving that death afterwards knows that it is impossible to make light of it.

There is no pain like the one suicide inflicts.

Nobody who is healthy wants to die and nobody who is healthy seeks to burden his or her loved ones with this kind of pain. And that's the point: This is only done when someone isn't healthy. The fact that medication can often prevent suicide should tell us something.

Suicide, in most cases, is an illness not a sin. Nobody, who is healthy, willingly decides to commit suicide and burden his or her loved ones with that death any more than anyone willingly chooses to die of cancer and cause pain. The victim of suicide (in most cases) is a trapped person, caught up in a fiery, private chaos that has its roots both in his or her psyche and in his or her bio-chemistry.

Suicide, in most cases, is a desperate attempt to end unendurable pain, akin to one throwing oneself off a high building because one's clothing is on fire. Many of us have known victims of suicide and we know too that in almost every case that person was not full of pride, haughtiness, and the desire to hurt anyone. Generally it's the opposite.

The victim has cancerous problems precisely because he or she is wounded, raw, and too-bruised to have the resiliency needed to deal with life. Those of us who have lost loved ones to suicide know that the problem is not one of strength but of weakness, the person is too-bruised to be touched.

I remember a comment I over-heard at a funeral for a suicide victim. The priest had preached badly, hinting that this suicide was somehow the man's own fault and that suicide is always the ultimate act of despair. At the reception afterwards a neighbour of the victim expressed his displeasure at the priest's homily: "There are a lot of people in this world who should kill themselves," he lamented, "but those kind never do! This man is the last person who should have killed himself because he was one of the most sensitive people I've ever met!" A book could be written on that statement. Too often it's the meek who seemly lose the battle in this world.

Finally, we shouldn't worry too much about how God meets our loved ones who have fallen victim to suicide. God, as Jesus assures us, has a special affection for those of us who are too-bruised and wounded to be touched. Jesus assures us too that God's love can go through locked doors and into broken places and free up what's paralyzed and help that which can no longer help itself. God is not blocked when we are. God can reach through. And so our loved ones [who knew Christ as their Savior] who have fallen victim to suicide are now inside of God's embrace, enjoying a freedom they could never quite enjoy here and being healed through a touch that they could never quite accept from us.

What Do I Know of Holy?

There is perhaps no moment more devastating to the human heart than the moment in which our own failure is revealed to us.

No moment is more heart wrenching than the one in which we discover our need for God.

No moment is more life altering than the one in which by divine revelation, we begin to wrestle with the idea of a Holy God...a God so pure and so righteous that He had the right to wipe every last man, woman, and child from the face of the earth because of the depravity of our sin and the depth of the fall.

Who can fathom this God who, instead, decided that He should wrap Himself in flesh and give His own life in order to buy us back from the grave and the curse of Hell?

If this moment does not cause us to drop instantly to our knees in reverence, fear, and the admonition of "I am"...nothing ever will.

I am constantly dumbfounded by the truth that it is not the fear of Hell, but rather the goodness of God that leads men to repentance. (Romans 2:4)

If only I could put words to how good He is... If only I knew more of Holy.

I have claimed to know God for a very long time...most of which I have talked more than I listened.

If pride alone were rewarded by wealth, I would be a millionaire.

I am profoundly awed by the extent to which He has begun to reveal to me that I know so little of Holy.

I heard a song by Addison Road this morning and it dawned on me that I could have written it. The question that it asks hangs over me with a constancy that I cannot completely describe.

What do I know of Holy?

"I made You promises a thousand times
I tried to hear from Heaven
But I talked the whole time
I think I made You too small
I never feared You at all
No...

If You touched my face would I know You?
Looked into my eyes could I behold You?

What do I know of You
Who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood
But the shore along Your ocean?

Are You fire?
Are You fury?
Are You sacred?
Are You beautiful?
What do I know?
What do I know of Holy?

I guess I thought that I had figured You out
I knew all the stories and I learned to talk about
How You were mighty to save
Those were only empty words on a page

Then I caught a glimpse of who You might be
The slightest hint of You brought me down to my knees

What do I know of You
Who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood
But the shore along Your ocean?

Are You fire?
Are You fury?
Are You sacred?
Are You beautiful?
What do I know?
What do I know of Holy?

What do I know of Holy?
What do I know of wounds that will heal my shame?
And a God who gave life it's name?
What do I know of Holy?
Of the One who the angels praise?
All creation knows Your name
On earth and heaven above
What do I know of this love?"

I have made Him too small in my eyes.

But I think I may have caught a glimpse of who He might be.

And I stand in awe of the glimpse.

God is good...all the time.

A Year Ago Today

"I shall rise from the dead...I shall see the Son of God, the Sun of Glory, and shine myself as that sun shines. I shall be united to the Ancient of Days, to God Himself, who had no morning, never began...No man ever saw God and lived. And yet, I shall not live till I see God; and when I have seen him, I shall never die." --John Donne

A year ago today, my little brother died in a hospital about ten minutes away. The circumstances of his death remain profoundly heart wrenching and mysterious.

A year ago today, my parents lost their son, Daniela lost her husband, Isabel lost her father, Matt, Dan, and I lost our brother, and countless others lost a beloved friend.

A year ago today, the collective lives of all who loved Jason changed permanently.

A year ago today, although it was unimaginable to me then, God had already made a way of escape for the grief that is now our constant companion.

The way of escape from the sorrow that inevitably weaves itself into the tapestry of our lives is the hope that is ours through the blood of Jesus.

A year ago today, because of the blood of Jesus, my brother did not die. Rather he became a full citizen of the Kingdom of Heaven.

A year ago today, my faith was tested in a way that I never believed possible.

A year ago today, I passed the test. For the first time in my life, I knew beyond the shadow of any doubt, I believed God's word regarding the matter of death and the hope of Heaven.

"Therefore we are always confident and know that as long as we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord. We live by faith, not by sight. We are confident, I say, and would prefer to be away from the body and at home with the Lord. So we make it our goal to please him, whether we are at home in the body or away from it." 2 Corinthians 5:6-9

A year ago today, I began to accept that faith is not about believing God for my will. Rather, it is trusting Him to impose on me His will and recognizing that "in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." Romans 8:28

A year ago today, the resurrection power of Christ became real to me.

A year ago today, I learned to mourn Jason's absence, not his death. I am so grateful that I knew better than to look for the living among the dead. --Luke 24:15

A year ago today...Jason rose from the dead.

I, too, will rise when He calls my name. Death shall reunite us.

Could there be a better reason than this to proclaim that God is good...all the time?

"Why do we not know the country whose citizens we are? Because we have wandered so far away that we have forgotten it. But the Lord Christ, the king of the land, came down to us, and drove forgetfulness from our heart. God took to Himself our flesh so that He might be our way back. --Augustine

Embracing Temporary Separation

"I believe there are sorrows and agonies that penetrate to depths within us where tears are simply insufficient."

It has been a long time since I last found the courage to write. In all honesty, I would have to admit that I have spent the last several months in a state of utter numbness. As of late, I have rarely even found the courage to cry.

As we approach the one year anniversary of Jason's death, I am surprised by the extent to which time has only heightened the sense of loss that my family feels. I am shocked by the toll it has taken on my parents and their health. I am physically pained by the thought of Daniela being alone and Isabel growing up without her father. I am unsettled by the uprising of rage mixed with frustration that I feel toward those who offer advice or even well meaning words of encouragement.

I am overwhelmed by the sense of isolation that I feel and the constancy with which I feel it. If only I could stop being angry. If only I could stop feeling disappointed that somehow God let us down. If only I could wrap my mind around the character of God or the defined will of God that I once arrogantly proclaimed to know.

A social person by nature, there are days when the silence of my solitude is deafening. Alexander MacLaren once said "The soul that has to wade through deep waters has always to do it alone...We have companions in joy, but sorrow we have to face by ourselves...Unless we have Jesus with us in the darkness, we have no one."

I find myself quite often waking up in the middle of the night afraid...asking, "Jesus...are you here? Have you abandoned us in the darkness?"

I am slowly coming to accept the reality that faith is a choice. It is not an emotion. It is not a warm, fuzzy feeling that wraps itself around me and brings me comfort as I wade alone through the depths.

I have come to accept truths that I have pushed away all of my life in the name of "faith."

We live in a world that is in motion under the curse of sin. Sin separated us from God. The sacrifice of Christ on the cross reunited us spiritually. All who have accepted Jesus have moved from death into life, having become recipients of eternal life and bodily resurrection. The grave cannot hold us anymore than it could hold Him. The promise of eternity is undeniably ours. Heaven is not a hope...it is a promise.

However, our physical and soulical separation from God is as much a reality today as it was on the day that sin entered the world. There is sickness and suffering and death all around us. Human suffering knows almost no limitation. It seems that almost nothing is off the table when it comes to the multitude of ways that death has entered the human race. Believer and unbeliever alike are assaulted as the rain falls on the just and the unjust.

Surely, it is appointed unto man once to die. Surely, death is at work within our members from the moment we are born. Who can escape it?

We live in a society that has begun to embrace the humanist ideology that "man is the measure of all things." I have begun to contemplate this a great deal. It is perhaps the greatest lie ever to be spoken much less embraced. Even if a sin-cursed man could solve the problem of living, who is the man who could solve the problem of dying?

There is only one such man...and His name is Jesus. He not only overcame the curse of sin...He defeated the grave. It was the greatest battle ever to be waged much less won.

At the end of the day...even at the end of the really bad day...this is the truth that restores my soul. Because of Christ...because of what He did for me and as me...my loved ones who die in faith are not just part of my past, they are part of my future. The separation is only temporary.

And of far greater importance, the physical and soulical separation from God that I face every day of my life as a result of my citizenship in a sin-stained world...well, it is also temporary. There will be a day when my faith shall be my eyes. There will be a day when being bodily present with Him, my Savior, will be my experience instead of my expectation. This is the finish line and the day for which my heart beats. Nothing can keep me from crossing it.

And in the meantime, even in the depths...I choose to believe....not because of what I see, but in spite of it. After all, faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things UNSEEN. --Hebrews 11:1

God is good...all the time.

Lost for Words

To the cross I look, to the cross I cling
Of its suffering I do drink
Of its work I do sing
For on it my Savior both bruised and crushed
Showed that God is love
And God is just

At the cross You beckon me
You draw me gently to my knees, and I am
Lost for words, so lost in love,
I’m sweetly broken, wholly surrendered

What a priceless gift, undeserved life
Have I been given
Through Christ crucified
You’ve called me out of death
You’ve called me into life
And I was under Your wrath
Now through the cross I’m reconciled

In awe of the cross I must confess
How wondrous Your redeeming love and
How great is Your faithfulness...

--Jeremy Riddle

God is good...all the time...even when I'm lost for words...

From Wailing to Dancing

"You turned my wailing into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy, that my heart may sing to you and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give you thanks forever." Psalm 31:11-23

I realized today that there are some things...some aspects of this journey that I have not yet been able to write about. Things that have been off limits because they are so painful and so deeply personal.

One of those things is the toll that the pain of the last several years has had on my children...particularly, Ava, who was given an unusually sensitive spirit and a compassionate heart.

Ava was only three when my dad got sick. To this day, we will be driving down Interstate 40 and she will say "That's the exit to WakeMed" or "If you go down that road, it will take you to UNC Hospital". Or, "I remember when Grandpa was in Duke..."

Ava understands way too much about bleeding disorders, traumatic brain injury, seizures, infection, surgery, and suffering in general.

When Jason died nine months ago, I feared that Ava would die with him. Sleeping became a struggle for her, eating became a full blown crisis. She would ask me questions like "Why would God let Uncle Jake die like that?" "Why didn't God answer our prayers?" "But Uncle Jake loved God so much...where was He?" "Why did Grandpa have to get sick?" "Why won't God heal him?" She would shake and weep and draw beautiful pictures of Heaven and terrifying pictures of earth.

Close friends criticized me for everything I did and everything I didn't do to make her better until such time that I can honestly say that I no longer have any close friends. I just couldn't bear the added pain that came with the criticism.

For the first time in my life, I felt as though I had no ability whatsoever to comfort my own child. I had no answers that would reassure her.

Shane and I would both tell her over and over again that God loved her and that He loved Uncle Jake and that things happen in this life that we can't understand. We assured her countless times that Uncle Jake is in Heaven...free from the pain of this life. We promised her that beyond the shadow of any doubt we would all be together again one day in Heaven. We begged her to cling to this hope.

Words did not seem to bring her comfort. At the age of seven, she began using food as a control mechanism. Almost every meal was a painful, heartbreaking battle. One particularly bad day, I remember collapsing beside her bed after she'd fallen asleep. She looked small and frail and pale. She had begun losing weight and I feared the worst. I feared the need for hospitalization and medicine, both of which failed my father and my brother in almost every way possible.

On my face I cried, "Why God? Why so much? How will we ever get through any of this? How long will You remain silent? Have You now come for Ava?"

I realize that this may sound melodramatic, but I watched a mosquito bite nearly destroy my father. And I watched my brother get sick, get misdiagnosed, and die tragically and mysteriously in a span of less than three weeks. In my world, anything seems possible...

The moment of my greatest heartbreak came when I discovered a drawing that Ava had left on her school desk. It was a picture of her holding hands with my brother in Heaven. It was the only picture she had drawn of herself since Jason's death in which there were no tears pouring from her eyes. I smiled until I realized upon further examination that there was a caption coming out of Jason's mouth that said, "Not yet, Ava" and another coming out of her mouth that said, "But why not?"

I realized that her heart longed to be in Heaven, and I blamed myself for every tear I had cried in front of her, every ounce of pain I had revealed. I blamed my dad for getting sick and my brother for dying. But most of all, I blamed God for allowing the nightmare that had become our lives.

Oddly, this moment became a defining point of surrender for me. I remember praying, "Lord, my father is Yours. My brother is Yours. And my Ava is Yours. You have ordained for us this journey, and I surrender to Your will. Whether Ava grows up in Heaven or on the earth, I will praise you."

I cannot say that things immediately improved. For every step forward, there was at least one step back. But little by little, we have inched our way toward "normal". I am happy to say that over time, her drawings have become happier and more colorful. I am grateful to report that Ava is no longer using food as a daily coping mechanism although every now and then, she stumbles.

And in these moments, the Lord reminds me that Ava is His and that He loves her more than I can fathom. I have learned trust and surrender. I have learned that it is not up to me to comfort my children, rather it is the work of the Holy Spirit in me.

I stand in awe of the faithfulness of God to accomplish His purpose in our lives. I believe that pain does not come without purpose. And I believe that God has special plans to use both of my children to advance His kingdom on the earth for they have learned from a very young age to see through the eyes of eternal perspective.

Yesterday, I had the opportunity to watch Ava dance for the first time in a long time as Shane has taken on the job of getting the girls to and from dance class this year. Tears streamed down my face from the moment the song began as I saw with my own eyes evidence of the greatness of our God wrapped up in the grace and beauty of my...His precious little girl.

I realized yesterday for the first time that He has turned Ava's wailing into dancing. And like everyone else in my family, I realized that my daughter has not been destroyed by this journey through the valley of the shadow of death...rather she has been made strong on her own trek through it.

You don't have to look too hard to see that Ava isn't just dancing...she is worshipping a Savior with whom she has developed an intimate and special relationship.

God is good...all the time.

Learning to Walk

"I know, O Lord, that a man's life is not his own; it is not for man to direct his steps."

--Jeremiah 10:23

It has been almost five years since a mosquito bite nearly ended my father's life and permanently altered the course of his journey here on the earth. It has been just over four years since he was released from UNC Hospital with the word "paraplegic" on his discharge paperwork.

For nearly five years, I have watched my father struggle to survive, struggle to heal, and struggle to accept the trials of epic proportion that have come to him both throughout the course of his illness and in the nine months since losing his son.

And to the extent that I have watched my father struggle to endure, I have watched him persevere. No matter how many times he has fallen, no matter how many seizures have stolen his breath, no matter how many limbs he has broken, no matter how many doctors and physical therapists have assured him that his recovery is "uncertain," no matter how many times depression has threatened to steal his hope, I have watched him triumph.

My father has become something of a mysterious icon to me and to all who know him. He has a remarkable will to live and a strong desire to walk again. He has an inner strength and determination unlike anything I have ever witnessed.

Many people would attribute my father's tenacity to the "power of the human spirit." But I know better.

I read about my him in a familiar story written in David Jeremiah's book, When Your World Falls Apart. And while my father has experienced this journey first hand, there are lessons to be learned by all who are watching.

My father "knows what it's like to live in the limitations of a body that can't measure up to the heart's aspirations; he knows what it's like to have great hands reach down to bolster him and propel him forward.

(And so the question is asked), how often have you tried to move forward in your own feeble power and ended up in a heap on the floor? You think you can do it, and God allows you to try. Proving to yourself and everybody around that you're simply not up to the task, you give up or give in. And just then, He reaches down with those loving hands and lifts you up to walk you through the barriers of your life--in His limitless strength. That's the promise. He gave it to you and to me, and He stands behind His Word.

He stands behind you too. He may allow you to fall, but He'll never allow you to be defeated. That's an idea to set securely into your heart. Don't let life's commotion shake it away from you, because it carries hope. Whatever you may be facing today, don't give up or give in. Wait for those marvelous, loving hands to cover your own--and be ready to laugh with delight as He walks you, in His power, to places you never thought you could reach." --David Jeremiah

I had the privilege of attending my father's latest physical therapy session with him and my mom just this past week. There were unsteady and difficult moments...moments when I physically tensed because I feared that he would fall. And yet, I experienced such great satisfaction in witnessing how far he has come. My heart, indeed, laughed with delight as I watched him walk, in His power, to places I never thought he could reach.

I celebrate the progress that my father has made on this "Journey of a Thousand Miles." But more so, I celebrate the One who has ordained the journey...the One who stands behind my father...the One who has allowed him to fall, but never be defeated.

I celebrate God...my God...for He is good...all the time.

"A man's steps are directed by the Lord. How then can anyone understand his own way?" --Proverbs 20:21